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Title: Arab and Druze at home : A record of travel and intercourse with the peoples east of the Jordan
Author: Ewing, William Clinton
Language: English
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ARAB AND DRUZE AT HOME
[Illustration: ARAB SHEIKH
(Photo: The Photochrome Co. Ld.)]
ARAB AND DRUZE
AT HOME
A RECORD OF TRAVEL
AND INTERCOURSE WITH THE PEOPLES
EAST OF THE JORDAN
BY
WILLIAM EWING, M.A.
FIVE YEARS RESIDENT AT TIBERIAS
_THIRTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAP_
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
16 HENRIETTA STREET W.C.
AND EDINBURGH
1907
TO
MY FATHER
[Illustration: TIBERIAS FROM THE SEA]
FOREWORD
THE number of books published regarding Palestine proves the
exhaustless fascination of the subject. Most of them, however, deal
with Western Palestine; and even of this, beyond the districts
traversed by the annual stream of tourists, comparatively little is
heard.
The lands beyond the Jordan are seldom visited. For the ordinary
sight-seer the difficulties and dangers are considerable; but these
almost entirely vanish before one who can speak the language and is
able to mingle freely with the people.
This book is an attempt to lift a little way the veil which still
so largely obscures that region, in spite of its great and splendid
history; where picturesque and beautiful scenery, the crumbling
memorials of grey antiquity, and the life of villager and nomad to-day,
cast a mysterious spell upon the spirit.
While the information given in the following pages is woven round the
narrative of a single journey, it is the outcome of frequent travel and
familiar intercourse with the peoples both east and west of Jordan.
During a residence of over five years in Palestine the writer was
privileged often, quite alone or with a single native attendant, to
visit the peasantry and the _Beduw_, to share the shelter of mud hut
and goat’s-hair tent, to enjoy their abounding hospitality and friendly
converse in the _medāfy_, on the house-top, and around the camp-fire in
the wilderness.
What is here related regarding these strange but deeply interesting
peoples was either learned from their own lips or verified in converse
with them.
The author offers his tribute of affection and gratitude to the memory
of Dr. H. Clay Trumbull of Philadelphia, U.S.A., surely the most
generous and friendly of editors, who first moved him to write on
Oriental subjects.
For many of the photographs taken on the journey he is indebted to his
companions in travel, Rev. J. Calder Macphail, D.D., Edinburgh, and
Dr. Mackinnon of Damascus; for others, to Dr. Paterson of Hebron and
to the Committee of the Palestine Exploration Fund. He also gratefully
acknowledges assistance received from the Rev. J. E. H. Thomson, D.D.,
and Oliphant Smeaton, Esq., M.A., F.S.A., Edinburgh.
EDINBURGH, _December 1906_.
[Illustration: DAMASCUS FROM MINARET OF GREAT MOSQUE]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
Damascus--Haurân Railway--Great Moslem pilgrimage--The plains of
Damascus--Great Hermon--_El-Kisweh_--Bridges in Palestine--
_Ghabâghib_--_Es-Sanamein_--Medical myth--A Land of Fear--
Grain-fields of _Haurân_--An oppressed peasantry--_Nowa_ 1
CHAPTER II
Arab courtesy--_Sheikh Saʿad_--Egyptian monuments--Traditions of
Job--_El-Merkez_--Religious conservatism--Holy places--_Sheikh
Meskîn_--A ride in the dark--_Zorʿa_--_El-Lejâʾ_ 16
CHAPTER III
A landscape of lava--Deserted cities--Caverns--Cultivation--A land
of ruins--The guide’s terror--_Damet el-ʿAliâ_--The sheikh’s
welcome--A state of siege--An ugly incident--Druze hospitality--
Arab and Druze in _el-Lejâʾ_--St. Paul in Arabia--The well of
the priest--Story of the priest 30
CHAPTER IV
Hidden treasure--The Bedawy’s treasure-trove--The sheikh’s
farewell--A savage tract--_Jebel ed-Druze_--_Umm ez-Zeytûn_--
_Tell Shihân_--_Shuhba_--An ancient house--A stingy
entertainer--The ruins--Pharaoh’s “grain-heaps”--The house of
_Shehâb_ 48
CHAPTER V
Ride to _Kanawât_ (Kenath)--Impressive situation and remains--
Place-names in Palestine--Israelites and Arabs--Education--A
charming ride through mountain glades--_Suweida_ 63
CHAPTER VI
Healing the sick--A strange monument--Telegraph and post in
_Haurân_--Cruel kindness--The Ruins of _Suweida_--Turkish
methods of rule--_ʿIry_--_Sheyûkh ed-Druze_--Jephthah’s
burial--Enterprise of _Ismaʿîl el-ʿAtrash_ 74
CHAPTER VII
The Druzes--Their religion--Their character--Druze and Jew--
Recent history in _Haurân_--Druze and Bedawy--War 86
CHAPTER VIII
_Bozrah_--First Syrian mosque--The physician the reconciler--The
“House of the Jew”--The great mosque--Cufic inscription--
Boheira and Mohammed--The fortress--Bridal festivities--Feats
of horsemanship--History--Origen’s visit--Capture by Moslems 102
CHAPTER IX
Travellers’ troubles--A corner of the desert--The mirage--
Dangerous _wadies_--Lunch in the desert--A “blind” guide--The
clerk to the _sheyûkh_--A milestone--_Kalʿat Esdein_--Thirst--
The uplands of Gilead--Search for water--A _Bedawy_ camp--
Terrific thunderstorm 117
CHAPTER X
Morning on the mountains--Arab time--Tents and encampments--The
women and their work--Arab wealth--Scenes at the wells--Dogs--
Arabian hospitality--Desert pests--Strange code of honour--The
blood feud--Judgment of the elders--Arab and horse--The Arabs
and religion--The Oriental mind--Arab visit to Damascus 129
CHAPTER XI
Ride to _Jerash_--Magnificent ruins--Circassian colonists--
History--Preservation of buildings--East of Jordan--_Sûf_--
A moonlight scene--Down to the Jabbok 145
CHAPTER XII
“Time is money”--_Rumamain_--Priestly hospitality--Fair mountain
groves--Es-Salt--The springs--Relation to Arabs--Raisins--
Descent to the Jordan--Distant view of Jerusalem--View of the
river, the plains of Jordan, the Dead Sea, and the mountains
beyond--The bridge--The “publican’s” shed--The men from
_Kerâk_ 158
CHAPTER XIII
The banks and thickets of the Jordan--Bathing-place--The Greek
convent--A night of adventures in the plains of Jericho--The
modern village--Ancient fertility--Possible restoration--
Elisha’s fountain--_Wady Kelt_--The Mountain of Temptation--
The path to Zion 169
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Arab Sheikh _Frontispiece_
Tiberias from the Sea _Facing_ iii
Damascus from Minaret ” vii
Pilgrimage leaving Damascus ” 2
The Cook’s Tent ” 8
Treading out the Corn ” 14
“Wild Ishmaelitish Men” ” 25
Peasant Ploughman ” 33
Well in the Desert ” 47
Shuhba: Baths and Roman Pavement ” 54
Kanawât: Ruins of Temple ” 66
Kanawât: Sculptured Doorway in Temple ” 70
Sheyûkh ed-Druze: a Council of War ” 83
Bozrah: Bab el-Howa ” 102
Bozrah: at the Cross Ways ” 114
Palestinian Shepherd and Flock ” 122
Arab Camp in Gilead ” 126
Arab Women and Children ” 133
Arabs at Home ” 136
Arab Horseman ” 140
Jerash: Gateway ” 145
Jerash: Temple of the Sun ” 148
Jerash: Street of Columns ” 152
Jerash: General View ” 154
Gorge of the Jabbok ” 156
Rumamain ” 159
Es-Salt: the Fountain ” 162
Jordan, showing Terraces ” 164
Fords of Jordan: Pilgrims Bathing ” 170
Elisha’s Fountain ” 175
Mouth of Wady Kelt ” 178
MAP ” xii
[Illustration: MAP OF THE COUNTRY EAST AND WEST OF THE JORDAN]
CHAPTER I
Damascus--Haurân Railway--Great Moslem pilgrimage--The
plains of Damascus--Great Hermon--_El-Kisweh_--Bridges in
Palestine--_Ghabâghib_--_Es-Sanamein_--Medical myth--A Land of
Fear--Grain-fields of _Haurân_--An oppressed peasantry--_Nowa_.
THERE is a pleasant excitement in the prospect of a journey through
long-forgotten lands, where hoary age is written on dark ruin and
carved stone, which lends its influence to while away the monotonous
days of preparation. But even amid surroundings of entrancing interest
in the queenly city on the _Barada_, the traveller soon grows impatient
to find himself in the saddle with his friends, heading away towards
the hills that bound the green plains of Damascus. Fortunately, we
could dispense with a dragoman, often more an imperious master than an
obliging servant, and were able to arrange our routes and carry out our
programme according to our own wishes.
Leaving the city by _Bawabbat Ullah_, we took the _Hajj_ road to the
south-west. This for many centuries was, what in the southern reaches
it still is, a mere track, not always clear, and often to be kept only
by observance of landmarks. To facilitate the passage of troops to and
from _Haurân_, the Government had made a fairly good road from Damascus
to some distance within that province. A railway has now been built,
and is in working order as far south as _Mizerîb_. One day, perhaps,
it will reach the sacred cities in _el-Hejaz_. If this do not greatly
expedite the _hâjj’s_ enterprise, it will at least add variety to his
peril. The first trains east of the Jordan were objects of surpassing
interest to the camels. Unaccustomed to give way to anything else on
the road, a strange mingling of curiosity and pride brought many of
these “ships of the desert” to grief.
[Illustration: MOSLEM PILGRIMAGE LEAVING DAMASCUS]
Our journey fell in the late spring of 1890. The _Hajj_, the great
annual pilgrimage to _Mecca_ and _Medîna_, fell that year in the month
of April. A few days before we started, we had seen the pilgrims and
their guard setting out. Most were mounted on mules, but there were
also a few horses and camels. Conspicuous among these last was that
which bore the _Mahmal_--the canopy in which is carried the Sultan’s
gift--a covering for the shrine at _Mecca_. The canopy is of green
silk, richly embroidered, supported by silver posts. On its apex a gilt
crescent and globe flash in the bright sun. The occasion stirs the city
to its depths. The roofs all along the line of route were crowded, and
every point of vantage was occupied by eager spectators. The procession
passed amid the hum of suppressed conversation. From the faces in the
crowd it was plain to see that many had gone of whose return there was
but little hope. The weary, painful journey through the pitiless
desert, beset by marauding Arabs, and the insanitary conditions of the
“holy places,” prepare a sure path for not a few to _Firdaus_--“the
garden” _par excellence_ of Moslem dreams, the unfailing portion of him
who dies on pilgrimage. The stir caused by their passage through the
country quickly subsides. When we followed in their footsteps, things
had already assumed their drowsy normal.
Passing the gates, we were at once in the open country; for the
famous orchards do not extend thus far in this direction. On every
side the plains were clad with heavy crops of waving green; the whir
of the quail and the crack of the sportsman’s fowling-piece mingled
with the frequent sound of running waters--sweetest music to the
Syrian ear. Stately camels came swinging along, each with a great
millstone balanced on his back. One of these forms a camel-load. The
basaltic quarries in the mountains southward, from which these stones,
celebrated for hardness and durability, are hewn, have been long and
widely esteemed. Full thirty miles away, yet, in the clear April
afternoon, seeming almost on the edge of the nearer plain, lay the
magnificent mass of Hermon, clad in his garment of shining white--a
huge snowy bank against the horizon, twenty miles long and ten thousand
feet high. Those who have seen this majestic gleaming height, when the
snows lie deep in the early year, can understand how appropriately
the Amorites named it _Senir_--the breastplate, or shield. Syria owes
much to Hermon. Cool breezes blow from his cold steeps; his snows are
carried now, as in ancient days, to moisten parched lip and throat
in the streets of Sidon and Damascus. Many of the streams “that fill
the vales with winding light” and living green are sweet daughters of
the mighty mountain, while his refreshing dews descend, as sang the
Psalmist, even on the distant and lowly Zion.
Looking back a moment from the rising ground, ere passing down behind
the Black Mountain, we caught a parting glimpse of the fair city,
renowned in Arab song and story. Rich flats now stretched between
us and the thick embowering orchards, over which rose tall minaret
and glistening dome. A light haze hung over the city, obscuring the
immediate background; but away beyond appeared the high shoulders and
peaks of Anti-Lebanon, many capped with helmets of snow, standing like
guards around the birthplace of the city’s life; for thence comes the
Abana, the modern _Barada_, without which there could have been no
Damascus.
A gentle descent brings us to the _Aʿwaj_, in which many find the
Bible Pharpar--a name still to be traced, perhaps, in _Wady Barbar_,
higher up but not a tributary of this stream. On the nearer bank stands
_el-Kisweh_, a Moslem village of some pretensions, with khan mosque
and minaret, and ancient castle, while the stream is spanned by an
old-time bridge. No new bridges in Palestine are of any account. The
only two that span the Jordan from _Banias_ to the Dead Sea--the _Jisr
Benât Yaʿkûb_, below the waters of Merom, and _Jisr el-Mejamiʿa_
above Bethshan--are both survivors of the old Roman system. Around and
below _el-Kisweh_, as in all places where water comes to bless the
toil of the husbandman, are beautiful orchards; olive and willow, fig,
apricot, and pomegranate mingle their foliage in rich profusion; and
high over all rise the stately cypress trees--the spires and minarets
of the grove. Here, when the _Hajj_ falls in summer or autumn, pilgrims
take leave of greenness and beauty, and press forward on their long
desert march to the _Haramein_. As our evening song of praise rose from
the river’s bank, for centuries accustomed to hear only the muttered
devotions of the Moslem, we could not but think of the time when the
voice of psalms shall roll with the sweet waters down the vale--a time
surely not far distant now; and in the thought we found new inspiration
for our work.
Continuing southward, a dark mountain lies to the left, well named
_Jebel Māniʿa_, which may be rendered “Mount of Protection,” or “The
Protector.” In its difficult recesses the peasant cultivators of the
rich open land around find a home, secure against marauding _Beduw_ and
lawless bands. _Jedûr_, the old Iturea, stretches away to the right;
we are now in _Haurân_, part of the land of Bashan, corresponding in
name to the ancient Auranitis. At _Ghabâghib_, where we halt for lunch,
great cisterns and scattered ruins tell of an important place in times
past. It has fallen on evil days, only a few wretched hovels occupying
the site. The poor inhabitants, demoralised by the yearly _Hajj_,
expect much more than value for anything they supply; but neither
here nor anywhere east of Jordan did we once hear the irritating cry
_Bakhshîsh_.
From this point the road deteriorates. First there are patches of some
thirty yards in length thickly laid with broken stones, then occasional
stretches of ground cleared, and finally the ancient track, with no
claim to be called a road. These patches illustrate the Government
method of road-building. All is done by forced labour. A certain length
of road is allocated to each town or village in the district concerned,
and this the inhabitants are bound to construct themselves, or pay for
its construction. The stone-laid patches represent the diligence and
promptitude of some villages; the intervals suggest the evasions of
work, in the practice of which the Arab is an adept.
The country now becomes more open. The view stretches far in front
over the waving grain-fields which have given _Haurân_ its fame.
Westward, the rolling downs of _Jaulân_, the New Testament Gaulanitis,
corresponding to the ancient Golan, reach away towards the roots
of Hermon, with their beautiful conical hills, once grim smoking
volcanoes, now grass-covered to the top; while beyond Jordan we catch
glimpses of the Safed hills. To the left, at a somewhat lower level,
through a light mist we see indistinctly the dark lava-fields of
_el-Lejâʾ_, and dim on the eastern horizon rises the mountain-range
_Jebel ed-Druze_.
_Es-Sanamein_, “the two idols,” where we spent the Sunday, stands to
the west of the _Hajj_ road. This is a typical _Haurân_ village. The
houses are built throughout of basalt, the oldest having no mortar
whatever--doors, window-shutters, and roofs all of the same durable
material. They have outlived the storms of many centuries, and, if
left alone, might see millenniums yet. The modern houses are built
from the ruins, the mortar being mud. Carved and inscribed stones that
once adorned temple or public building may often be seen, usually
upside down, in these rickety new structures. Many houses are fairly
underground, being literally covered with rubbish, accumulated through
the long years, as generation after generation grew up within these
walls and passed away. One temple, built also of basalt, is well
preserved, the ornamentation on pillar, niche, and lintel being finer
than most to be seen in _Haurân_. A Greek inscription[1] tells us
that this temple was dedicated to Fortuna. An olive-press occupies
the centre of the temple. Near by a large water-tank is connected
by channels still traceable with an elaborate system of baths. The
ancients loved these more than do their degenerate successors. Several
tall square towers are evidently of some antiquity; but awkwardly
placed hewn stones, certainly taken from other buildings, show them to
be modern compared with the city whose ruins lie around.
The doctor’s name is a passport to favour all over the land:
Christian, Moslem, and Druze, however fanatical, have ever a welcome
for him. His presence brought a perpetual stream of afflicted ones.
The people are in many respects simple and primitive. Myth and mystery
grow and flourish among them. Most extraordinary tales are told, and
accepted with unquestioning faith. The traveller who goes thither
leaves modern times behind, sails far up the dark stream of time, and
lives again in the dim days of long ago.
Grateful patients sang the doctor’s praise and celebrated his skill.
From lip to lip the story and the wonder grew. Some with sore eyes
had been relieved. By and by we heard that a great doctor had passed
through the country, who took out people’s eyes, opened them up, washed
them thoroughly, and replaced them in their sockets, when the aged and
weak-eyed saw again with the brightness of youth!
These lands offer a tempting and promising field for the medical
missionary. His profession would act like magic in securing entrance to
the people’s homes and confidence. And it is practically virgin soil.
He would build on no other man’s foundation.
[Illustration: THE COOK’S TENT]
About sunset the owner of a flock from whom we wished to buy a lamb
was brought to our tents. The flock was sheltered only a little way
from the village, but, as the shadows deepened, he displayed no little
unwillingness to go thither. At last, armed with sword, musket, and
pistols, and accompanied by one similarly accoutred, he sallied forth,
not without signs of alarm. Soon he returned, the lamb under his
arm, and looks of evident relief on his face. Neither fear nor relief
was without reason. In that lawless land, he who goes abroad after
sundown takes his life in his hand. Even the hardy shepherd, with
tough, well-knit frame, fed on the milk of the flocks, exercised in the
invigorating air of the uplands, used from infancy to face the dangers
of the solitary wilderness by day, trembles until his knees knock
together at the thought of falling into the hands of the enemy who
lurks privily for him in the dark.
From _es-Sanamein_ two tracks branch off, one to the east, the other
to the west of the _Hajj_ road. The former leads down to the villages
on the borders of _el-Lejâʾ_; the latter to _Nowa_, _Sheikh Saʿad_,
and _el-Merkez_, the last being the seat of the Governor of _Haurân_,
who is also military commander in the province. The main part of our
company went eastward. Two of us turned towards _el-Merkez_ to visit
the Governor, who had been ordered by his superior in Damascus to show
us what attention and kindness might be possible. Our arrangement was
to meet at night by a city in the south-west corner of _el-Lejâʾ_,
whence we hoped to penetrate that forbidding region. We rode down a
ruin-covered slope, on a paved road--monument of the wise old warrior
Romans, and crossed, by an ancient bridge, the little brook which, fed
by springs on the southern slopes of Hermon, affords a perennial supply
of water. The bridge, having served men for centuries, now failing,
is almost dangerous to horsemen. A few stones and a little mortar
judiciously applied would quite restore it. But where shall we find an
Arab with public spirit enough to do that from which another might reap
benefit?
Here we entered the far-famed grain-fields of _Haurân_. What
magnificent stretches they are! These vast plains of waving green,
here and there tending to yellow, were our wonder and delight for
many days. Such land as this, with rich, dark soil, yielding royally,
might well sustain a teeming population. Often, in the West, had I
watched the interminable strings of camels, laden with wheat, on all
the great caravan roads leading from the east to Acre, the principal
seaport, and mused as to whence these well-nigh fabulous streams of
golden grain should come--from what mysterious land of plenty. Now I
could understand it all. As that scene opens to view, visions of the
future inevitably rise--but even in fancy one cannot easily exhaust
the possibilities enclosed in these generous plains. What it once
was, as attested by grim ruins around--a land studded with beautiful
cities and prosperous villages--that, at least, it may be again. We
see what it is under the hand of the ignorant peasant, with antique
methods and implements of husbandry. Who shall say what it might become
with enlightened care? This is of special interest _now_, when the
eyes of the world are turning toward Palestine to find a home for the
descendants of the men to whom long since it was given by God. Far more
of the land in western Palestine than appears to the passing traveller
would bear heavy crops of grain; while of the remainder, although much
was probably never cultivated, there is very little which, in the
hands of patient, industrious people, might not be made to yield fair
returns. Evidence of the wealth and immense possibilities of the soil
of Bashan meets one on every hand.
As the eye wanders over the wide green expanse, the thought naturally
arises, whence the reapers are to come who shall gather in the harvest;
for the population, as represented by the little villages seen at
long intervals, is certainly quite inadequate to the task. Should the
traveller return six weeks hence, he will find the whole country alive.
Men and women, youths, maidens, and little children, come trooping up
from the deep depression of the Jordan valley; reapers pour down in
streams from the mountain glens. And right swiftly must they ply their
task; for soon the burning suns and hot winds of the desert will drive
the wild _Beduw_ and their flocks hither in search of pasture and
water, when woe betide the owner of unreaped or ungathered grain. The
robber bands that afflicted the patriarch Job in these same fields,
according to local tradition, have worthy successors to-day in the bold
wanderers from the sandy wastes.
No scythe ever flashes among the bending heads of wheat and barley
here. Everything is reaped with the hook--not changed in form, I should
say, for at least three thousand years. Faithfully, too, is the law
befriending the gleaners observed; and many a golden armful is carried
off at evening by modern Ruth, widow and orphan, to store in the clay
vats that stand in the corners of their little houses, against the
cheerless winter days. When the grain is cut, it is swiftly gathered
into heaps on threshing-floors, in the neighbourhood of villages or
other protected spots, ready for the “treading out,” the process that
still stands for threshing here.
Donkeys and camels are the carrying animals chiefly employed in the
fields. They are constant companions everywhere, even in the desert,
where the former has almost as good a claim to the honourable title
“ship of the desert” as his better-known comrade. The grain is bound
in bundles of equal weight, one of which is tied on either side, over
a broad, wooden saddle. Seen in motion from a little distance, the
animals are quite concealed: they seem like so many animated “stacks”
making their way home. Reaping and gathering are soon accomplished, but
threshing and winnowing are tedious. The most primitive methods are
still employed. Round each heap the ground is covered about knee-deep
with grain, and over this, round and round, oxen or horses are driven,
trampling it under foot; or the old _tribulum_, a strong piece of
board, with small stones fastened in its under surface, is drawn, until
the straw is beaten small and the wheat or barley thoroughly separated.
This is then drawn aside, and a second supply, taken from the
grain-heap, treated in the same way. The process is repeated until all
has been thus reduced. Winnowing is done only when there is sufficient
wind to “drive the chaff away.” Then the new heap of threshed stuff
is attacked with a wooden fork of three prongs and tossed high in the
air. The grain falls at once, forming a heap beside the workman, while
the chaff or crushed straw is blown into a bank farther off. This may
be repeated several times, until the wheat or barley is quite clean.
Then it is put into goats’-hair sacks, ready for transport, since only
a fraction of what the land produces is used in the country.
Indeed, it is but little of anything that the poor husbandman has, in
the end, for his labour. The Government tax is a first charge upon the
entire crop. A tenth is the legal proportion to be paid to officials.
But the season for the collection of _ʿashâr_, or tithe, is often one
of oppression and terror for the wretched villagers. Soldiers are
quartered upon them, who practise all manner of excesses at the expense
of their poverty-stricken hosts; and scenes of violence and rapine are
all too common. The tithe has often to be paid over and over again to
purchase peace. There is no other way; for if the despised _fellah_
lifts his voice in protest or appeal, there is no ear to hear and none
to sympathise. He can only thus bring down the iron hand more heavily
on his own head. Of what remains, he must sell the most. But in the
country there are no buyers; he must needs send it to the coast or
sell it to agents for shipment abroad. Camels afford the only means of
transport, and the cost is ruinous. A camel-load consists of two bags,
and one of these must go to pay the hire of each camel. Only half
thus remains to be sold at Acre in the name of the grower; and happy
is the man who receives from cameleers and agents all his due for this
miserable remnant of his harvest.
What would our western agriculturists say to such conditions as these?
Who can wonder if the people are utterly heartless, having neither
spirit to cherish dreams of improvement nor courage to give them
effect? What wonder if the thief and the robber increase in a land
where honesty and industry are so severely punished? One can see what
an incalculable blessing the opening up of this country by rail should
be, putting it into connection with the outside world, and bringing
all the civilising influences that elsewhere follow the wheels of the
steam-engine. What the result will be remains to be seen. Should Israel
come back with the returning tides of civilisation, he will find the
land almost like an empty house, waiting for the return of its tenants.
The scanty population would heartily welcome the advent of masters who
could both instruct them in improved arts of husbandry and protect them
against unrighteous exactions and oppressions.
[Illustration: TREADING OUT THE CORN]
The black remains of _Nowa_ cover a large area. In its essential
features the village resembles _es-Sanamein_, but lacks the relief
afforded by the temples. A few fragments of ancient sculpture and
architecture are scattered through the village, which also boasts a
large tower, its most conspicuous feature, corresponding to those
at _es-Sanamein_. Some have sought to identify _Nowa_ with Golan,
the ancient city of refuge. It commands a wide and beautiful
prospect over the district for which Golan was appointed; beyond this
there appears to be no reason for the identification. The place is
associated in local tradition with the patriarch Noah. Whether the
name was derived from this association or _vice versa_, who shall now
determine? In any case, the grave of Noah is pointed out, a little to
the north-west of the present village,--which suggests the reflection
that, if we are to trust tradition, these old worthies must have
been often buried; for I have stood by another grave where Noah was
buried, and that at no little length, near _Zahleh_ in Mt. Lebanon. The
grave is many yards long, and even then, it is said, the patriarch’s
legs are doubled down. The mother of our race, also according to the
Moslems, lies within sound of the Red Sea waves, in the sacred soil of
_el-Hejaz_, while the Jews with equal earnestness maintain that she
sleeps beside Abraham and Sarah, with Adam, within the holy precincts
of Machpelah. The prophet Jonah has tombs almost anywhere, from _Mosûl_
to the Mediterranean Sea.
CHAPTER II
Arab courtesy--_Sheikh Saʿad_--Egyptian monuments--Traditions of
Job--_El-Merkez_--Religious conservatism--Holy places--_Sheikh
Meskîn_--A ride in the dark--_Zorʿa_--_El-Lejâʾ_.
ONE trait in Arab character must appear to strangers peculiar--the
general unwillingness to say anything to a man’s face which may be
unpleasant. Truth may be stretched far beyond vanishing-point to avoid
this. The results to the stranger are often unpleasant enough. If the
traveller, still distant from his destination, ask one whom he meets
how far he has to go, he may be told that in half-an-hour, or an hour
at most, he will be there, when he may still have six or seven hours
before him. The object is to make the traveller _mabsût_, or pleased,
with the reply. Truth is sacrificed for a moment’s pleasure,--typical
of how much of the Arab’s improvident life. On the other hand, if the
destination is nearly reached, the traveller may be told it is hours
away, that so he may be “much contented” to find himself suddenly
there. We soon found that the only trustworthy means of learning the
distance of a place was to go there.
_Sheikh Saʿad_ and _el-Merkez_ are both seen from _Nowa_. A stretch of
almost level ground, soon covered at a smart gallop, we begin threading
our way through the rocky flats surrounding the eminence on which the
old village stands. We are in the very thick of the memories of Job,
which linger more or less over all _Haurân_. On the southern shoulder
of the little hill stands a small white-domed building, covering
the spot, saith tradition, where Job sat during his afflictions.
This contains “Job’s Stone,” a large block which Dr. G. Schumacher
discovered to be an Egyptian monument, with a figure of Ramses II.
Some years later Prof. G. A. Smith found at _Tell-esh-Shehâb_ a stone
with the cartouch of Sety I., the father of Ramses II. These are the
only two Egyptian monuments yet known in _Haurân_. Immediately below
is the _Hammâm Eyyûb_, “the bath of Job,” where the man of patience is
said to have washed when he was finally healed. The waters are held
in high estimation by the country people as possessing marvellous
healing virtue. Sweeping round to the right, we pass through the modern
village, where a singular scene presents itself. Throughout all Syria
and Arabia, one often meets the _ʿabîd_--“slave,” as every negro is
called--but here only is a village community entirely black to be
seen. At the sudden apparition of black faces and limbs, one might
almost fancy himself transported to some strange hamlet in the _Sudân_.
For these are Sudanese, whose parents and grandparents were brought
hither, in the early days of the nineteenth century, by _Sheikh Saʿad_,
of pious memory; and as yet they have kept their lineage pure. The
change was a delightful one, from the sandy burning wastes of their
native land to this sweet vale, which, with its lines of olive, groves
of fruit trees, and musical ripple of cool water, must have seemed
almost a paradise to those who had known the thirsty desert. It was
inevitable that such a benefactor as their leader should be enshrined
in grateful memory. We are not surprised to find him canonised, and the
fruitfulness of the place ascribed to his saintly blessing. Thus, in
these latter days, has the patriarch found in the modern saint a rival
in popular regard; the dark man thinking little of Job and much of his
own _Sheikh Saʿad_, while the native _fellah_, overborne by the majesty
of hoary tradition, bows in reverence before the old-world saint,
esteeming the village sheikh a mere upstart. Chiefly round the banks of
the little stream are the rival honours canvassed; for this has been
regarded, from of old, as the gift of the patriarch of Uz, and now it
is attempted to reverse the verdict of the grey centuries in favour of
one who is revered only by a handful of immigrant _ʿabîd_ (“slaves”).
But who that knows the religious idiosyncrasies of the Arab will
venture to say how soon the modern sheikh may not find a place in the
Arab Valhalla? _Sheikh Saʿad’s_ grave lies to the west of the village.
The appearance of _el-Merkez_ is deceptive. Red tile roofs, rising
above the foliage of surrounding trees, are associated in our minds
with the comfort and cleanliness of the West. And verily, were the
hand of civilisation here, nothing is wanting in nature to make a
pleasant village; but, alas! here is only the mailed hand of the Turk,
which seems to crush while it protects, to ruin even while it builds.
A sharp canter along a soft green meadow brought us to the entrance of
a new street, partly paved. Young fruit trees were planted confusedly
around; and over to the left, on open ground, in front of their green
tents, a company of Turkish soldiers were engaged in drill. Much of the
village is new; but the building is poor, and the houses have already
assumed the dreary, untidy aspect common to the Arab village. _Deir
Eyyûb_, “the monastery of Job,” covers an extensive area, but is now
almost entirely ruinous. The Moslems claim the honour of its erection,
but it certainly existed centuries before the prophet of Arabia was
born. Part of the monastery is used as a barrack, and, close by the
gate, another part contains the post and telegraph office. To the west
is _Makâm Eyyûb_, where the reputed graves of Job and his wife are
shown. In the early centuries of our era, the Christian inhabitants
were wont here to celebrate an annual “Festival of Job.” The antiquity
of the tradition connecting the place with the patriarch’s name is
beyond all question. Dr. Schumacher found in the neighbourhood a place
called by the common people “the threshing-floor of Uz.” The towns
whence came Job’s comforters have been traced in the names of existing
hamlets or ruins; notably Tēmā, the home of Eliphaz, in the northern
end of _Jebel ed-Druze_, two days’, or perhaps only one long day’s,
journey eastward.
The Governor himself had gone on a tour of inspection through the
towns of Gilead; but his _wakîl_, or representative, treated us with
all courtesy, furnishing us with letters to the subordinate officers
in the province, and drinking coffee with us to seal our friendship.
We entered one of the least forbidding of the hovels in the bazaar,
seating ourselves on upturned measures or logs of firewood. After
negotiations with the host, there were set before us on the earthen
floor a pan with eggs fried in _samn_--clarified butter, universally
used in cooking--coffee in a pot remarkable for blackness, brown bread
not free from ashes, milk, and pressed curd, which passes for cheese.
During the progress of the repast, soldiers and natives came, in
turns, to view the strangers; probably also with the hope of sharing
the coffee. Wondrously acute is the Arab’s perception of the odour of
coffee, and swift are his feet in carrying him to it. Coffee-drinking,
and more especially tobacco-smoking, consume a large proportion of
the Arab’s time. What a vacant life theirs must have been before the
introduction of the fragrant weed! This latter now grows profusely all
over the country. The coffee-beans of _el-Yemen_ are esteemed superior
to all others.
Mounting again, we turned our faces eastward. Not far from _el-Merkez_
we found a copious cool spring, into which our horses dashed with
delighted eagerness. Then we galloped away over a beautiful country
of rounded hill and soft vale, cultivated plain, and slopes of sweet
pasture; anon our horses plunge to the saddle-girths in the stream
that sheds fertility over wide acres. Far before us spread the rolling
downs of _Haurân_, dotted all over with ruined towns and villages,
like dark rocks amid the verdant ocean, that swayed in the spring
breeze. Here and there were seen the Moslem _weleys_--little square
buildings with white domes, sacred as covering the last resting-places
of reputed saints. One of these we passed, perched on what must have
been in times past a strongly fortified hill. A stream washes the
foot of the mound, and on the opposite bank the music of a water-mill
greets the traveller’s ear. These _weleys_ or _makâms_--“places” of
the saints--witness to the marvellous continuity of religious thought
and association in Eastern lands; for there is no doubt that most of
these, situated as they are on high ground, are simply survivals of
the ancient “high places,” frequented by the inhabitants before the
dawn of history, against which in later times the prophets raised their
voices, taken over bodily by the religious system of Islâm. To these,
at certain seasons, pilgrimage may be made by the faithful for prayer,
in the belief that the spirit of the saint thus appealed to will by
intercession secure an answer. But with the growing disposition to
avoid all that savours of inconvenience, or that, lacking ostentation,
brings no immediate credit to the performer among his fellows, such
pilgrimages are now infrequent.
But the _makâms_ are not without use. In lawless, unsettled lands it
is well to have some spots where property may be safe. What is placed
under one of these domes even the most abandoned will hardly dare to
touch, so strong is the superstitious dread of kindling the saint’s
wrath, whose protection has been thus invoked. In each of these a grave
is found, with one marked exception. There are numerous _weleys_ in
the East, dedicated to _el-Khudr_--“the immortal wanderer,” variously
identified with St. George and the prophet Elijah. He is not dead,
therefore he has no tomb; these are only his resting-places in his
ceaseless wanderings to and fro upon the earth, destined once again to
appear, declare all mysteries, and right all wrongs. Strange, weird
tales are afloat of lights kindled by no mortal hand, appearing in
these lonely _weleys_ by night, and fading away with returning dawn.
Then it is known that the Lord Elijah has visited his shrine, and
passed forth again on his invisible circuit.
It is interesting to note the methods of measuring time adopted by
those to whom watches are still unknown. We asked the miller how far it
was to _Sheikh Meskîn_, or _Sh-Meskin_, as the natives call it. “You
will go there,” he said, “in the time it takes to smoke a cigarette.”
This is a common expression to denote a short time. It is like a flash
revealing the extent to which cigarette-smoking prevails among these
benighted peoples. Even in the remote wilds of _el-Lejâʾ_ we found the
little coloured boards with elastic bands in which the white cigarette
paper is secured, no other signs of civilisation being seen, save the
weapons carried. It is a sad reflection that these are the only heralds
of her approach our boasted civilisation sends before her into these
darker places of the earth.
_Sheikh Meskîn_ is a large village, with many ancient remains and
Greek inscriptions, situated on the western side of the _Hajj_ road.
Notwithstanding the cordial invitations of the inhabitants to stay with
them until the morrow, for “the day was far spent and night was at
hand,” we were constrained to press onward to _Zorʿa_, where we knew
our party must be awaiting our arrival, not without anxiety. Crossing
the _Hajj_ road, and wading deep pools in the bed of a winter stream
which passes the village, we struck again through the fields, nearly
due east, and over a beautifully rounded hill which seemed literally
groaning under the heaviest crop of wheat I had ever seen. From the
summit we saw across a narrow valley the border of _el-Lejâʾ_, within
which, in the fading light, we could distinguish the outlines of
_Zorʿa_. A low rocky hill, rising abruptly from the valley on the side
next _el-Lejâʾ_, is crowned by a little village. This we knew to be
_Dhuneibeh_, owned, with its lands, by a wealthy citizen of Damascus,
a Christian; occupied entirely by Christians--Greek, of course--who
cultivate the soil for him. Ere we reached the village the sun set,
and a moonless night closed around us. Here we were overtaken by a
soldier magnificently mounted and thoroughly armed. The kindly colonel
at _Sheikh Saʿad_, fearing that dangers might beset us in the darkness,
ordered the horseman to follow, and see us safely to our destination.
His fine horse, notwithstanding his rapid journey, showed not one
drop of perspiration; and for his wonderful instinct in keeping the
way in the dark we had soon reason to be thankful. Our road led over
the mound, past _Dhuneibeh_--a most difficult ascent, and no easier
descent, by reason of the unequal rocks, which we could no longer
see. This is a great danger in travel by night over volcanic country.
All is black under foot, and the path cannot be distinguished from
its surroundings. The hospitable sheikh would have us await the first
light of breaking morning; but finally, with many warnings to be on
our guard, he gave us a guide who should conduct us past the immediate
dangers of open ditch and cistern around the village. Even he lost the
way several times in this short distance.
When we emerged from the labyrinth, the soldier’s noble horse took
the lead. His feet once fairly in the road, he went swiftly forward,
and without a moment’s hesitation conducted us triumphantly to our
journey’s end. At times we were cheered by seeing a light swinging away
in the darkness, which we felt sure our friends had hung out to guide
us. Occasionally we lost sight of it behind intervening obstacles, and,
when seen again, owing to the windings of our path, it appeared to be
now on this side, now on that, and but for observing the position of
the stars we might have been perplexed. What a blessing these glorious
luminaries have been for ages to the desert wanderer! As one gazes
upward into the clear Syrian sky, beholding them in all their
splendour, he is forcibly reminded of Carlyle’s graphic sentences:
“Canopus shining down over the desert, with its blue diamond brightness
[that wild, blue, spirit-like brightness, far brighter than we ever
witness here], would pierce into the heart of the wild Ishmaelitish
man, whom it was guiding through the solitary waste there. To his
wild heart with all feelings in it, with no speech for any feeling,
it might seem a little eye, that Canopus, glancing out upon him from
the great, deep eternity, revealing the inner splendour to him.
Cannot we understand how these men worshipped Canopus,--became what
we call Sabeans, worshipping the stars?” But the difficult threading
of one’s path among basaltic rocks, with the howlings of wolf and
jackal around, varied with the higher treble of the hyena, are not
conditions favourable to such meditations. The district, moreover, has
an evil reputation for quieter but more dangerous foes. It was with
feelings of satisfaction that we found ourselves under the battlements
of the old city of _Zorʿa_. Messengers came with lanterns to meet us,
without which I know not how we should have avoided the pitfalls that
surrounded the last part of our way. With no little thankfulness the
whole company met again around the table in our tent, to recount and
hear the adventures of the day.
[Illustration: WILD ISHMAELITISH MEN]
Our friends had enjoyed a pleasant ride along the border of _el-Lejâʾ_;
nor had their day been quite without adventure. In crossing a stream of
some depth, one rider was treated to an involuntary bath--his horse
suddenly plunging down and rolling over. Happily no harm was done. It
is not easy in such circumstances to preserve dignity on the one part
and gravity on the other. Our friends, however, were quite equal to
the occasion, and what might have been an awkward incident was soon a
subject of pleasant jest to all concerned. But the occurrence indicates
a real danger, of which the traveller ought to be aware. Walking in the
great heat, with constant perspiration, if the saddle is not a good fit
and skilfully padded, the horse’s back is easily fretted and wounded.
Then the animal naturally seeks relief when a chance comes, by rolling
over and trying to remove the offending saddle. If the rider is in his
seat, it may go hard with him. In passing through water there is a
peculiar temptation to cool the injured spot by plunging down.
We awoke next morning to find ourselves fairly within the limits of
_el-Lejâʾ_. This is a tract of country famous from of old as a refuge
for fugitives from law or justice. And no better land could be desired
for this purpose. _El-Lejâʾ_ is equivalent to _meljâʾ_--the word most
commonly employed--and means a retreat or refuge. A more savage and
forbidding rocky wilderness it would be impossible to imagine. It
probably answers to Trachonitis of Josephus and the New Testament.
Some have sought in it also the “Argob” of the Old Testament; but
this identification is extremely precarious. Argob can hardly be
rendered “stony.” It seems rather to indicate rich arable soil, and
the district is now generally located to the south-east. “_Chebel
Argob_” is the invariable biblical phrase, and “_Chebel_” would here
be peculiarly appropriate. The word signifies primarily “a cord,” then
a measuring-line, then a district marked off as by a measuring-line,
like a tribal portion, the boundaries being well known. This vast
lava outbreak terminates abruptly all round in the fertile plains,
almost suggesting the idea of a gigantic cord, drawn right round,
marking it off distinctly from the surrounding country. It is admirably
adapted for defence, and its capacities in this respect have been
put to stern trial in many a hard-fought battle. The attacking force
is completely exposed to the defenders’ fire, the latter being as
entirely sheltered. Often has a handful of men held the place against
numbers which, in other circumstances, it would have been supreme
folly to oppose. Notably was this the case when the celebrated Ibrahîm
Pasha, the Egyptian, led his hitherto unconquered veterans to the
attack, and was ignominiously repulsed by an insignificant company
of Druzes. Within these adamantine walls, until quite recently, the
Government was impotent; nor can we say its power is yet great. The
suspected criminal, be he innocent or guilty, if he can only outstrip
his pursuers and cross that rugged coast, will find a surer retreat
than the Cities of Refuge ever afforded in ancient days. Among the
inhabitants he will receive an unquestioning welcome. There he may
dwell secure until a messenger of peace comes to call him again to home
and friends, or until the King of Terrors summons him away.
Before us lay the ruins of a great old-world city, with much to declare
its ancient splendour. _Zorʿa_ is held by many to be the city Edrei, in
the neighbourhood of which Og, king of Bashan, and his people met their
crushing defeat at the hands of Israel. While I am disposed to favour
its more southern rival, _Derʿat_, the claims of this city cannot be
lightly passed over. It has been a position of great strength, and,
lying on the border of the huge natural fortifications of _el-Lejâʾ_,
the country’s central citadel, it is not unnatural to suppose that
this spot may have been chosen for the last desperate struggle with
the victorious invaders. This city taken, foothold would be obtained
within the great fortification itself--a basis for further operations
against it. The defenders demoralised by this piece of singularly evil
fortune, it fell a prey to the enemy, as it is safe to say it never has
done since. The ruins of the city have often been described, in so far
as they can now be seen; but much lies buried many yards deep under
accumulations of debris. When the excavator shall have rescued ancient
structures from their dark tombs, much may be learned regarding the
city’s past, of which so little now is known.
The soldier who followed us the previous night would have gone with us
in any other direction, but one foot farther into _el-Lejâʾ_ he would
not move. We were told that his uniform would act, on Arab and Druze
alike, as a red rag acts on a bull. We had great difficulty in finding
a guide. Between the Druzes of the interior and the Christians around
there is naturally little affection; there is less love, if possible,
between the former and their Moslem neighbours. Blood feud’s are
common; and here the pursuit of the “avenger of blood” is no mere ruse,
as it often is elsewhere, to extract money or goods from the tribe or
village of the offender, but an earnest seeking for vengeance. Blood
for blood is the law; and if the actual manslayer cannot be found, any
one of his tribe or village may be taken. This explains the difficulty
travellers often have in finding suitable guides. Men do not care to be
seen far from their own homes and comrades. Our difficulty was finally
overcome, partly by the promise of handsome payment, partly by the
exercise of the sheikh’s authority on our behalf; and at last a sturdy
Arab, shouldering his club, stalked away over the rocks before us,
under bond to conduct us safely to the Druze village, _Damet el-ʿAliâ_.
CHAPTER III
A landscape of lava--Deserted cities--Caverns--Cultivation--A land of
ruins--The guide’s terror--_Damet el-ʿAliâ_--The sheikh’s welcome--A
state of siege--An ugly incident--Druze hospitality--Arab and Druze
in _el-Lejâʾ_--St. Paul in Arabia--The well of the priest--Story of
the priest.
FROM _Zorʿa_ our course lay north-east by east, and we hoped on the way
to pass more than one ruin which should tell of the ancient glory of
_el-Lejâʾ_. What a wild solitude it is! Far on every hand stretched a
veritable land of stone. The first hour or two of our march no living
thing was seen. Even the little ground-lark, which hitherto we had
seen everywhere, seemed now to have deserted us. Wherever we looked,
before us or behind, lay wide fields of volcanic rock, black and
repulsive, swirled and broken into the most fantastic shapes; with here
and there a deep circular depression, through which in the dim past
red destruction belched forth, now carefully walled round the lip to
prevent wandering sheep or goat from falling in by night. The general
impression conveyed was as if the dark waters of a great sea, lashed
to fury by a storm, had been suddenly petrified; as if the fierce
lineaments of the tempest, and all its horror, had been caught and
preserved forever in imperishable rock by the hand of a mighty sculptor.
At times we passed over vast sheets of lava, which, in cooling, had
cracked in nearly regular lines, and which, broken through in parts,
appeared to rest on a stratum of different character, like pieces of
cyclopean pavement. Curious rounded rocks were occasionally seen by the
wayside, like gigantic black soap-bubbles, blown up by the subterranean
steam and gases of the active volcanic age, often with the side broken
out, as if burst by escaping vapour; the mass, having cooled too far to
collapse, remained an enduring monument of the force that formed it.
Scanty vegetation peeped from the fissures in the rocks, or preserved
a precarious existence in the scanty soil, sometimes seen in a hollow
between opposing slopes. In a dreary, waterless land, where the
cloudless sun, beating down on fiery stones, creates heat like that
of an oven, it were indeed a wonder if anything less hardy than the
ubiquitous thistle could long hold up its head.
We passed several deserted cities, built of the unvarying black stone,
and surrounded by strong walls. Many of the houses are still perfect,
and seem only waiting the return of their inhabitants. In one of these
towns we found a church. It may be about fifty feet in length by
about thirty feet in breadth, and is built in two stories, the roof
of the first being composed of lava slabs, many of which are still in
position. A Greek inscription containing the name of Julios Maximos
probably fixes its date about the time of Philip the Arabian. These
walled towns were doubtless places of considerable strength in ancient
days, and their stone gates may once have been secured by bolts and
bars of brass. But, in the largest of them, not more than about four
thousand inhabitants could ever have been comfortably housed. If this
is remembered, it may aid towards correct impressions of the “cities”
taken by the Israelites, and of the exploits of the warrior Jair.
There is not a stream or a perennial spring in all _el-Lejâʾ_. The
water supply of its ancient and even of its present sparse population
has therefore long been a subject of wonder. Near one of these towns
by the wayside, we saw what probably suggests the solution of the
mystery. This was a large natural cave, the roof partly broken through,
and underneath a deep hollow in the rock, now brimming over with water
from the winter’s rains. It would have been next to impossible to
pierce that hard rock with cisterns numerous and large enough to afford
refreshment and water for other necessary purposes to man and beast.
The work was not required. Nature had provided liberally herself.
This cave may be taken as a type of the natural reservoirs in which
this formation abounds. Josephus tells of the caves in Trachonitis,
inhabited by robber bands and wild outlaws, whose inaccessible retreats
secured immunity from punishment. No modern traveller has seen these;
but this is not strange, for the few who have ventured within the
borders of _el-Lejâʾ_ have not been too curious in examining the
wilder and more remote parts. The natives, however, know them well, and
would resort thither in times of stress or danger. Indeed, some say
that under the rough surface rocks it is nearly all hollow; so that one
acquainted with the labyrinth could go from one end to the other of
_el-Lejâʾ_ and never once show his head above-ground. From all this it
is evident there is no lack of accommodation for storage of water; and,
considering the quantity of rain which falls in its season, it would be
a long drought indeed which would exhaust the supplies.
[Illustration: PEASANT PLOUGHMAN
(Photo. The Photochrome Co. Ld.)]
From this point onward the little openings among the rocks grow larger
and occur more frequently. Our little friend, the lark, appears again;
and the voice of the partridge and the whir of his wings, to right
and left, relieve the dull monotony. When the traveller has fairly
penetrated the rough barriers that surround _el-Lejâʾ_, he finds not a
little pleasant land within--fertile soil which, if only freed a little
more from overlying stones, might support a moderate population. In
ancient times it was partly cleared, and the work of these old-world
agriculturists remains in gigantic banks of stones carefully built
along the edges of the patches they cultivated. The hands that laid
these courses have been cold for ages; the lichens have crept slowly
over all, adorning the home of multitudinous snakes and lizards, now
long held by its reptile tenants in undisturbed possession. These wise
old husbandmen have had no worthy successors. The neighbouring rocks
that echoed to the sower’s eager tread and the reaper’s merry song lie
under brooding age-long silence, broken only by the voice of the wild
game, the cry of the solitary shepherd, or the bleat of the browsing
herds. But here, as so often, generous Nature comes with a fold of
her loveliest garment to hide the neglect of men. These patches were
everywhere blushing with fair anemones and great ranunculi, which,
seen in the distance, often appeared like a soft crimson haze, showing
beautifully against the black of surrounding lava. The cyclamen,
already past on the other side of Jordan, still clung to the clefts in
the rocks; and the most delicate little irises were blooming in the
interspaces, as if to soften with their sweet beauty the harsher aspect
of the savage wilderness.
From every higher eminence we could trace, near and far away, the
outlines of numerous ancient towns and villages. Nearly all are utterly
deserted and desolate, haunts of wild beasts and birds of night.
Here, and in other parts, we were deeply impressed with the fact that
we were travelling through a land of ruins. How eloquent are these
solitudes with lessons of warning for the great world of to-day! It
would have been as difficult for the dwellers in these towns, and in
the magnificent cities of the neighbouring country, to conceive of
the “stranger” one day coming from “a far land” to walk through their
desolate homes, and over the wreck of their architectural splendours,
as it would be for the legislators who sit in Westminster to realise
Macaulay’s famous vision of the New-Zealander sitting on the ruins of
London Bridge, musing, like the noble Roman amid the ruins of Carthage,
on the desolation around. But what has happened once may happen on
a much grander scale again; for is it not the doing of the Almighty
Himself, before whom all earthly splendour is but as the passing
reflection of His own sun’s light on the broken surface of the water?
It is but the fulfilment of the wrath denounced by the prophet upon the
rebellious and disobedient: “In all your dwelling-places the cities
shall be laid waste, and the high places shall be desolate; that ...
your works may be blotted out.”
Coming nearer the centre of _el-Lejâʾ_, fresh signs of the husbandman’s
presence were seen. Fields of waving wheat and barley alternated with
rough knolls, dotted with furze and thorn, while scattered oaks and
terebinths lent variety to the scene. Once, not long ago, large tracts
were covered by a forest of terebinth; this has now almost entirely
disappeared, the natives finding a ready market for the timber beyond
their rocky confines, and the branches serving well for charcoal. This
depletion of the forest is greatly to be deplored in a land where trees
are such a blessing.
Some distance to the right, on lower ground, lay a town of the usual
type, somewhat larger than those we had seen, with a tall square tower
rising from the centre. The guide called it _Lubbain_. Directly in
front, crowning a slight eminence, was _Damet el-ʿAliâ_, where we hoped
to spend the night, protected by the hospitable and friendly Druzes.
We doubted not of our welcome, and our faith was justified right
handsomely by the event.
Another incident, however, was necessary to bring our experience into
line with that of other travellers in these parts.
When we came within sight of _Dama_--so “_Damet el-ʿAliâ_” is
contracted--crowning a little eminence in front, our guide slowed his
pace, hesitated, and finally halted. “There,” he said, “is _Dama_;
you can now reach it alone; I must return”; and nothing could induce
him to move one step nearer the village. We would have had him see us
safely there in fulfilment of his contract. But fear was written on
every line of his face, so we were fain at last to give him his money
and let him go. At once his countenance brightened, his frame became
all energy and sprightly motion. In about three minutes he was out of
sight. A horseman, fully armed and well mounted, swept down from the
gate of the town, and, halting at some little distance, surveyed our
party. His soldierly eye was soon satisfied that we were bound on no
military exploit, and he came forward frankly to bid us welcome. For
the entertainment of his guests he careered around, affording a fine
exhibition of horsemanship. He proved to be the son of the sheikhly
ruler of _Dama_; so we were already under the protecting influence
of the Druze inhabitants--the sheikh’s guests being the guests of
all, among the dwellings of all his people. Stalwart, white-turbaned
Druze warriors came down from the roofs, whence they had watched our
approach, to second the welcome of their chief’s soil, and accompany
us to the sheikh’s house. Thus we entered _Dama_, which early in the
nineteenth century was the reputed capital of _el-Lejâʾ_. It is still
the chief of inhabited towns not situated on the borders, but now the
proud title of capital would be a misnomer. It is the most central of
all towns in _el-Lejâʾ_. From its high position it commands a wide
view, extending almost to the borders in every direction--a prospect
not the less interesting because seen so seldom by European eyes.
Enterprising travellers, one or two, may have been here in past years;
but probably now for the first time ladies from the civilised West
penetrated thus far into this famous but forbidding land.
The sheikh advancing, offered the heartiest of welcomes. He bade his
subordinates attend to our horses, and with great dignity led the
way under his hospitable roof. His house was most substantial, built
of large basaltic blocks, well fitted, without mortar. The roof was
composed of great slabs of the same material, covered with earth. The
floor was earthen, with a hollow in the centre where blazed a great
wood fire. What of the smoke passed our throats and eyes escaped by the
door and a small opening in the opposite wall. A rude wooden door took
the place of the ancient slab of stone, which might be seen forming
part of the pavement in front.
We found a _baitâr_, or farrier, deftly plying his hammer at the
sheikh’s threshold, making the nails which should hold the shoes of
the village horses in place until another wanderer should come to make
a new supply. These men, and occasionally the makers of the red shoes
and flimsy long boots worn by the Arab, are often met in the remotest
parts, making long journeys even into the unkindly desert, in search of
livelihood for wife and little ones, left far behind in the shelter of
their native towns.
Ushered into his dwelling, we sat upon straw mats spread on the floor,
and leaned against straw-stuffed cushions arranged along the walls.
Delicious buttermilk was brought to refresh us; also cool water to
drink, and to wash withal. The good sheikh and his sons sat down on
the floor, and busied themselves preparing coffee for their guests.
This beverage is universally offered to the visitor on his arrival;
but, while in western towns it is made by domestics, its preparation
is an accomplishment held in high esteem among the sheikhly families
of Druze and Arab. Those who are liberal with their coffee are called
“coffee sheikhs”--a name held in honour, and much coveted by men of
high spirit and generosity. A handful of coffee-beans was put into
a large iron ladle, which, resting on a small tripod, was held over
the fire. The beans were stirred with a strip of iron, attached by a
light chain to the ladle handle. When roasted to a rich brown colour,
they were put into a large wooden mortar, brass-bound, and pounded
with a hard-wood pestle, which resembled the heavy turned foot of an
arm-chair. With marvellous precision the youth who wielded the pestle
raised it over his shoulder and struck fairly into the centre of the
mortar. No little training and skill are necessary to beat such music
from dull instruments as he produced with pestle and mortar, the
pleasing cadences varying with the different stages of the process. The
music of the pestle is esteemed as great an accomplishment as that of
guitar or violin among ourselves. The fine brown powder was ready for
the pot; a flavouring berry of cardamom was added, as a distinguished
mark of honour; hot water poured on, it was left for a little to simmer
by the fire. The first cup was thrown upon the fire as a libation
to the tutelary spirit of the house--an interesting survival of old
superstitious rites. A second cup was drunk by the sheikh himself,
as an assurance to his guests that they might drink in safety--an
assurance not wholly unnecessary in a country where men not seldom die
from the effects of “a cup of coffee” adroitly manipulated. Then with
his two little cups--about the size of china egg-cups, and without
handles--he distributed the strong-tasting dark liquid to each in turn,
repeating this a second and a third time as a mark of distinguished
honour.
Meantime we were able to observe the general appearance of our host and
his friends. The sheikh was rather over middle age, of average stature.
His frame was well knit and athletic. The sandy whiskers, pointed
beard, and light moustache left visible the firm, finely-chiselled
lines of a face that had something royal in it. He wore the common red
slippers; a yellow striped _ghumbaz_, that reached to the ankles,
gathered at the waist with a leathern girdle; over his shoulders was
thrown an _ʿabâʾ_ or cloak of goat’s hair, of the characteristic Druze
pattern, striped alternately black and white. His red _tarbush_ was
surrounded by a thick turban of spotless white. He bore himself with an
air of quiet dignity. Of a taciturn habit, he spoke but little. When he
did speak his word secured instant attention and obedience. In such a
position, constantly calling for wisdom, self-reliance, self-control,
swift decision, and energetic action, with any basis of real character,
a truly noble type of simple manhood is easily developed.
In the matter of dress, his followers resembled their chief. Every man
of them, from the sheikh downwards, was a sort of walking armoury.
They literally bristled with lethal weapons. Rifle and sword might be
laid aside on entering the house, but the girdle contained pistols
and daggers enough to make each man formidable still. The town is an
outpost of the Druzes, taken by the strong hand, and maintained against
the Arabs only by constant watchfulness and readiness to fight. This
explained the careful scouting of us on our approach. For ourselves,
however, we had nothing to fear. Since the fateful year in the history
of Mount Lebanon, 1860, when the Druzes in their extremity were
befriended by the British, every man who speaks English is sure of a
cordial welcome among this people.
The Druzes well sustain the ancient tradition of hospitality in these
parts. Our host invited the whole party to supper. We were many, and
hesitated to accept, lest it might seem imposing on his generosity. He
silenced all objections by an intimation that supper was already in
course of preparation; and with great thoughtfulness he ordered it to
be served in our tents, judging that this would be more comfortable for
us. These were pitched in the enclosed threshing-floor, in a hollow
north of the village, sheltered from the night winds, which here blow
cold, and overlooked by the sheikh’s house.
We had soon further evidence that these men did not carry instruments
of death for mere ornament. Two villagers accompanied some of us who
went to shoot partridges. We were strictly warned to be home by sunset,
but we were yet far off when the shadows began to thicken. Passing over
a little hill in the dim twilight, we saw a solitary figure gliding
swiftly along the bottom of the valley below. Our two companions
unslung their rifles, and, with far-echoing alarum, dashed down the
hill in full career upon the stranger. There was no mistaking their
purpose. We stood with strange forebodings of evil to follow which we
were powerless to prevent. The dark figure halted on hearing the shouts
of his pursuers, turned, and approached them. To our infinite relief,
they parted peacefully. Our guards, returning, said he belonged to a
friendly tribe. Asked what would have happened had it been otherwise,
they replied at once, “He should have died as a spy.”
Returning with the fall of night, we found the table spread, and
tray after tray of steaming viands was laid out until it literally
groaned--for a tent table, ours was strong--under the load. First a
lamb roasted whole, then a kid stewed whole in _leban_, then a great
tray of rice cooked with _samn_ (clarified butter) as the Arabs
know how, each grain whole and separate. A number of smaller dishes
completed the repast, such as stuffed cucumber, _kibbeh_ (a preparation
resembling white or oatmeal puddings), _leban_ (the ordinary thickened
milk of the country), and bread in abundance. A light of pleasure
gleamed in the kindly eye of the sheikh as he saw the ample justice
done to his supper by the hungry travellers, whom he encouraged, by
every means in his power, to eat and spare not. Loath was he to see
anything remain uneaten.
Supper over, the sheikh and his followers set themselves for general
conversation. It was particularly noteworthy that no question was asked
and no subject started which might have disturbed the equanimity of
the guests. It was inevitable that with such warlike spirits martial
subjects should be discussed. We were interested in the sheikh’s
narration of some of the recent history of _el-Lejâʾ_. The Druzes and
the main Arab tribes in _el-Lejâʾ_ are hereditary foes. The memory of
suffering and loss incurred in old strifes rankles in their bosoms,
ever urging them to seek revenge. There is chronic blood feud between
them. Some time ago the Druzes held only positions near the south-east
borders, but, waxing bolder, they advanced and took _Dama_, then a town
utterly deserted. The position being strong, and the neighbouring land
fruitful, they thought it worth defending. The Arabs, unwilling to lose
so valuable a prize, assembled in force, and, coming down upon the
isolated occupants of _Dama_, were, after a tough fight, victorious.
But the Druzes, while they retired, did not relinquish their claim.
Securing themselves in the fastnesses in the south-east, they sent
messengers through _Jebel ed-Druze_ to rouse their friends, as the
Scottish Highlands were roused of old by the fiery cross. These doughty
warriors, as much at home in the turmoil of battle as in the peaceful
work of field or vineyard, rushed forward in wild joy to redress
their brothers’ wrongs. Before the chosen men of the Druze nation the
Arab irregulars could make no serious stand. They were defeated and
driven away into the inhospitable, stony land to the north-west. In
the morning light, straining our eyes in that direction, we thought
we could dimly descry their black tents among the hardly less black
surroundings. And since that time they have never mustered courage to
renew the attack. They might, by a supreme effort, dislodge again the
little colony in _Dama_; but they know the terrible vengeance that
would be taken by the bold mountain men.
The conversation was intensely interesting, as, indeed, was the whole
situation. These calm, dignified men before us, discoursing on the
various chances of war in which they had themselves borne a part, and
into which they might soon be plunged again; a head here and there,
enveloped in a cloud of smoke from pipe or cigarette; sparkling eyes,
glittering in eager faces that grew gradually darker as the lines
receded into the night, leaving strange memories behind, when at last
the sheikh and his followers went forth and vanished in the darkness.
Only the houses in the north-east of _Dama_ are occupied. The most
interesting structure in the town is an old church with Greek
inscriptions, in the south-west quarter. Probably it corresponds in
date with that we saw on the way. Such buildings are of frequent
occurrence. The presence of so many remains of Christian antiquity
over all these parts suggests reflections as to the extent to which
Christianity had laid hold on the then inhabitants, in the beginning
of its world-conquering career. The land enjoyed a second day of grace
before the final outpouring of wrath and fulfilment of prophetic doom;
and for a time it seems to have been roused to improve its privileges.
By what agency was the evangel brought hither? Perhaps we may never
fully know. But the Romans proudly styled these regions the province of
Arabia; and through this the converted persecutor Saul at least passed,
if he did not spend his three years’ sojourn here ere going up, in
his new capacity as apostle, to Jerusalem. The reasons for believing
that the desert of the exodus was the scene of his retirement are not
convincing. It harmonises ill with our ideas of the tireless energy
of the apostle, who had just consecrated all his fiery devotion to
his Lord, and in the first flush of his new-born zeal had proclaimed
the truth to his countrymen in Damascus, to picture him haunting the
solitudes, where no ear could hear and no heart respond to the wonder
of new-found love and joy which he was panting to express. May not
these early years of discipleship have been bright years of missionary
activity, more immediately successful than those covered by the record
of the beloved physician? And, although their history has long been
lost amid the darkness of ages, it is pleasant to think that, when the
books are opened on high, the fresh light may reveal another brilliant
in the glorious crown of the apostle, to be cast down at the Saviour’s
feet.
One took a jar and went to fetch water for us to drink. Wishing us
to have the best and coolest, the sheikh called after him, “Bring it
from the well of the priest.” The name struck me as curious at the
moment, but, knowing how persistently ancient names cling to particular
spots, and not thinking it at all likely that a “priest” should be
found in a Druze village, I thought no more of the matter. Afterwards,
however, I heard a story of disinterested self-sacrifice for the
sake of Christ which, told of a Syrian, was peculiarly refreshing
to a missionary’s ear; and, quite unexpectedly, the sheikh’s words
afforded valuable confirmation of its truth. The average Syrian
character is the despair of the missionary. Those calling themselves
Christians are most disappointing. What time one hopes to see a spirit
of self-forgetfulness developing, and a disposition to give the best
of life and ability to Christ’s service, among the strangely varied
peoples of Syria, he will probably be surprised by a request for
some personal favour or advancement. There are noble exceptions,
of course, and I have known some, acquaintance with whom forms a
permanent enrichment of life. It is well to remember, too, that the
conditions in Syria are peculiar. Cut up as the population is into so
many little communities, it is the very home of religious fanaticism.
The mutual repulsions existing among these sections are terribly
strong, each believing itself to be the true and only conservator of
God’s truth, and all others, in slightly varying degrees of blackness,
simply children of the devil. In such surroundings the feeling grows
slowly that those who possess the light are debtors to all who sit
in darkness. They must be patiently dealt with; and the story of the
priest is a help to patience, as showing of what self-devotion the
Syrian character is really capable.
I received the story in fragmentary form, but so much is clear: A
young priest of the Greek Church, a native of Mount Lebanon--the
district which has contributed most of the native Christian workers in
the country--had laid on his heart the necessities of the great dark
land east of Jordan, and, in a spirit of true Christian heroism, he
resolved to go forth, single-handed, to the work of evangelisation.
He left the comparative comforts of his mountain home for the rude
life of these wild regions, with no protection but that of his divine
Master, counting the salvation of Moslem and Druze equally precious
with that of his own people. He made his way into _el-Lejâʾ_, staying
in villages where he could find a home for a little, and, when his
position grew dangerous, passing on to others, carrying some little of
the light of civilisation, as well as the evangel. Thus, arriving at
_Dama_, he took possession of an empty house, put wooden frames with
glass in the windows, swung a wooden door on hinges in the doorway, and
arranged his scanty furniture within. The village lacked good water,
so he had an old well cleaned out and repaired, and soon it was filled
with wholesome rain-water. For about a year he went out and in among
the warlike inhabitants, seeking to teach them the way of the Prince of
Peace. A belief got abroad that he had found treasure among the ruins,
and had it concealed in the house. A conspiracy was formed to kill and
plunder him. He got news of the fact, and, seeing that his life was no
longer safe, he was fain to move to another village, leaving a well of
clear, cold water to preserve his memory, and, let us hope, also in
some hearts a light that will lead to the Fountain of living waters.
Exactly where he is now, I do not know, but some years later he was
still in the district. “Persecuted in one city, he flees unto another.”
[Illustration: WELL IN THE DESERT
(Photo. The Photochrome Co. Ld.)]
CHAPTER IV
Hidden treasure--The Bedawy’s treasure-trove--The sheikh’s
farewell--A savage tract--_Jebel ed-Druze_--_Umm ez-Zeytûn_--_Tell
Shihân_--_Shuhba_--An ancient house--A stingy entertainer--The
ruins--Pharaoh’s “grain-heaps”--The house of _Shehâb_.
THE lust for treasure, which almost proved fatal to the priest,
is common among all these semi-barbarous people. They are firmly
persuaded that among the black ruins everywhere great hoards lie
buried. Inscriptions, they think, contain directions how the precious
stores are to be found, if they could only be read. But unfortunately
they are in some mysterious speech which only the _Franj_--civilised
foreigners--are supposed to understand. Interest in old ruins, in
architectural remains, in anything that may shed light on former days,
they regard as mere subterfuge. Many travellers have been struck with
their unwillingness to show the whereabouts of inscriptions. They have
a kind of dim hope that one day they may stumble upon the treasure
themselves. Sometimes, however, they become confidential, and offer,
for a consideration, say, half of what is found, to show the traveller
all they know. They tell many stories, with full circumstantial
details, of discoveries of such heaps of gold. The noble metal is
usually found by means of magical incantations, and every stranger is
suspected of being the happy master of some such charm. At other times
a mysterious conjunction of natural circumstances guides the lucky man
to fortune.
One day, riding from _Derʿat_ to Gadara, a Bedawy entertained me with
such a tale. Between these two towns runs the famous old aqueduct
called by the natives _Qanâtîr Firʿaun_--“the arches of Pharaoh.” A
sheikh known to the Bedawy was wont, when a poor boy, to drive the
cattle of which he had charge in the direction of a valley crossed by
the aqueduct. On several evenings some of his cattle were missing, but
in the morning they turned up again. Being sure they had disappeared
about the end of the aqueduct, he seated himself early one morning
on the building at a point commanding the valley, to see if possible
whence his truant cattle should come. Quite near him soon a cow’s nose
appeared, followed by a pair of horns, rising, it seemed, from the
earth. Rushing thither, he found the mouth of a large cave, hidden by
the rough growth of grass and low shrubs. One after another the strayed
members of his herd came forth. Then he entered, and almost swooned
with amazement at the sight within. Great wealth of yellow gold lay
heaped up in a hollow of the rock. He carefully marked the spot and
nursed his secret all day. On returning home at evening, he secretly
informed his father. They came with a horse, under the cloud of night,
and carried off the _hurj_ (saddle-bags) full. Avoiding ostentation to
escape the suspicion of wealth, they bought by slow degrees large herds
of cattle and fine horses, until they ranked among the richest Arab
families. It was believed that the store was not exhausted, but after
that first visit all trace of the cave was lost. My informant had seen
about the place, but could not find the exact spot. He was not without
hope, however, that he might yet get his hands upon that gold. With how
many Arabs it is so. They cherish a vague expectation that one day,
without industry or thrift, they may find themselves suddenly rich.
With their inborn hatred of toil, this idea runs through all their wild
improvident life.
Difficult as it would be for a stranger to find his way without a guide
anywhere in _el-Lejâʾ_, it would be next to impossible in the district
through which we had to pass on leaving _Dama_. Our host therefore told
off one of his retainers, who, armed to the teeth like all his fellows,
rode before us. The good sheikh strictly refused all recompense for his
kindness; but he asked, and we cheerfully gave, a note making known to
all who might read, what hospitable treatment we had received at his
hands. No doubt he hoped that in days of stress this might commend him
to the favour of our people. He had planted the tree, but, alas, was
not destined to see the fruit.
_Shuhba_, where we hoped to sleep that night, lies beyond the
south-eastern border of _el-Lejâʾ_, on a spur of _Jebel ed-Druze_.
We rode over a great breadth of _waʿr_--a dry, rocky region, with
hardly a green thing to be seen. Then we entered a more open country,
with flocks of sheep and goats in search of pasture, following their
scantily-clad shepherds. This was soon passed. The path before us
darkened again, and we found ourselves in the midst of the most
forbidding tract of country we had yet seen. Scorched and blackened by
the elemental fires, the volcanic rocks towered high in great irregular
masses, or stretched out in stone-strewn levels, rent and torn in every
direction into wide chasms, whose horrid, jagged lips seemed yawning to
devour us; while black mounds rose here and there, like the remains of
long-extinguished huge bonfires. Over wide areas not one blade of grass
was seen. This was the scene of Ibrahîm Pasha’s signal defeat. It is
a natural fortress, which a few resolute spirits might easily defend.
Indeed, until one has seen this part, he cannot realise how fully the
district justifies its name, _el-Lejâʾ_--“the refuge” or “retreat.”
Soon after our visit the Druzes had an opportunity of profiting once
again by the impracticable character of the land. How their impetuous
spirit and wild bravery robbed them of the advantage we shall see in
the sequel. One of the first to fall, pierced in the forehead by a
rifle bullet, was our generous entertainer of _Damet el-ʿAliâ_.
The last belt of dark rock safely passed, we came upon flower-strewn
patches resembling those whose brilliant beauty had charmed us on the
other side of _Dama_. Riding on under an oppressive sun, with a wide
prospect over _Haurân_ to the south, beyond the southern coast of
_el-Lejâʾ_, and a striking view of _Jebel ed-Druze_ in its full length
before us, we reached a rocky height overlooking a gently sloping
valley, in the bottom of which we were rejoiced to see the inviting
gleam of water. Crossing the stream, we left _el-Lejâʾ_ behind us, and
rode south-eastward over low-rolling downs of rich soil towards the
base of the mountains. The little village _Umm ez-Zeytûn_ stood on an
eminence to the right. “Mother of Olives” the name means, but none of
her daughters are now visible. A flying visit was paid to the village.
The modern houses, or hovels, are built upon the site of an ancient
city, large and beautifully cut stones from the old ruins contrasting
almost grotesquely with the miserable structures they have been
employed to rear. The Druze inhabitants we found most courteous and
obliging; they answered all questions, and volunteered information as
to the best and shortest roads, apparently out of sheer goodwill.
Burckhardt’s experience on his second visit here was very different.
The thought of treasure had inflamed the people’s minds. When first
there, he copied some inscriptions; ere his return, it was noised
abroad that he had carried off great treasure from _Shuhba_, and,
being unable to take all at once, was coming back for the remainder.
His escape from their hands he attributed to threats as to what would
happen should he be injured, and to the free use of oaths. The latter
was probably more effective than the former, since, inveterate
swearers as all are, there are few who would not be daunted by the
earnest cursings of an injured man. Of the character and strength of
the language then employed some idea may be gathered from such a Psalm
as the hundred and ninth, the very reading of which makes one’s blood
run cold: what must it be to have such curses hurled at one, red-hot
from the flaming heart of a man in wrathful earnest!
Rejoining our companions, we approached the base of a beautifully
formed pyramidical hill, _Tell Shihân_, which rises abruptly from the
plain to a height of some six or seven hundred feet. The gracefully
rounded outline is interrupted near the top, where there is a slight
flattening towards _el-Lejâʾ_. Doubtless from this crater, in the
active volcanic age, the glowing streams flowed westward, to cool into
the stern tracts we had seen. The road resembled those often seen
at home, made of the refuse from smithy fires, the brittle cinders
having withstood exposure to all weathers for millenniums, crunching
cheerfully beneath the horses’ feet. The hill was green to the very
crest. Here for the first time we found by the wayside a species of
iris, from which in our further journeyings we derived no little
pleasure. It is a glorious flower, fully two inches in diameter, the
lovely velvety petals shading off from a dark blue to a delicate
purple. Some were rather lighter in colour. However long the journey,
we never thought the time ill spent in pausing to look at these
wonderful blooms, spreading in the solitudes with the sweet tendance
only of sun and shower, like a veritable “smile of God.”
_Tell Shihân_ fairly rounded, the horses’ feet plashed again in running
water; to the left a little waterfall, white and flashing in the
light, made music in the still air, and just below it stood one of the
mills that haunt the waterfalls like shadows. From this point the path
to _Shuhba_ winds up a steep hillside, among great lava blocks, the
surroundings for a time almost vying in blackness and wildness with the
western parts of _el-Lejâʾ_. The ascent we accomplished under a heavy
thunder-shower, which so thoroughly soaked everything that we were
driven to seek more comfortable quarters than would have been found in
damp tents pitched on muddy ground.
Very imposing are the walls which still in great part surround the old
city; more imposing still is the ancient gateway, by which we entered
from the north, although it is now partially blocked with ruins.
Immediately within the gate, the iron-shod hoofs clanked merrily on
an excellently preserved pavement. This is the great street running
from north to south, dividing the city, and the pavement appears to
be entire. I do not think a better example of this kind of Roman
workmanship is anywhere to be seen. On either hand were the dreary
blackened ruins with which we were now so familiar, while before us we
could see the forms of tall columns rising into the twilight sky. We
saw no trace of inhabitants until we reached the south-western quarter,
which alone is occupied.
[Illustration: SHUHBA, BATHS AND ROMAN PAVEMENT]
Our guide took us straight to the house of the sheikh, who advanced to
meet us with profuse expressions of welcome. Dismounting in the street,
we followed him at his invitation. With difficulty we made our way
dry-shod over a huge pool of rain-water which had collected in front
of the arched doorway, through which we entered a wide courtyard. To
the left stood a rickety erection, in the construction of which some
of the finest materials from the old buildings had been employed. A
broad stairway of large lava blocks led up to it. A roof of branches
and brushwood rested upon gracefully hewn marble pillars, which were
tied together at the top by a rude architrave. These in turn were
supported upon beautiful capitals, turned upside down, and on carved
blocks of stone. The back wall was of the usual mud-built character,
and the pavement was rough in the extreme. A _diwân_ round three sides
doubtless provided sitting accommodation for the sheikh and his friends
in fine weather. Nothing could better mark the low level of the present
inhabitants than their pride in such a bit of ill-fitting, incongruous
patchwork as this, in proximity to the magnificent remains of a past
civilisation.
A strange, rambling old house it was into which we entered by a narrow
winding passage from the left corner of the courtyard. First we found
ourselves in a series of great gloomy apartments communicating with
each other in a line east and west; then, turning to the right, we
scrambled through a doorway, the broken threshold of which was some
feet above the level of the floor; and, pushing forward, we entered a
second courtyard, much smaller than the first, with rooms all round, on
one side two stories high. Some remains of ancient ornamentation were
still visible on the walls, and the pavement of the yard was evidently
from of old. Here were our quarters for the night, the gentlemen having
two little rooms, one of which served as dining-room, on one side, and
the ladies a larger room on the other. The stair leading up to the
gentlemen’s apartments had been failing for centuries, and now was nigh
unto falling; but, observing great caution, we all escaped without
accident.
Our host for this night formed a contrast in every respect to the
dignified and magnanimous chief of _Damet el-ʿAliâ_. A short, thick-set
man, with stubbly white beard, very red nose, and puffy cheeks, he
bustled about with the air of a man who does a very great favour
indeed. With evident pride he displayed his rooms, and fished for
compliments, suggesting that they were beautiful and clean, _mithl
lokanda_--“like a hotel.” Ideas of cleanliness differ, but we avoided
controversy by gently turning the conversation to the subject of our
entertainment This we were allowed to provide for ourselves, even to
the coffee, of which he seemed glad to drink a share. He was one of
the less noble sort; and, his people taking their cue doubtless from
their chief, our servants found it difficult to secure all necessaries
at reasonable prices. But as the night closed darkly around us, and
the mountains were alternately lit up by sheets of blinding lightning
and filled with loud rolling thunder, while the rain fell in torrents,
and the wind whistled eerily among the ruins, we were thankful, even
with all its drawbacks, to be under such substantial shelter. If, for
reasons which need not be specified, we slept but little, we could
all the more realise our good fortune, in that, on these high, open
uplands, we were not exposed to the full fury of the tempest.
The morning broke clear and beautiful, and we were out betimes to make
a rapid survey of the old remains. A few paces north of the chief’s
house we struck the main street running east and west. It seems just
possible, from the remains of bases here and there, that this may once
have been a pillared street like that at _Jerash_, so striking even
in its desolation; or that at Gadara, where the columns lie prone and
broken along the whole length. Following this street eastward, it sinks
rapidly, and passes under a long archway, which might almost be called
a tunnel, strongly built of dressed basalt. This doubtless formed the
substruction of some important public building. A blacksmith has his
workshop in one of the deep cellars in the side of the archway, and
his blazing fire sends cheerful gleams through the gloom. Beyond this
archway eastward lie all the ruins possessing special interest for
the visitor. To the south of the road stands the great amphitheatre.
Carefully built of massive stones, the walls and tiers of seats are
still almost entire. It is the best preserved of all such structures
to be seen east of the Jordan, and it appears to have been one of the
largest. Several poor Druze families were in possession of the lower
parts of the building when we visited it, and very comfortable houses
they made--superior certainly to any of the modern erections around.
We visited in succession a great sunk octagonal building, as to the
use of which we could make no satisfactory guess; the ruins of several
temples, one of which must have been of no ordinary splendour; and the
remains of the _tetrapylon_ which once graced the crossing of the two
main streets. Now only three of the original four massive bases are to
be seen, and the arches have entirely disappeared. We scrambled over
rickety walls and scattered stones, and crawled into noisome crypts
in search of sculpture and inscription. We saw enough to persuade us
that a rich harvest may be gathered here by the patient explorer. Of
the ancient baths which stood in the south-eastern quarter not far
from this crossing, very large portions are still in a good state of
preservation, and form, perhaps, the most interesting part of all the
ruins.
The material employed in their construction, like that of all the
buildings in the city, is basalt, and in parts the appearance is very
fine; but no adequate idea of their original splendour can now be
formed. The rows of gaping holes in the walls tell of the lining of
marble with which they were once adorned. The destruction of this was
doubtless dictated by the desire to possess the iron fastenings by
which the marble slabs were held in position, and the lead by which
these were fixed into the walls--a temptation which the cupidity of the
Arabs would make it extremely difficult for them to resist The water
channels are skilfully built into the walls, and from the points at
which they project we may guess where the baths were placed; but the
floors are now entirely heaped over with ruins. The walls are still
over thirty feet in height, and of great strength. Most interesting
of all, in connection with the baths, is the old aqueduct, by which
the water was conducted across the low valley to the eastward from the
hills beyond. Several of the substantial arches are still standing,
and the line can be traced away towards the eastern uplands. Eleven or
twelve miles was the water brought to minister to the comfort of the
splendid, luxury-loving Roman.
These and other similarly great structures we owe to the ancients’
ignorance of the principles of hydrostatics. Only when we gaze upon
such vast undertakings, where the channel was raised by artificial
means, so that the water might flow along a regularly inclined plane,
do we fully realise what an immense saving of labour the discovery of
these simple principles has proved to the modern world.
The ancients appear to have spent their strength in the erection of
public buildings. The houses of the common people seem to have had
nothing special about them. Built of the ordinary black basaltic stone
which abounds in the neighbourhood, they have long since gone to
ruin, probably in the shocks of earthquakes. West of the town stand
two beautifully formed conical hills. Some of our party who ascended
them found them to be extinct volcanoes--one having a circular,
cup-like crater in the top. Seen from a distance, these hills bear a
striking resemblance to heaps of grain on a great threshing-floor. This
resemblance has not escaped the sharp eyes of the imaginative Arabs,
who call them “the grain-heaps of Pharaoh.” Local tradition associates
them with the name of a notable oppressor of the people, the builder
of the _Qanâtîr Firʿaun_ (“the arches of Pharaoh”), the great aqueduct
which stretches from the neighbourhood of _Nowa_ past _Derʿat_ to
Gadara. Having exhausted the people with taxes for the completion of
this work, he finally seized all the grain in the land and stored it
here, ready for his own purposes. He sent a gigantic camel to fetch it,
and just as the unwieldy animal drew near, the wrath of God was kindled
against Pharaoh, and a bolt from the clouds blasted grain and camel
together, leaving two blackened heaps as monuments of the impotence of
all earthly tyrants before the King of heaven.
This town is believed by many to represent the ancient Philippopolis.
True it is that “Philip the Arabian,” a native of this region, having
been elected emperor by the army in Syria about the middle of the
third century--244-249 A.D.--founded a city in his native country, and
adorned it in Roman fashion. But so little is known with certainty on
the subject, that almost any considerable site in _Haurân_ may claim
the honour, if honour it be. The modern name of _Shuhba_ is said to
be derived from the noble Moslem family of _Shehâb_, who in the early
years of the Mohammedan era came northward from Arabia Felix, and in
their wanderings, before settling in Mount Lebanon, made this city
a temporary home. Relatives of the prophet of Arabia, they received
distinguished honour, and assumed a leading part in the affairs of the
Lebanon. The name of _Emîr Beshîr Shehâb_ was well known in Europe in
the earlier half of the nineteenth century. This prince of all the
Lebanon fell in the year 1840; and the family, already shorn of much of
its glory, went finally down amid the bloody revolutions of 1860.
There is a prevailing belief among the uninstructed in all parts of
the country that the _Franj_--the name given to all Westerns--are
literally loaded with gold. To this belief we owed a somewhat
unpleasant experience. The avaricious old sheikh took counsel with a
faithless one among our attendants, who evidently wished to smooth
the road for his own return by satisfying the cupidity of the natives
at our expense. He advised the sheikh to demand a most outrageous sum
for our entertainment, in which demand the said faithless one should
support him. The arrangement was at once agreed upon. Meantime a second
attendant, who bore no love to the former, having overheard the plot,
revealed the whole. We decided the amount and manner of payment, taking
care that there should be no reasonable ground of complaint. Finding
himself detected, the sheikh’s accomplice ignobly forsook him. When the
money was put into his hand, with expressions of thanks for shelter
afforded, the old man could not conceal his surprise, and it was some
time ere he recovered sufficiently to hint that the sum was small.
Just before we started, a few piastres extra were added, to save what
little of dignity he possessed. He, as well as we, wished everything
done in secret, knowing well that a report of his mean conduct
spreading among his brother sheikhs in _Jebel ed-Druze_ would prove
fatal to his reputation, especially as _Englîze_ were in the question.
This was the only display of meanness or stinginess we met with east of
Jordan; and for even this our own servant was chiefly to blame.
CHAPTER V
Ride to _Kanawât_ (Kenath)--Impressive situation and
remains--Place-names in Palestine--Israelites and Arabs--Education--
A charming ride through mountain glades--_Suweida_.
WE left the city by the southern, the only double gate the city
boasted, as it is still the best preserved. Here also the city wall is
seen in something like its original proportions. Our way led straight
southwards from the gate, along a track lined on either side with
fallen and broken columns, which showed that the splendour of the old
city had been by no means confined within the walls. A large pool had
formed in the hollow to the right during winter, and, replenished by
the previous night’s rain, afforded refreshment to the horses ere they
faced the steep hill before them. By a zigzag path we soon ascended to
a considerable height, finding far more various vegetation than we had
thought possible.
Riding thus along the western slopes of the mountain, a wonderful
panorama spread out before us: _Shuhba_, which we had just left, black
and desolate-looking on its blasted hill; the whole extent of _Haurân_,
_el-Lejâʾ_, _Jaulân_, and Gilead; _Jebel esh-Sheikh_, throwing high his
gleaming shoulders in the north-west; while once again we could see
the Safed hills and the uplands of Lower Galilee, with Tabor’s rounded
cone distinctly visible above his fellows. We could almost trace all
our wanderings from the point where we entered the _Haurân_, through
the scorched fields of _el-Lejâʾ_, on to the mountain over which we
were passing. And here it was impossible to avoid noting once more the
dark spots over the far-stretching plains, marking the positions of
ancient towns now waste and ruined. To the traveller in this country,
almost fabulously rich in agricultural wealth, the phrase “a land of
ruins” ever and anon returns like the refrain of some sad song. A lower
road from _Shuhba_ leads by way of _Suleim_ and _ʿAtyl_, each with
ruins of interest--the former of a temple, subsequently a Christian
church; and the latter of two temples. But it was much longer, and
we feared the hollows would be heavy from the rain; and wishing to
have as much time as possible in _Kanawât_, we took the way across
the mountain. The immediate surroundings were dull, but descending a
little, and turning a spur of the hill, a scene of surpassing beauty
met our eyes. The valley below opened into a fair plain, embosomed
among the mountains, where teams of oxen, guided by peasant Druzes, in
their white turbans and tricoloured coats, drew furrows in the soft
soil with wooden ploughs, contrasting picturesquely with the brown and
green of the surrounding slopes. The southern edge of the plain is
washed by a little stream; beyond it the rising ground was covered with
glancing foliage, over which rose the tops of tall columns. Eastward
the valley narrowed, and the stream dashing down a precipice many feet
high, formed a delightful waterfall, on either side of which were
gathered the ruins of _Kanawât_. The mountains, grey in the changing
light, formed a pleasing background. Just as we swept round in full
view, a light shower drifted down the valley. The sun, striking through
the rain on glistening foliage, white waterfall, and stately ruins on
the brow of the hill, transformed the whole into a vision of fairyland.
It seemed as if the stream of time were suddenly turned back, and
the broken, hoary city on the height smiled again in the beauty and
splendour of her youth. So complete was the illusion, that the passage
of warriors long dead, with the kingly form of Herod in their midst,
hotly pursued by the wild Arabians, would have seemed so natural as
hardly to excite surprise.
We crossed the plain, waded the stream, and climbed the slope towards
the city. Leaving the ruins of a fine temple crowning a leafy knoll,
to the right, we pushed on through thickets of ground oak and thorn,
a strong prickly network of brambles covering all the undergrowth.
The lower part of the town presents nothing distinctive. It is only
partially inhabited by a colony of Druzes. Many of the empty houses are
quite perfect, stone doors and windows in position, and swinging as
easily as they did to the hands of their old possessors. Going as far
as we dared along the edge of the cliff, over which this part of the
town seems to impend, we obtained a fine view of the gorge into which
the waterfall descends, and also of the picturesque old mill by which
the water-power is utilised for the benefit of the inhabitants. Turning
cautiously, we retraced our steps, and entered the street leading to
the sheikh’s house. As he was absent we could not pay him our respects.
An easy ascent leads to the upper town, where, in open spaces, all
the great buildings were gathered. We crossed the broken remains of
a fine old aqueduct, just above the waterfall, beside the ruins of a
gigantic wall; and climbing over shapeless heaps of stones, many of
them beautifully cut and carved, we entered the largest of all the
structures that tell of glories long waxed dim. It is variously called
by the natives _es-Seraiah_--“the Palace,” and _Makâm Ayyûb_--“the
place of Job.” Thus, on either side of the great plain, on which in the
far past, as tradition hath it, his flocks browsed and his husbandmen
gathered the golden harvests, a spot is consecrated to the patriarch’s
memory.
[Illustration: KANAWÂT, RUINS OF TEMPLE]
The _Seraiah_ is a group of massive buildings, adorned with colonnades
and artistic sculptures. Around a doorway still almost entire, opening
on a wide paved space, are beautifully carved bunches of grapes,
leaves, and flowers. On the lintel of a door leading from one part
to another, a cross is cut in the stone, indicating the presence of
Christians at some period, while one of the halls has evidently been
used as a church. These apartments are of spacious dimensions, the
smallest of the three measuring eighty feet by seventy. Most likely
they were originally dedicated to heathen gods. What information as
to the ancient city and its noble buildings may be buried under the
great piles of debris no one can say; but few places, I should think,
on either side of Jordan would better repay the excavator’s toil.
Our cloth was spread on the stump of a fallen column, in the innermost
shrine. Sitting around on huge blocks, finding shelter from the sun,
we enjoyed our mid-day meal. Troops of kindly Druzes gathered about,
ready to bring _leban_, cheese, milk, bread, or whatever viands were at
their command. The horses, having been refreshed from the brook, seemed
to appreciate the cool shade of the middle chamber, haltered to the
stately columns.
The remains of _Kanawât_ might well engage attention for as many days
as we had hours to spend. On the opposite bank of the deep valley is
a small theatre almost wholly cut out of the solid rock, about sixty
feet in diameter, with a cistern in the centre of the area. A Greek
inscription intimates that it was built by Marcus Lysias, probably
a wealthy Roman officer, for the delectation of the inhabitants of
_Canatha_. A little higher up stands a temple of modest proportions,
and still further eastward a large tower, resting on massive
substructions, evidently of high antiquity. This is approached by
steps hewn in the rock. Close by is a lofty round tower, probably
sepulchral. Just visible over the oak thickets above us on our way
to _Suweida_, we saw several similar towers. If we cannot fix their
date, it is clear at least that they belong to a time in the far past.
Of the great reservoirs, whose arched roofs have in many places been
broken through, we could make no minute inspection. They lie between
the _Seraiah_ and the remains of a noble temple, of which the thick
side walls are standing, while in front a few columns of splendid
proportions rise from a huge confused mass of great stones. It was
perilous climbing, many of the blocks being ready to fall; but the view
from the top justified the risk and toil. The commanding situation
of the ancient city is seen to advantage. On a gentle slope of the
mountain, overlooking at no great distance the wide plain, then as
populous as it is desolate to-day, with plentiful natural supplies of
water, rich soil, and thick embowering forests, it was just such a spot
as the splendour-loving Herod might well select for lavish adornment.
Traces of a hippodrome are found close to this temple, and several of
the gardens cultivated by Druzes are surrounded partly by old walls
and partly by new walls of old materials. The grouping together of so
many noble buildings, within so small space, the graceful shafts of
beautiful columns rising in clusters here and there, reminded one of
Athens; but the dark stones lacked the dazzling effect of the white
marbles on the Acropolis.
The name _Kanawât_ probably points to that the city bore ere it fell
into the hands of the conquering Israelites, when it was called
Nobah--a name of which there is now no trace. Before the days of Christ
the old name had reasserted itself, and Josephus calls it _Canatha_--a
very slight change from the ancient _Kenath_. The identity of
_Kanawât_ with _Canatha_ is certain. It is interesting to observe, all
over Palestine, this reappearance of ancient names, and the practical
obliteration of those imposed by temporary rulers. The present _Beisân_
is clearly a modification of the old _Bethshean_, _Scythopolis_
being forgotten. _Banias_ is simply the Arabic form of the Greek
_Panias_, the Arabs having no _b_; _Cæsarea-Philippi_ is known only to
strangers. _Beitîn_ is evidently another case, representing the ancient
_Bethaven_; while _Bethel_ is locally unknown. It would be interesting
further to inquire how the characters of the trans-Jordanic tribes
affected the nomenclature of the land. They were essentially a pastoral
people. This tended to cut them off from the other tribes. They never
took kindly to the agricultural life prevalent on the west of Jordan.
Their nomadic habits would leave the captured cities more or less open
for the return of their inhabitants from the fastnesses to which they
had been driven; and of course they would bring the old names with
them. Thus _Nobah_ and _Bashanhavoth-Jair_ are names to be found only
in the Bible records.
The remarkable facial likeness to the Jews found among the people east
of the Jordan leads one to wonder if there is not a closer relationship
than that of cousinship between the two races--if, in short, the
eastern tribes did not in the end mingle freely with their nomadic
neighbours, and thus become gradually alienated in sympathy from the
people and religion of Israel, as they were already separated from
them by the mighty gorge of Jordan. It was this very calamity the
prophetic foresight of their fathers sought to obviate, when they
erected the gigantic altar of witness “in the forefront of the land of
Canaan, in the region about Jordan, on the side that pertaineth to the
children of Israel.” It should be an altar of witness to succeeding
generations of the unity of the people, lest the children of the tribes
westward should be tempted at any time to say, “What have ye to do with
the Lord, the God of Israel? For the Lord hath made a border between us
and you.” The real danger lay in another direction. Thus there was a
certain fitness in the fact that these eastward tribes were the first
to bear the brunt of the great invasions from the north by which Israel
was scourged.
[Illustration: KANAWÂT, SCULPTURED DOORWAY IN TEMPLE]
A Druze villager who attached himself to our company proved a pleasant
and chatty companion. Bright eyes looked out from under his spotless
turban; black whiskers and shining white teeth combined with a frank,
open countenance to prepossess us in his favour. He said he had been
teacher in a school which the _Englîze_ had supported for some time in
the village. By way of corroboration he aired a few words of English
picked up from his superior. Very strangely they sounded from his
lips, without any connection, and seemingly so out of place amid these
surroundings. His acquaintance with English was like that of a Syrian
gentleman friend of mine, who occasionally in company announces that
he knows English. “What,” he will ask, “is English for Narghîleh?”
And without waiting for reply, exclaims, “_Hubble-Bubble!_” laughing
heartily at his own joke.
The school had been summarily closed by the authority of the
Government, to the sorrow of the villagers, who were beginning to
appreciate the advantage of a rudimentary education. There is a great
field for missionary enterprise--medical by preference--in all this
region. The missionary’s efforts would find assistance in the generous
instincts of the people themselves. They are yet uncorrupted by the
unhappy influences associated with the passage of the great travelling
public. These are often, unfortunately, all of civilisation known to
the untutored inhabitants; and the barriers thus raised against the
missionary and his work can be fully appreciated only by those who have
had them to face.
Our cheery companion waited until we were all mounted, then led the
way, by many tortuous windings, through the old town, to an opening
which had once been a gate, on the road to _Suweida_. Few traces are
left of the ancient Roman road, and soon we were on a track of the
usual kind, very soft in parts, from the recent rains. We passed
between fruitful vineyards and cultivated patches, where the white
turbans of the vine-dressers moved to and fro among the green with
pleasing effect. Our ride that afternoon along the hillsides, through
oak and thorn thickets, the green interspaces sprinkled with flowers,
openings in the foliage affording glimpses of the wonderful plains of
Bashan, was the most agreeable by far of all we enjoyed in _Haurân_.
The freshness of the leaf, the music of the birds, and above all, the
cool breeze that met us, almost persuaded us that the Orient was but a
dream, and that we were traversing an upland in Bonnie Scotland.
Through a break in the forest we descried our tents, pitched on the
green sward, and ready for our reception, beside a curious-looking
block of masonry. Then sweeping round into the open, we obtained our
first view of _Suweida_, lying darkly on the farther bank of a little
ravine, by which it was separated from our camping-ground. The roofs
were alive with men straining their eyes in our direction. Our advent
clearly caused no small stir in that remote town. Arriving at our
tents, we found a large company assembled to survey us. They watched
all our movements with an amused curiosity, like that of children in
a menagerie. We were in time to witness the sunset, and in the calm
cool air were tempted to watch how long he took to disappear, from the
instant when his under rim touched the horizon. We looked earnestly,
and seemed relieved when at last he vanished. Our observers, I am
sure, entertained a shrewd suspicion that some remnants of sun-worship
still lingered among these curious westerns. Little thought they how
our hearts followed the departing beams to the land where, in the
slant rays of the longer evening, dear ones sat musing, drawing vague
pictures of regions famed in sacred story, and praying the Father of
all, the light of whose eye fades not from earth like the passing day,
to guard the wanderers from peril.
CHAPTER VI
Healing the sick--A strange monument--Telegraph and post in
_Haurân_--Cruel kindness--The Ruins of _Suweida_--Turkish methods of
rule--_ʿIry_--_Sheyûkh ed-Druze_--Jephthah’s burial--Enterprise of
_Ismaʾîl el-ʿAtrash_.
HERE, as at every point touched in our journey, we had ample evidence
of the prevalence of sickness and suffering, and of the crying
necessity for competent medical aid. The weak and diseased are a
prey to every travelling quack, and they bore in their bodies only
too convincing proof of their simple-hearted confidence in men who
professed to be able to relieve them. Ruined eyes and maimed limbs
told only too plainly what havoc unscrupulous men work among these
trustful people. The quack hopes to pass but once in any given way,
and cares but little for the results of his operations if only he make
present gain. The name of the good doctor wrought like magic. Almost
before we could realise it the camp was surrounded by patients; a
motley gathering they were--Moslem, Druze, and Christian; men, women,
and children, of all ages, clad in richly varied costumes; they came
forward, one by one, to tell of their sufferings, and receive what help
was possible. Not unpleasantly the time passed, examining antique
coins, making cautious purchases, and engaging the more intelligent in
conversation about their town and district, until the cheerful voice of
the dinner-bell summoned us within.
With the morning we were able to see the strange tower under whose
shadow we had slept. It is reputed one of the oldest monuments in the
country. According to inscriptions, Greek on one side and Palmyrene
on another, it was built by one Odainatus to the memory of his wife
Chamrate. The building is over thirty feet square, and rests on a base,
to which a couple of steps lead up. Between the Doric pilasters that
adorn the sides, the monument is ornamented, as became the tomb of a
soldier’s wife, with emblems, in relief, of military accoutrements.
The top of the monument is now a heap of confused blocks, while many
great stones, rolled down, lie in utter disorder to the south-west.
The name _Debusîyeh_, by which it is known among the natives--“the
pin-shaped”--shows that it was, probably at no remote period,
finished off in a pyramid. The evil that has befallen it may be due
to some thought that buried treasure might be found there. In these
circumstances no structure would be safe from the destroying hands of
the Arabs. It has been thought that the monument dates from not later
than the first century of our era, and that therefore this Odainatus
was not the warrior husband of the famous Zenobia, ruler of Palmyra.
The Odainatus known to history was in these parts; and there is nothing
impossible in the supposition that the glories of the campaign may
have been dimmed for the chivalrous soldier by the death of his sweet
companion, ere the star of Zenobia arose in the heaven of his love.
This would bring the date down past the middle of the third century.
The conjecture is so far supported by the presence of the inscription
in Palmyrene. Withal it is the most interesting of all the remains of
the past now to be seen in _Suweida_ and its neighbourhood.
Descending the steep bank, we crossed by an ancient bridge the little
stream that flows in the bottom of the ravine. With the advance of
summer this stream soon vanishes, and the town becomes entirely
dependent for water supply on reservoir and cistern. At the gate of
the town we found a little guide who conducted us to the post-office.
The quarters occupied as imperial post and telegraph office would
horrify the humblest of our Western officials. We scrambled over
several dunghills and broken walls, and but for the telegraph wires
it would have been impossible to distinguish the “office” from a
number of rude cattle-shelters around. The _maʾmûr_, or official in
charge, was all politeness and courtesy. Learning that a mail was
about to be despatched to the north, we set about writing pencil-notes
to our friends, while the _maʾmûr_, business being slack, engaged in
a conversation by telegraph with his brother operator in Damascus,
securing for us information on several points of importance. The
amount of telegraphing thus done for the friends of the _maʾmûrîn_
in Syria would not be readily credited in the West. A message is
sent to bring one to the office, when, if nothing special is on hand,
he may hold a long conversation on any subject with his friend or
man of business at a distance. These _maʾmûrîn_ in Syria are almost
all Christians, Moslems possessing the requisite qualifications in
linguistic attainments and intelligence being seldom available. This
speaks volumes for the system of education inaugurated and carried on
chiefly by the missionaries, of which as yet few Moslems have taken
advantage. The position of clerk in very many of the various Government
departments is also occupied by Christians. Moslems in the country
are, however, slowly awakening to realise the advantages of education,
and are seeking in greater numbers than ever to avail themselves of
opportunities hitherto despised.
The Druze sheikh of the town, who was also _kaim makâm_, or
lieutenant-governor of the district, we found in his own house near
the top of the quarter at present inhabited. He was in sore distress
over the apparently hopeless illness of his son, a lad of some twenty
summers, who sat suffering among his friends. The room was crowded in
every part by relatives and friends, who had come from far and near
to show their sympathy in the hour of trial. Anything more completely
opposed to all humane and civilised ideas of the conditions that ought
to prevail in a sick-room it is impossible to imagine. The air was
foul with many breaths, and laden with the fumes of tobacco, in which
all seemed to indulge, conversation being carried on in manner and
tone suggestive of the public market; the dying youth, meanwhile,
utterly wearied of the noise and confusion, with difficulty attracted
attention to have his few wants supplied. It must not be thought that
this conduct was the result of exceptional thoughtlessness on the part
of the sheikh’s sympathisers. It was all done in obedience to custom,
whose requirements are far more stringent than those of written law
in this country. The man whose sick-room is not crowded with hosts of
sympathising friends is held in but little respect. To refrain from
mingling with the crowd and adding a quota to the hubbub is to prove
lack of all interest in the case. So firmly is the custom rooted, that
the energetic efforts of enlightened medical men in many parts have
as yet produced almost no appreciable result. We long for quiet in
our time of trial, and true friends jealously guard against intrusion
upon our grief. Here trial and sorrow must alike be borne practically
in presence of the public. When death enters a household the place is
literally taken possession of by so-called sympathising friends; and
their well-meant endeavours to divert the thoughts of the mourners from
their loss must nearly always have the effect of deepening the woe they
are intended to alleviate.
The sheikh’s house, less squalid perhaps than most in the town, was
built around a paved courtyard, entered from the street by an imposing
doorway. One large room had also a door opening upon the street,
approached by a flight of steps. Here we were entertained with coffee.
As a Government official who had received instructions from his
superiors to receive the travellers with all courtesy, the sheikh bore
himself with no little dignity; and only the haste of our departure
prevented his making a larger display of hospitality. The _diwân_ of
the sheikh stands on the opposite side of the street a little lower
down, on the site of an ancient temple. Many of the columns which
once surrounded the latter are standing still, but serve only to cast
a dreary air of departed glory over the place. A few paces farther
down, the street is spanned by a triumphal arch, of Roman workmanship.
This street is paved throughout. We visited, in rapid succession,
the remains of a church, of a mosque, and of a building called by
the natives _el-Mehkemeh_--“the court of justice.” All of these are
in a completely ruinous condition. _Suweida_ offers a rich field for
inscription-seekers. Only he who would make thorough work must be
prepared for risks and unpleasantnesses,--in hanging, for example, over
the top of a rickety doorway to read an inscription placed upside down,
or in creeping into holes and cellars where one’s attention is almost
entirely absorbed in the important but well-nigh impossible process
of breathing. Here are also the remains of a nymphaeum and aqueduct
dating from the time of Trajan. Two large reservoirs afford the chief
supply of water, there being no fountains in or near the town. These
are built round with solid masonry, and the water is reached by means
of stone stairs. When the summer is well advanced, it must require a
stout heart and no little usage to enable one to conquer a natural
repugnance to the unwholesome liquid collected in these reservoirs. I
imagine that the memory of the oldest man does not carry him back to
the time when they were last cleaned. The larger of the two is called
_Birket el-Hajj_--“Pool of the Pilgrimage.” The _Hajj_ road to Mecca
once passed by way of _Suweida_, and from this reservoir the pilgrims
drank. Mohammed Said Pasha, when chief of the pilgrimage, changed the
route, finding the way by the western side of the plain less liable to
annoyance by the robber Arabs. Such reservoirs, more or less preserved
and protected by guards against other use, stand at intervals all along
the great _Hajj_ road to Mecca.
What _Suweida_ was in the far past no one can tell; the very name
of the ancient city seems irrevocably lost. But, judging from the
magnitude of the ruins, it must have played no unimportant part in the
history of the country. An ancient local tradition asserts that Job
was the first _emîr_ or prince of _Suweida_. It is to this day what we
may call the capital of _Jebel ed-Druze_, the sheikh being, as we have
seen, not merely chief of the town, but also lieutenant-governor of the
district under the Turks. The appointment of one of themselves as _kaim
makâm_ represents one side of the Turkish policy in its endeavour to
gain the mastery over these free-spirited and warlike people. The man
chosen in this instance was one whose name, if any, would carry weight
with his nation. But even the son of the famous _Ismaʿîl el-ʿAtrash_
could hardly render himself acceptable to the Druzes in the ungracious
task of tax-collecting--the chief function of the Turkish official.
The other side of the policy has long been familiar to the world,
the method of setting rival factions and races against each other,
fomenting their quarrels, fanning their animosities, until they are
so weakened by mutual conflict that Turkey can step in without much
trouble and lay an iron hand on all. Of this more anon. There have been
stirring times since our visit.
We took a straight line across country for _ʿIry_, a village crowning
a low hill some two hours’ distant from _Suweida_. The land is open
and diversified, hill and valley in pleasant succession relieving
the monotony of the plain. The soil is rich, and in this part the
Druzes use it well. Their skill in evading the iniquitous exactions
of the Government doubtless accounts partly for their industry. No
one cares to do his best to raise crops of which he knows he will be
systematically robbed; but the Druzes generally display a commendable
diligence compared with most other inhabitants of Syria. _Jebel
ed-Druze_, with its neat gardens and trim vineyards creeping over the
slopes, more closely resembles Mount Lebanon than any other district
in the country. With the advantages conferred by the arrangements made
for the government of the Lebanon after the fearful scenes of 1860, of
which recent corrupt governors have been unable wholly to deprive the
inhabitants, such progress has been made in education, agriculture, and
generally in the arts of civilisation, in spite of the wild and sterile
character of much of their country, as to inspire hope for the rest
of Syria when the time comes, as surely it soon must now, to deliver
her from the oppressions of the Turk. A little over half-way, a large
building to the right of our path, with the Turkish flag floating over
it, would have served as a reminder had we been disposed to forget that
we were not beyond the reach of His Imperial Majesty’s arms.
Arrived at _ʿIry_, we took up our position on the bank of a little
stream, which was full to the brim with cool water. Fruit trees grew
profusely around, and lent us grateful shade. Forming a circle on the
grass, we discussed the contents of our luncheon-bags with all the
relish of a picnic-party. We had not rested long when a messenger
arrived from the sheikh, bearing his salutations, together with a
load of substantial viands. The chief was engaged with a company of
brother sheikhs from various districts in _Haurân_, and could not come
himself; but having seen the strangers seating themselves in the grove,
he sought to maintain the tradition of Eastern hospitality by sending
to us of the best--milk, _leban_, cheese, bread, honey, and, above
all, delicious fresh butter, the first we had seen in our travels. How
delightfully refreshing these were that hot noontide, with rustling
leaves overhead and rippling water at our feet, it is needless to say.
When we rode up to express our obligations to the worthy sheikh, he and
his companions received us with great cordiality. He also is a son of
the celebrated _Ismaʾîl el-ʿAtrash_, brother of the lieutenant-governor
of _Suweida_. The younger, he is also much the larger man of the two.
His frame is well built and in good proportion. When dressed in his
state robes of barbaric splendour, and girt with his golden-hilted
sword, he appeared quite a king among men. The assembled _sheyûkh_
had gathered from all the district between _ʿIry_ and _Salkhad_--the
fortress on the mountain, marking the most easterly boundary of
Israel’s possession--and they formed a company of chiefs such as it
is a piece of rare good fortune for any traveller to see. The doctor
produced his camera, in which all were immediately interested. After
most of them had peeped into it, and, to their great amusement, had
seen their fellows upside down, they were in the best of humour, and
anxious to have their portraits taken. This, of course, was what the
doctor wanted; and the result was one of the finest plates in his
possession, presenting a striking group of men, not one commonplace in
appearance.
[Illustration: SHEYÛKH ED-DRUZE (COUNCIL OF WAR)]
The present village of _ʿIry_ is insignificant, but ruins covering a
wide area prove it to have been an important place in early times. A
suggestion has recently been made that here Jephthah, judge of Israel,
was buried. The statement that he was buried “in the cities of Gilead”
has always presented a difficulty, which the rabbis have sought to
explain by the invention of a story which even they would find it
difficult to equal in absurdity. According to the rabbis, Jephthah
brought on himself divine displeasure, because he persisted in carrying
out his dreadful vow, although he knew this to be contrary to God’s
desire, and an official existed in Israel part of whose stated duty
it was to relieve men from vows which ought not to be performed. God
therefore smote him with a terrible disease. As commander-in-chief
of the armies of Israel, he went on a tour of inspection through the
fortresses of Gilead. Just then the fell disease wrought havoc in his
frame, which died piecemeal. The parts were buried where they fell,
as he moved on in his chariot. Thus in his burial he was distributed
through “the cities of Gilead”! The consonants in the Hebrew word
translated “cities” correspond exactly to the Arabic consonants in
the name _ʿIry_. If, as seems not impossible, this place was within
the borders of the district then designated by the term “Gilead,” the
suggested identification is almost certainly correct, and we should
read that Jephthah was buried “in ʿIry of Gilead.”
ʿIry in its present form owes its existence to the above-mentioned
_Ismaʿîl el-ʿAtrash_, who made it his headquarters, and in the early
part of the nineteenth century wielded a potent influence over the
whole province. He was a man who, in favourable circumstances,
might have taken rank with the world’s great generals. Combining
distinguished courage, determination, and military skill with a genius
for administration and the management of men, he secured a position
of practical independence of the Turkish Government, and was able to
make his own terms with the _Beduw_ who visit that region. It was
customary, indeed, for men from the desert who wished to go to Damascus
to obtain permission to pass through his dominions. The fact that
these proud-spirited Arabs submitted to this interference with their
ancient and hereditary privileges is enough in itself to prove the
dread in which his displeasure was held. With statesmanlike regard for
the well-being of the country, he planned a system of irrigation, and
was able, before his death, partly to carry out his project, capturing
the rills on the mountains, and leading them, through artificial
channels, in every direction. The stream by which we had lunch owed to
this arrangement its unusual volume of water--strong enough, even at
this season, to turn a mill which stood nearer the village. He also
encouraged the planting of olives and fruit trees, and the grove which
afforded us shelter was one result of his praiseworthy public spirit
and enterprise.
When _Ismaʿîl el-ʿAtrash_ died, none of his sons displayed capacity at
all equal to that of their father. Each had a village given him, of
which he became sheikh; but no one arose to fill the old man’s place
in the respect and awe of the people. To restore the prestige of their
house, these sons appear to have entered into an alliance with the
Turks, accepting positions as subordinates of the Government which
their heroic father had defied, trusting to their great name to protect
them against suspicion of treachery among the Druzes. It was a step
pregnant with disaster alike for themselves and for their people.
As we here take leave of the towns and villages of the Druzes, we may
look for a little at the faith, the character, and recent history of
this strange people in these parts.
CHAPTER VII
The Druzes--Their religion--Their character--Druze and Jew--Recent
history in _Haurân_--Druze and Bedawy--War.
THE Druzes are generally known by a name which is not of their own
choosing, nor, indeed, is it at all to their liking. “Druze” seems to
connect them with Durazy, any close relation with whom they disclaim.
Had they their own way, they would be called _Muwahhedîn_, the Arabic
equivalent for Unitarians. In this fact we have the key to their
distinctive character; for they are essentially a people gathered round
a religious idea. This possessed sufficient force to separate them from
the first from all surrounding peoples, and made necessary a mutual
bond, or alliance, offensive and defensive, among the members of the
new society, in order to secure its existence. In due time the society
grew into a distinct people, of marvellous cohesion and power of united
action against all outsiders. To understand this people, we must know
something of their faith.
The sect took its rise in the early years of the eleventh century,
during the reign of _Caliph el-Hâkim Biamrillah_, in Egypt (996-1020).
A foolish and dissipated prince, his minister, _ed-Durazy_, for
reasons not now obvious, proclaimed him to be an incarnation of Deity,
the last of the long line of incarnations extending from Adam downward.
The people of Cairo, however, would have none of his doctrines.
Escaping the violence of the mob whom his blasphemies had enraged,
he fled to Syria, where, among the mountains of Southern Lebanon, he
found asylum for himself, and disciples to accept his teaching. It is,
indeed, not darkly hinted that his efforts to enlighten the Syrians
were ably seconded by the persuasive powers of Egyptian gold, the
worthy _el-Hâkim_ being no way indisposed to undergo the process of
apotheosis while it was possible for him to enjoy its honours. The
work of _ed-Durazy_ might have proved only transitory in its effects,
had not a learned and able Persian, _Hamzeh_ by name, come to his
assistance. By a skilful combination of _ed-Durazy’s_ new dogma with
ancient superstitions and mystical doctrines, frowned upon by orthodox
Mohammedans, he wrought out a religious system which commanded the
respect and secured the submission of increasing numbers.
The great doctrine of _Islâm_, the unity of the God-head, is almost
violently emphasised in the Druze religion; but this is associated with
a belief in God’s close relation to the world and His eternal love
for men, in so far as it is possible to attribute love to a being of
whom only one thing can be certainly predicated, namely, existence.
This love has resulted in a constant succession of incarnations or
manifestations of Himself since the beginning. Therefore all the great
prophetic line, from Adam to Jesus Christ, are held in reverence. A
place is also accorded to _Mohammed_; and, further, the divine is seen
in _ʿAli_, _Mohammed ibn Ismaʿîl_, _Saʿid el-Mûhdi_, and, last and
greatest, _el-Hâkim_. With regard to this last, death is not to be
thought of as terminating his earthly career; it is only a change, to
test the faith and sincerity of his followers. One day he will return
with invincible might, to bring the whole world into subjection. Of
Jesus Christ it is interesting to observe that the Druze agrees with
the Mohammedan in believing that the divine incarnation was not put to
death; but, while the latter says that His “appearance” was crucified,
the former holds that a second Jesus Christ, son of the carpenter,
endured the dread penalty, while Jesus Christ, the manifestation of
the Divine, passed scathless from the world. In all of this it is not
difficult to trace the influence of early Christian heresy.
The Druzes believe in the transmigration of souls. It has been
erroneously held that they receive this doctrine in a modified form,
not thinking it possible that a human soul should enter one of the
lower animals. This is not so. At the very moment of his mother’s
death, a calf was born in the herd of a Druze, and he firmly believed
that the soul of his mother dwelt in that calf. Along with this, they
believe in a series of human lives for the individual in different
forms. No man knows if in the first youth he meets he may not salute
the spirit of his grandfather. The destination of the soul on parting
from the body is determined by the manner in which it has lived: if
well, it will be born again in happier conditions; if ill, its next
existence will be fraught with pain and sorrow. It is an article of
their faith that births do not increase, deaths do not diminish, the
actual number of Druzes in existence. That number is known to God only,
but it is fixed and unchangeable forever. Birth brings not a new spirit
into being, but only begins a new life for one already existing. Death
does not slay a spirit, but only introduces the living into a new form
of existence. No one born of true Druze parentage can ever become
anything else, and no one born of Christian or other parents can ever
become a Druze.
It would be a mistake to suppose that all Druzes are acquainted
with the whole system of their religion. It would be nearer truth
to say that very many know nothing of religion at all. The deeper
things are high secrets, which only the _ʿAkkâl_--men and women of
understanding--are given to know. Their place of worship is called
_Khalweh_ (“retired spot”), and there the initiated conduct their
secret service. Many years ago, during the troubles that have so often
convulsed this country, the sacred books of the Druzes were seized and
studied by competent scholars; but, like the Freemasons, whom they so
much resemble, the Druzes may very well maintain that there are secrets
among them which no books can ever reveal. Certain it is that round
these repositories of their mysteries the _Juhhâl_, or ignorant ones,
gather with profound veneration. The _ʿAkkâl_ bear themselves with
great circumspection. They live sober and temperate lives, abstaining
from all alcoholic liquors, from tobacco, and even from coffee, the
universal beverage of the Arab.
_Hamzeh_, who systematised their doctrines and gave something like
coherency to their beliefs, they continue to honour as _el-Hâdi_ (“the
guide”). _Durazy_, strangely, they have forgotten, or remember only to
repudiate. _El-Hâdi_ is from the same root, and has the same meaning,
as _el-Mahdi_, the expected “guide” of the Moslems, who is to “lead”
them to the universal triumph for which they yearn.
The Druzes number in all perhaps something over a hundred thousand.
They do not, however, for a moment believe that all real Druzes are
confined to Syria. China, for example, is a land of which they have
some dim knowledge; it figures vague and vast in their untutored
minds. They have heard that there are beliefs common to them and the
Chinese; this is sufficient to create the conviction that the Chinese
are really Druzes too, whatever name they may be called, and that,
when the proper time comes, that mighty empire will pour forth its
millions to do battle in the cause of _el-Hâkim_. The British share, in
this regard, their affection and confidence, an impression prevailing
widely that they too are a nation of Druzes. If this impression did
not come from the kindly treatment of the Druzes by the British, when,
after the massacre, they were in imminent danger, it was certainly
strengthened thereby. If one of them asks how many Druzes there are in
England, and receives the reply that there are none, he is far from
being convinced, and most likely he leaves you with the suspicion that
you are a Druze yourself. He will think nothing the less of you for
your stout denial; for it is permitted to them to assume the outward
form and profession of any religion whatever, if their welfare for
the time may thereby be promoted, the only condition being that they
remain true in heart to the faith of their fathers. In a country where
the people excel in clever deceptions, it is often extremely hard
for the missionary to distinguish between the true and the spurious
convert. There is a well-authenticated case in which a Druze professed
conversion to Christianity, was baptized, received into the Church,
and, having given proof of his fitness, was at length ordained to the
ministry. He continued to exercise his calling with acceptance for
several years; then, throwing off the mask by which he had deceived
everybody, he openly declared that he was a Druze at heart, and had
never been anything else.
The Lebanon for long was the home of the Druzes, but now they are found
as far north as Antioch and as far south as Carmel; while since 1860
they have gone eastward, and settled in such numbers on the mountain,
that the name _Jebel Haurân_, by which it was formerly known, is fast
giving place to that of _Jebel ed-Druze_. Wherever the Druze goes,
he maintains his well-earned reputation for hospitality and kindly
treatment of strangers. This practice is mixed up with the religious
ideas that from hoary antiquity have prevailed from the eastern
shore of the Mediterranean throughout the whole Arabian peninsula.
The guest is in some sense the representative of God, by whose
bounty all men live. The traveller who finds himself belated near a
habitation of Druzes may generally go forward with good heart, assured
that the best of their poor store will be placed ungrudgingly at his
disposal. Alongside of this pleasing feature in their character there
are others not less prominent, but hardly so attractive. They have a
reputation for extreme sensitiveness to insult or injury, excessive
vindictiveness, and perfect fearlessness in the exaction of revenge.
As may be supposed, therefore, the blood feud among them is a stern
reality, and the function of the avenger of blood a solemn obligation.
Should an opportunity not come soon for the achievement of their
purpose, they can wait with grim patience; and it will be found, in
the end, that years have not abated one jot the fury of their desire
for vengeance. With this inflexible resolution to take the life of
an enemy for the life of a friend, there coexists an equally binding
duty to protect a brother Druze who may have shed blood unwittingly or
otherwise--to hide him from pursuers, and defend his life with their
own. If the avenger’s claim can be settled by payment of money--a mode
of settlement not uncommon--the sum to be paid is a tax upon the whole
community.
Comparisons are often instituted between the various peoples in the
country, in respect of their courage and prowess in the field of
battle. By common consent the Druzes and the _Beduw_ receive the
highest places. In simple daring and personal intrepidity in sudden
attack, the _Beduw_ excel; but in determined courage, power of united
action, and stubborn endurance in the face of a powerful foe, they
must yield the palm to the Druzes. While we cannot but admire the wild
bravery of the Bedawy, it is clear that the qualities possessed by the
Druze are more to be desired in the hour of conflict. There is a strain
of true nobility in the character of that people who in the hour of
victory have ever chivalrously protected defenceless women and little
children from all injury and insult.
An interesting parallel might be drawn between the ancient Israelites
and the modern Druzes. The latter cannot indeed trace their descent
from a single _jadd_, or ancestor, as the former did from Abraham. They
are of mixed parentage, the old Syrian element probably predominating.
Passing from this, we find that the impulse separating both from
surrounding peoples was religious; their isolation is preserved
by devotion to the national religious idea. Both are essentially
theocracies; their idea of a “state,” if we may so use the term, would
be that of “the church acting civilly.” The central doctrine with both
is the unity of God. Their national aspirations are strikingly similar.
Israel aspired to universal dominion as the people of God; the Druzes
aspire to nothing less. The hope of Israel was in the coming of the
_Messiah_; that of the Druzes, in the return of _el-Hâkim_. If we take
the Jewish conception of the work of the Messiah prevalent at the time
of Christ, and substitute the name of _el-Hâkim_ for _Messiah_, and
Druzes for Jews, we have very accurately the Druze conception of the
work of _el-Hâkim_, the coming conqueror. In both a marvellous unity
has been preserved through long generations; and each, in feature and
dress, is easily distinguishable from all others.
Although widely scattered, their organisations are perfect. The
community touched at any point feels through all. The sheikhs of the
_ʿAkkâl_, as leaders of the religious commonwealth, perform functions
corresponding in some degree to those of the old Hebrew judges and
prophets. At their word the hosts gather from far and near, place
themselves under the command of chosen chiefs, and go forth to warfare.
They also convene solemn councils for the discussion of weighty matters
of religion or policy. But gatherings for such purposes without other
ostensible object would attract more attention than is desirable.
Advantage is therefore taken of ordinary occasions which call for
the presence of friends, more especially funerals, when men gather
“frae a’ the airts” and transact the necessary business. Doubtless
the company of chiefs we saw at _ʿIry_ was convened to discuss the
special circumstances in which they were then placed, and to arrange
for concerted action in the immediate future. Presenting a united front
to the outside world, had they been equally at one among themselves,
they might ere now have played a distinguished part in the affairs
of the East. But the ambitions of rival families have sundered them;
their attention has been engaged with domestic broils, their energies
frittered away in the quarrels of factions, when they might and ought
to have been preparing themselves to make a broad mark in the military
history of their country. It is precisely in knowing how skilfully to
fan such internal fires, and excite domestic strife that the Turkish
Government has proved its ability to keep such peoples in hand. How
like the case of the Jews, when the bands of iron were closing upon
them!
Until recently the Government has had very little power in the
_Haurân_; and if its power to-day is more than nominal, past history
forbids the belief that it will now prove permanent. The chief
military stations are _Sheikh Saʿad_, the seat of the governor; _Busr
el-Harîry_, on the southern border of _el-Lejâʾ_; and _Suweida_. There
is also a small force in the fortress at _Basra Eski Shâm_. While
fighting has been done, the position was not won by arms in the usual
sense. The old policy has been pursued. The various sections of the
people have been played off against each other with great adroitness,
and, on the whole, with success. The common enemy, ever on the alert
for advantage, calmly appropriated the territory of victor and
vanquished alike.
The Druzes and the _Beduw_ bear each other no love. Nothing was
easier than to breed bad blood between them. They could not have
played into the hands of the Government more thoroughly, had that
been their design, than by weakening each other in internecine
strife. The Government claimed from the Druzes a certain tax; but,
as mentioned above, they were willing to do anything rather than
pay it, and up till recently the Government did not see its way to
enforce payment. Things began to look more hopeful, and the secession
of the _ʿAtrash_ family inspired the belief that taxes and all arrears
might be collected. They had not reckoned with the proud, unbending
spirit of the Druze nation. A Solomon might be submitted to; a band of
Rehoboams, never. The demand for arrears, accompanied by an implied
threat, met with the response one might have expected from these fiery
mountaineers. The sheikhs of the house of _ʿAtrash_ had to seek asylum
under the wing of the Government in Damascus. This was a bold bid of
defiance which no government could afford to ignore. Exact information
as to succeeding events is extremely difficult to obtain, but what
follows may be taken as a fairly accurate account, as far as it goes.
We visited the district in April 1890. There was an evident alertness
in all the bearing of the men. We could descry numerous figures on
walls and roofs long before we reached any place of importance; and,
coming nearer, we saw that our approach was eagerly watched until our
peaceful appearance satisfied the sentinels. The fact was that even
then affairs had taken an unpleasant turn; and only ten days after
we passed the seceding sheikhs had to flee for their lives, and the
Government resorted to arms to quell “the rebellion,” as it was called.
On their part the Druzes, under popular chiefs, cheerfully prepared for
the fray.
The Government troops, under _Memdûh Pasha_, military and civil
governor of _Haurân_, assembled in the neighbourhood of _Busr
el-Harîry_. _Memdûh_ sent to the rebel chiefs, calling upon them to
surrender. In reply, a deputation of the chiefs themselves came to him
by night, made strong protestations of loyalty, and affected not to
understand why they should be classed as rebels; they were true friends
to the sultan, and wished prosperity to his Government. _Memdûh_ was
not deceived. He required that they should come with their friends in
open day and formally make their submission. They could hardly have
expected to persuade the pasha of their loyalty. Probably they hoped
by their visit only to gain knowledge of the strength of the enemy
and the purposes of the leader. In any case, they did not come back,
but sent instead an insulting message, which reminds one of Goliath
of Gath’s challenge to the youthful David. They declared themselves
ready to receive him; and if he had courage to come, they promised to
make mincemeat of him and his soldiers. “Come, O Memdûh,” they said,
“and we will give thy body to be chopped into small pieces!” The pasha
simply replied, “The loyal will receive honour; the rebel must take the
consequences of his conduct.” The soldiers advanced towards _Suweida_,
which they found almost deserted. Several merchants from Damascus were
taken into the market and made prisoners on suspicion of supplying the
rebels with munitions of war. The Druzes meantime had taken up a strong
natural position among their rocky fortresses. The soldiers advancing
upon them were unable to sustain the Druze fire, being completely
exposed, while the latter were as completely covered among the rocks.
One of the first to fall was the son of one of the _ʿAtrash_ sheikhs,
who was recognised and shot by a Druze marksman. Thus early and dearly
did they pay for their defection.
The attack was relinquished until reinforcements came bringing several
light field-pieces. Meantime one of the Druze sheikhs, who had received
some injury, real or imaginary, had taken one of the terrible oaths
in which the history of the East abounds, invoking upon himself the
most awful curses, both in this world and in the next, if he slew not
_Memdûh Pasha_ with the edge of the sword. In renewing the attack the
pasha had recourse to an ancient stratagem of which the Druzes ought to
have been aware. He planted the field-pieces at some distance in the
rear, behind a little eminence. A party with definite instructions was
sent forward. On their approach the Druzes opened fire. The soldiers
wavered, broke, and fled. The defenders, believing this to be a real
defeat, waxed bolder, and left their rocks to pursue, hoping to turn
defeat into a rout. The soldiers simply retired behind the cannon,
and immediately fire was opened on the now unprotected Druzes with
murderous effect. The issue of the battle was not one moment in doubt;
but many were the displays of individual bravery and personal prowess,
which shall be related by children’s children, to fan the flame of
patriotism in the bosom of youth; to beguile the tedium of the winter
days, and enliven the hours of rest from toil among the mountains. One
Druze who rode a fine horse charged literally past the cannon’s mouth,
slew the gunner with his sword, captured the musket of the fallen
soldier, and dashed back, amid a rain of bullets, like one bearing a
charmed life. This exploit he repeated three times, inspiring his foes
with dread. Yet a fourth time he spurred his charger to the attack.
This time he came in the line of fire; but a soldier who had followed
him was now between him and the cannon, and the gunner hesitated. “It
matters not! Fire!” roared the officer in command, quaking for his own
safety. The piece was fired: soldier and Druze hero entered eternity
together.
The sheikh who had sworn to slay the pasha saw where the commander
stood, and, turning thither, rushed forward wildly, brandishing his
sword and hoarsely shouting, “_Il yaum yaumak, ya Memdûh; ya Memdûh,
il yaum tamût!_”--“This is thy day, O Memdûh! O Memdûh, to-day thou
shalt die!” Thus threatened, the ranks closed around the general, but
the dauntless chief cared not; he would hew down all opposition until
the object of his wrath was reached. Nor was his an idle boast. In his
fierce onslaught six stalwart soldiers fell beneath his keen blade, and
he had even penetrated to the very inmost ring of the pasha’s guard ere
he was arrested by sheer weight of wounds piled upon him from every
side. He would have died cheerfully had the pasha’s blood mingled with
his own. He had almost touched his enemy when the waters of the river
of death rose over him and he sank forever. One who stood by severed
his head from the trunk with a blow of his sword, and, casting the
bleeding horror at the pasha’s feet, exclaimed, “Thus perish all thine
enemies, O thine excellency, and those of our glorious sultan!”
Of the numbers who fell on either side we shall probably never obtain
complete information. Suffice it to say that the Druzes suffered so
heavily as to be practically at the mercy of their conquerors. The
latter showed a disposition to take full advantage of their success and
exact “the last farthing” of their claims. The Druzes were in despair.
It seemed, indeed, as if only ruin were before them. Through the kindly
mediation of European consular agents, an arrangement was come to which
saved the vanquished from the worst consequences of defeat. Compromise
was all the Druzes could now hope for, and they gained more than the
most sanguine could have anticipated. Arrears were not to be demanded,
and they agreed to pay a tax of about half the amount originally
imposed. They were, however, required to receive again the sheikhs of
the house of _ʿAtrash_. On these conditions they might return and dwell
in safety, all prisoners taken in war being restored to them. One other
condition it must have been hard to accept. They were to be prohibited
from carrying arms, save by special licence obtained from the Turkish
officials. But they could not well reject terms proposed to them by
their mediators and accepted by their conquerors. Thus it happened
that where every man one met was loaded with instruments of death,
soon almost the only weapon to be seen, save in the hands of soldiers,
was the shepherd’s “club,” or _naboot_, with which the very poor all
over the land are wont to defend themselves and attack their foes; and
a formidable weapon it is in practised hands.
The Government naturally sought to secure the advantage thus gained.
The importance attaching to _Suweida_ as the key to _Jebel ed-Druze_
became apparent. Preparations were immediately begun for the erection
of a _kalʿat_, or fortress, there, by means of which the turbulent
spirits might be overawed. Thus another step is taken towards the
subjugation of all that district to Ottoman rule. There is no need to
suppose that the Druzes acquiesce calmly and finally in this condition
of things. It is as certain as anything mundane can be that they
simply “bide their time,” and when that time comes, their old, proud,
freedom-loving spirit will assert itself again, undimmed and unbroken.
CHAPTER VIII
_Bozrah_--First Syrian mosque--The physician the reconciler--The
“House of the Jew”--The great mosque--Cufic inscription--Boheira
and Mohammed--The fortress--Bridal festivities--Feats of
horsemanship--History--Origen’s visit--Capture by Moslems.
[Illustration: BOZRAH. BAB EL-HOWA]
A DRUZE peasant who accompanied us part of the way from _ʿIry_ to
_Bozrah_ professed to know the country well throughout a wide area,
and declared that he could conduct us to a hundred ruins, south and
east of _Bozrah_, as great and beautiful as _Bozrah_ itself. This was
exaggeration, of course; but that district beyond _Umm el-Jamâl_ is
still unexplored, and we regretted much that we could not accept his
proffered guidance. Ere descending into the _Wady Zeideh_, we came
in full view of _Bozrah_, spreading darkly under a light haze on the
plain beyond, like the ruins of a great city that had passed through
fire. The massive castle of _Salkhad_ had long been visible, sitting
proudly on the very crest of the giant ridge of _Jebel ed-Druze_,
commanding a wide prospect over all the land of Bashan, and far over
the inhospitable deserts eastward. The sheikh whom we met at _ʿIry_
pressingly invited us, and fain were we to go and stand upon the most
easterly border of the land held by ancient Israel. As this could
not be, we satisfied ourselves for the time by gazing at the fine old
fortress through the telescope. It forms a magnificent landmark. With
this grand old stronghold, and the volcanic cone of _Jebel el-Kuleib_,
just above _Suweida_, towering high over all, the traveller in the
plains need be at no loss to discover his whereabouts. Some of the
villages to the right are inhabited by Christians, between whom and
their Druze neighbours there is nearly always strife.
Approaching _Bozrah_ from the north, just outside the town, we reach
a mosque called _el-Mebrak_--“the place of kneeling.” Here knelt the
camel which bore the Korʾân before _Othman ibn ʿAffan_, third caliph
after Mohammed, on his entering Syria. This determined the spot where
the first Syrian mosque should stand. On a basaltic slab within is
shown the alleged impression made by the kneeling camel. The house
where Mohammed should alight in Medina when he fled from Mecca was
indicated by the kneeling of his _naqa_, or female camel; and there
was raised the first Mohammedan mosque in the world. This method of
selecting particular spots by the kneeling of the camel is illustrated
among other Eastern peoples; for example, among the Jews. They say that
Maimonides, the great doctor of the twelfth century, gave instructions,
before his death, that he should be laid to rest in the Holy Land. His
body was laid on a camel, which, starting from Alexandria, marched day
and night until it reached a spot outside the walls of Tiberias. There
it kneeled down. With difficulty it was made to rise, but it only
moved round in a narrow circle. The phenomenon roused the interest of
the spectators. Inquiring, they found that the great doctor’s father
was buried there; and they laid his body in his father’s grave!
Our tents were pitched under the shadow of the castle, on a
threshing-floor, still green with the grass of spring. Our first
visitor was a Christian, one of _Bozrah’s_ few inhabitants, whose mouth
was full of blasphemies against the Druzes. A companion had received a
gunshot wound in a recent skirmish, and now they were plotting revenge.
The governor’s letter secured for us a kindly welcome from the officer
commanding the garrison, who invited us to drink coffee with him and go
over the old castle. It was already known throughout the mountain that
we should not move till Monday. Early on Saturday the Druzes began to
gather from _Salkhad_, _Kerîyeh_, and other villages. A second company
of fellahîn from the neighbourhood at the same time assembled at our
camp. Their mutual enmities were laid aside or forgotten. Their one
anxiety was to get a word of the good _hakîm_, who might help them in
their sickness, or give such advice as might relieve relatives and
friends too ill to come themselves. These groups of men, but yesterday,
perhaps, engaged in loud quarrels, wounding each other in wrath, now
gathered peacefully together, docile as lambs in the hands of the man
whom they felt they could trust, formed a striking scene, not soon to
be forgotten. Nor can one fail to see what a powerful mediator and
reconciler one true representative of the Great Physician among these
wild peoples might prove.
Most of the remains of interest are gathered in little space near the
crossing of the two main streets, which, as in all the Roman cities
we visited, cut the city at right angles. Triumphal arch, baths, tall
Corinthian columns with beautiful capitals still in position, and
the remains of an old temple lie closely together. Going from the
crossing towards the great mosque, we pass an old doorway, all that now
remains of what the Arabs call _Beit el-Yehûdy_--“House of the Jew.”
_ʿOmâr_, second from Mohammed, was and is justly celebrated for the
impartiality of his judgments. Tradition saith that during his reign
the Moslem governor of _Bozrah_ ruined this Jewish house and built a
mosque on the site. The oppressed Jew made his way to Medina, where
he found the caliph surrounded by neither pomp nor circumstance that
could daunt the poorest client. Hearing his case, _ʿOmâr_ gave him an
order, written on the jawbone of an ass, which he found to his hand.
Immediately on receiving this order, the governor of _Bozrah_ directed
the mosque to be pulled down and the Jew’s house rebuilt and restored
to him. Such an incident should be remembered with pride by all worthy
Moslems, as illustrating the purity of their early rulers. On the
contrary, the Jew who sought simple justice is held as “an execration,
and an astonishment, and a reproach.” The inquirer will seek long
and diligently ere he find such lofty principle among the judges of
_Islâm_ to-day.
The great mosque, tradition says, was built by order of _ʿOmâr_. Old
materials have been freely used in its construction. The court within
is adorned with marble columns. These and many stones in the walls
bear Greek inscriptions, often sadly mutilated--evidence enough of
the antiquity of the materials; for the Arabs knew no Greek, and were
often profoundly irritated because Greek prisoners, from whom they
hoped to learn something of the enemy, knew no Arabic. One column,
bearing in an inscription the Saviour’s name, was doubtless taken from
a Christian church. For the building of this latter, in turn, it was
probably brought from a heathen temple, more ancient still. The column
immediately east of this bears the date 383 Bostrian era = A.D. 489.
Only traces remain of the frieze and ornamentation in Cufic and Arabic
characters--the adornment chiefly affected by the Moslems. The minaret
commands a beautiful view of the surrounding country, but its rickety
appearance deterred us from the ascent. The centre of the mosque is
filled with debris. Long deserted, its silent court and ruined walls
mutely illustrate the decay which ever swiftly follows the advancing
shadow of _Islâm_.
We secured a copy of a long Cufic inscription found on a basaltic
slab, by the door of a small mosque. It has been photographed by the
American Exploration Society, but I have seen no translation. With
the assistance of an intelligent Syrian I went carefully over it,
and I think the following fairly represents the sense. It begins as
usual, “In the name of God the merciful, the compassionate,” and goes
on to enumerate His attributes. He is “the blessed, the opulent, the
owner of the world, the just, the incomparable, the invincible, the
victorious.” It tells of certain properties devoted by one “Serjenk,”
or “Serjek”--for the name seems spelled both ways--“the humble servant
of God,” for the benefit of those “who have set free the helpless and
friendless from the prisons of infidels, of the widows and orphans
of Moslems, of the poor and the sons of the highways,” under certain
conditions. It concludes with the declaration that whoever infringes
these conditions in the future “will do himself injustice, will prove
himself an infidel, and partaker in the blood of _Hassan_ and _Husein_,
and an accomplice of those who do despite to the statutes of God.” Then
comes the signature--“the humble servant of God, Serjenk.”
The church and dwelling-house of _Boheira_ are shown here. Of _Boheira_
it is said that he was a monk in this city, and was the first to hail
the youthful Mohammed as a coming prophet. Of this event, Ockly has
translated the following account given by one Basil: “The caravan of
the Koreish came by, with which were Kadijah’s camels, which were
looked after by Mohammed. He [Boheira] looked towards the caravan,
in the middle of which was Mohammed; and there was a cloud upon him
to keep him from the sun. Then the caravan alighted, and Mohammed
leaning against an old withered tree, it immediately brought forth
leaves. Boheira perceiving this, made an entertainment for the caravan,
and invited them into the monastery, Mohammed staying behind with the
camels. Boheira, missing him, asked if there were all of them. Yes,
they said, all but a little boy they had left to look after their
things and feed the camels. ‘What is his name?’ says Boheira. They told
him Mohammed ibn ʿAbdullah. Boheira asked if his father and mother were
not dead, and if he was not brought up by his grandfather and uncle.
Being satisfied that it was so, he said: ‘O Koreish! set a great value
upon him, for he is your lord, and by him will your power be great both
in this world and in that to come: for he is your ornament and glory.’
They asked him how he knew that. ‘Because,’ answered Boheira, ‘as you
were coming, there was never a tree nor a stone nor a clod but bowed
itself and worshipped God.’ Boheira, besides, told this Basil that a
great many prophets had leaned against this tree, and sat under it, but
it never bore any leaves before since it was withered. ‘And I heard
him say,’ says this same Basil, ‘this is the prophet concerning whom
ʿIsa [Jesus] spake, Happy is he that believes him, and follows him, and
gives credit to his mission.’”
That Mohammed met Boheira seems certain. But exactly what their
relations were it is not easy to say. The Syrian Christians believed
that he followed “the prophet,” and largely assisted him in the
composition of his “messages” or “revelations.” They say he supplied
the biblical information used for Mohammed’s purposes in the Korʾân.
The number of Jews, however, who long ere Mohammed’s time had settled
in _el-Yemen_ suggests a more convenient source for his knowledge, such
as it was, of the Torah; but for his acquaintance with Christianity he
may possibly have been indebted to some renegade like Boheira. And if
his (Boheira’s) understanding of the words of Jesus be illustrated in
the phrase quoted above, what wonder if his religion did not greatly
impress such a mind as Mohammed’s! In any case, it was in his Syrian
journeys that he must have come into contact with Christianity. However
bootless, it is impossible to help regretting that the master mind of
the Arabian peninsula should have seen our religion only in the debased
form then prevalent in these regions. Had it been ordered otherwise,
the whole history of the East might have run in nobler channels.
Close by a second Roman archway stands a large ruined house, abounding
in carved and sculptured stones, known as _Kasr-Melek el-Asfar_. At
_Zorʿa_ there is also a “palace of the yellow king.”
The fortress is built around and upon the old Roman theatre, which,
contrary to expectation in such circumstances, is well preserved. There
are vast underground apartments, and cisterns which would supply water
for a large garrison through a siege of many months. Subterranean
passages, the natives say, lead to a great distance in several
directions.
Such an important place as _Bozrah_ was bound to claim to be the
birthplace of Philip; nor would it be complete without some relation to
Job. Accordingly, an “ancient tradition” is forthcoming to the effect
that the patriarch dwelt in the country near the city.
On Saturday afternoon we heard the sounds of music and drums proceeding
from the town, and high over all the peculiarly shrill, wavering cry
uttered by Eastern women in times of excitement, whether of grief or
joy. The tramp of horses on the pavement, and the tread of many feet,
told of the approach of a procession. Soon a company of horsemen swept
into view, youthful, well mounted, armed with the long _rumh_, or Arab
spear, accompanied by a crowd of all ages, clad in holiday attire
of brilliant colours. Riding in the procession were several little
boys, who seemed to have little interest in the affair, and to be, on
the whole, not a little bored by it. It was a bridal procession--an
occasion of special joy, since not one but four marriages were being
celebrated. The enthusiasm lacking on the part of the dressed-up,
solemn-looking little bridegrooms was made up for amply by the excited
people who surrounded their horses, dancing, singing, shouting, and
clapping their hands. A band with drums and timbrels went in front.
On the wrists and ankles of the women glittered rude bracelets; heavy
rings ornamented their fingers; nor was the nose-jewel entirely absent.
Their heads were covered with light kerchiefs of varied hues, the
corners tied under the chin, while the hair hung down in long, heavy
plaits behind, often loaded with coins, which might be the dowry of
the women who wore them. The men wore the _kufîyeh_ and _ʿakal_--the
“kerchief” and “thick hair fillet”--on their heads, with the Arab coat
of goats’-hair over their under-garments. Those who were not barefooted
wore the common red shoes so dear to the Arab.
The horses pranced and capered. The procession advanced with singing,
clapping of hands to the music, and at times in a kind of stately
dance. They headed toward a wide stretch of level ground behind our
camp. Passing within the enclosure, those on foot drew themselves up
along one side; the horsemen dashed forward at full gallop, and began
a series of evolutions which, to Western eyes, seemed to involve every
man of them in imminent danger. Not a few of the performances in which
they pride themselves are obviously cruel to the animals. Riding at
full speed, it is a mark of horsemanship to bring the animal to an
absolute stop in an instant, throwing him back on his haunches. In
starting, he must spring forward at full speed, like an arrow from
the bow. If either of these movements cannot be performed, horse or
rider, or both, are condemned. In driving the horses peculiar spurs
are employed. The bottom of the Arab stirrup is a broad piece of light
iron, the hinder part of which is sharpened. When the foot is slipped
forward, this piece of iron projects behind the heel. Driven into the
sides of the animal, it cuts almost like a knife. And another mark
of horsemanship is that these cuts be as far back as possible. The
bridle, too, is an instrument of torture. From the centre of the bit
a sharp piece of iron projects inward; a ring attached to the same
point drops over the under jaw; the reins are attached to iron rods,
which, from the ends of the bit, extend a little way in front of the
horse’s mouth, forming thus a curb of terrific power. It is with this
instrument the rider can arrest his horse in a moment in mid-career.
One can hardly help wishing that, for the sake of the poor animal, he
had a touch of its quality himself. An exceptionally “hard-mouthed”
horse may require exceptional treatment, but the universal employment
of this bridle seems gratuitous cruelty.
Many of their feats, however, are very graceful, and in their
performance no little skill is required. Their beautiful wheeling and
curving on the level, in which horse and rider seem moulded together,
remind one of nothing so much as the fine circlings of an expert
skater. Good proficiency is attained when the rider can stoop from the
saddle at full gallop and pick up his staff from the ground. In this
and similar exercises the horseman on the _medân_, or racecourse, is
always engaged, in intervals of play. Loud were the challenges of the
men of _Bozrah_ that festal day, and hearty the responses. Prancing
forward, one would touch another with his _rumh_, and, turning, spur
his steed and fly, hotly pursued by the man thus challenged. Then
ensued a series of evolutions in which all the skill of the horsemen
and all the speed of the horses were brought into play. If the pursuer
could put his _rumh_ on the shoulder of his challenger, he received
the victor’s meed of applause; but should the challenger’s steed
outstrip that of the pursuer, the latter swerved off, and sought to
redeem his defeat by a display of skilful horsemanship; and he might
count himself fortunate if he reached his place again without a second
touch from his conqueror’s _rumh_. The play over, the procession formed
again, the solemn-looking little men in the centre, as before, marched
back to the city with music and dancing, and passed away from our
sight. We heard, at intervals, the distant roll of the drums and the
shrill cry of the women, from which we knew that the festivities were
still going on.
On Sundays more than other days one was impressed with the abnormal
quiet reigning over the land. Verily, the word of the Lord has been
fulfilled: “And you will I scatter among the nations.... Then shall
the land enjoy her sabbaths, as long as it lieth desolate, and ye be
in your enemies’ land, ... even the rest which it had not in your
sabbaths when ye dwelt upon it.” Temple, church, and mosque have risen
in succession in her cities, have flourished awhile in splendour, then
crumbled into ruin. At last the sabbath rest has fallen upon her.
The name _Bozrah_ signifies a fortress, and must have described the
city from very ancient times. It would be of the highest importance
to dwellers in the cultivated lands to have here, on their border,
a strong defence against the wild rovers from the deserts. So true
is this, that it came to be said, “The prosperity of Bozrah is the
prosperity of Haurân.”
[Illustration: BOZRAH]
This city is probably intended by Jeremiah as included in the
denunciation of wrath against Moab and all her cities, “far or near.”
It is mentioned in close connection with _Kerioth_ and _Beth Gamul_,
which correspond as nearly as may be in name to _Kerîyeh_ and _Umm
el-Jamâl_--ruined cities in the neighbourhood. _Bozrah_ appears in
the Apocrypha and Josephus as _Basora_. Hither came the heroic Judas
Maccabeus. He delivered from imprisonment many of his unfortunate
brethren, and destroyed the city, burning it, as far as that was
possible, with fire. But withal there were yet glorious days in store
for _Bozrah_. The land passed under the dominion of the Romans. The
transjordanic provinces were subdued by Aulus Cornelius Palma. _Bozrah_
he made capital of the province, calling it _Nova Trajana Bostra_, in
honour of the emperor Trajan. This was in A.D. 105, from which date
was reckoned the Bostrian era. The old city took a new lease of life,
and worthily assumed her place as by far the most important stronghold
east of Jordan. Her streets were graced with public buildings of which
the proudest city need not have been ashamed. A network of magnificent
roads, which even yet are traced across the plains, leading to all the
principal towns and cities in the province, found in her its centre.
The merchandise of the East, by way of the road from the Persian Gulf,
stocked her marts, and the gold and frankincense caravans from Arabia
the Happy brought their stores to increase her wealth. The time of
her greatest splendour probably fell in the short reign of Philip
the Arabian, who, with the wealth of Rome at his command, guided by
his Oriental pride and taste, would lavish adornment on the chief
city of his native province, embellishing her streets and squares
with triumphs of architectural art. Hither came the great Origen, to
consult with the Bishop Beryllus, who had gone astray in matters of
faith and doctrine; and he met with far greater success than the most
doughty warriors for orthodoxy may ever hope for, if they regard the
heretic as one only to be hunted out and prosecuted. Something might
be learned from the methods of Origen, who, in brotherly and friendly
converse, convinced the erring bishop, and saved him to the Church.
Subsequently the city became the seat of an archbishop. It maintained
its fame as a commercial and military centre down to the Mohammedan
conquest. _Bozrah_ was the first Syrian city invested by the Arabians.
The intrepid and skilful soldier, Khâlid, surnamed “The sword of
God,” commanded the Moslems. While planted before the fortress, the
Mohammedans, in the absence of water, performed their ablutions with
sand. In the first encounter with Christians outside the walls, the
Moslems were entirely victorious. The former shut themselves up in the
city, and mounted banners and crosses upon the walls, as if expecting
divine intervention, by this means, in their favour. The governor,
Romanus, counselling surrender, was deposed as a traitor, and another
put in his place. Smarting under the double insult, he resolved
to revenge himself by selling the city to the enemy. Through his
treachery many valorous Moslem youths were introduced into the city,
in the garb of ordinary citizens, and posted in various quarters. At
a given signal, the Moslem war-cry, _Allah Akbar_, resounded over the
city. The defenders were thrown into confusion, the inhabitants into
consternation and despair. The gates were thrown open, and the city,
with little bloodshed, passed into the hands of the Mohammedans, who
retain it still. In the days of the Crusades it was still an important
stronghold, practically the key to the possession of the eastern
provinces. Baldwin III. cast his forces in vain against the rock-like
walls. But the blight of _Islâm_ had fallen upon it. Gradually its
splendour faded; its well-stocked marts were emptied; the sound of
busy footsteps on its pavements died away; earthquakes shook down
its temples and destroyed its public buildings; no hand was raised
to arrest its decay. And now for centuries it has lain mouldering in
mournful ruins under the fierce heat of the Syrian sun, blackening in
the breath of Time. But surely her season of solitude and desolation
must be nearly over. When the long sabbath of the land is past, new
life pulsing in all her furrows, the hills and vales resounding with
the song of the husbandman, _Bozrah must_ awake from her weary sleep,
and put on once again the pleasing garments of prosperity.
CHAPTER IX
Travellers’ troubles--A corner of the desert--The mirage--Dangerous
_wadies_--Lunch in the desert--A “blind” guide--The clerk to the
_sheyûkh_--A milestone--_Kalʿat Esdein_--Thirst--The uplands of
Gilead--Search for water--A _Bedawy_ camp--Terrific thunderstorm.
LONG before dawn on Monday morning all was bustle and stir in the camp.
We hoped to reach _Jerash_ that evening, but the most conflicting
accounts were given of the distance, varying from three days to
one long day. The usual road runs west to _Derʿat_, where it turns
southward by way of _Remtah_. A line direct, across a corner of the
desert, is shorter by perhaps fifteen miles. This we proposed to take.
In that wide empty land, with never a house, haunted by roving _Beduw_,
a guide was absolutely necessary. With difficulty one was found who
had traversed the way before; but he would go only on condition that a
friend should also go, to accompany him home again. We were not yet to
start, however. A vendor of antiquities entrusted certain old coins,
seals, etc., to our cook, who himself did business in that line, in the
hope that we might buy. A few purchases were made; but when it came to
giving back the remainder, a seal, or stone from a signet ring, was
missing. On this, of course, the owner put a fancy price. Imagine a
company of pilgrims on their knees, turning up stones and groping in
the dust as earnestly as rag-pickers on a heap! The toil was fruitless.
The cook was told that suspicion attached to himself; and that if the
seal were not forthcoming, the owner should have his price, the same
to be duly deducted from the cook’s wages. With an injured air that
plainly meant “What shall we hear next?” the worthy _ʿAbdu_ resumed his
search, and soon sprang to his feet with the lost seal in his hand.
Throwing himself down, he kissed the ground, then casting his eyes
upward he fervently exclaimed, _el-hamdulillah_, “Praise be to God!”
The owner seemed least pleased of all. Tying up his treasure in the
corner of a napkin, he marched sullenly away, grieving doubtless over
_ʿAbdu’s_ provoking luck.
At last our guide strode off before us, leaving his companion to fetch
the muleteers, who, we hoped, might pass us at lunch. We struck the
Roman road which runs to the south-west, not that which leads more
to the south, past _Umm el-Jamâl_ to _Kalʿat ez-Zerka_. The pavement
on these great highways is hard on the horses’ hoofs. The track used
to-day almost invariably lies alongside the road. Crossing a shallow
vale, we entered a vast plain, covered with tufts of wiry grass.
The beautiful iris was here also in plenty. The view offered little
variety save on the horizons. _Salchad_, _Jebel el-Kuleib_, and the
dark range of which they are part loomed away on the north-east.
Northward lay _el-Lejâʾ_ and the mountains that overlook Damascus. The
white splendour of Hermon filled the north-western sky. A light haze
half-concealed the hills of _Jaulân_ and the highlands of Galilee, but
nearly due west we could see the round head of Tabor. Before us lay the
wooded hills of _Jebel ʿAjlûn_, the land of Gilead, while the plain
stretched away to the south-east, desert-wards, as far as the eye could
reach.
Several times during this desert ride we saw the _mirage_--now as
waving trees, now as dimly outlined houses, with the sheen of water
near. Happily we had supplies of water with us, and so were spared the
torture these fleeting visions bring to the weary and the thirsty. The
mirage is often seen in the plain of _el-Bukaʿ_, or Coele Syria. One
most perfect and beautiful I saw in the neighbourhood of _Tell Hûm_,
from a roof in Tiberias. It proved to be a picture of Tiberias itself,
with ruined castle, broken walls, white-domed mosque, and palm trees,
photographed upon the mists some nine miles away.
We crossed several little _wadies_ in which the water from winter and
spring rains had not quite dried up. The passage of these “brooks” is
not always free from danger. The soft soil goes to thick black mud,
when saturated with the water of the stream. Several of our party had
narrow escapes from accident, the horses sinking to the saddle-girths,
and struggling through only with desperate efforts, very unsettling to
the riders. In the deepest and broadest of these hollows we found a
green-carpeted meadow, with a few _Bedawy_ tents. The moment we came
in sight a woman ran out to meet us, with hospitable welcome, bringing
a large dish of buttermilk, from which we drank heartily and were
refreshed.
At this point I was some distance behind the party, detained in digging
a root from the hard soil. On the north of the _wady_ lay a rough hill,
strewn with great boulders. Galloping up, I saw two figures with long
guns dodging behind the rocks, furtively glancing in my direction, and
clearly making to intercept me in the _wady_. A few steps farther, and
they caught sight of our party, who fortunately were not very far away.
They at once turned and made off to eastward, so sparing me what might
have been at least an unpleasant brush with Arabs in search of plunder.
Probably they were of the company at whose tents we met such kindness.
The man who will lay down his life to protect you when you have passed
under his roof may think you “fair game” if he finds you in the open.
This _wady_ we passed early in the day, and thereafter we saw neither
stream, fountain, nor cistern through all the long burning hours.
Coming to what looked like an old burying-ground in the middle of the
plain, we halted for lunch, and waited for the muleteers. Two hours
passed before the “baggage train” appeared, from which we judged that
they had lost their way. Anxiety on their behalf could not blind us
to the almost certain futility of any search. Our decision to wait in
the somewhat conspicuous position we occupied and give them a chance
to find us was amply justified by the result. With hands and face
protected from the sun as best might be, we stretched ourselves on the
earth, and perhaps all indulged in the luxury of “forty winks.” As time
wore on, some sought entertainment in trials of strength, agility, and
skill--this last by shooting balls at a stone set up a hundred yards
away. The shot, even with a smooth bore, was not alarmingly difficult;
but when the stone toppled over, the Arabs who were with us stood
amazed. They might have done as well themselves, but had not dreamed
of _Franjies_ shooting straight. There is an impression abroad that
_Franjies_ are on the whole rather helpless people, able perhaps to
read and write. But these are despicable attainments, save, indeed,
when the former may guide to the discovery of hid treasure!
Our baggage-men had wandered, much against their own will and judgment,
yielding to the head-strong ignorance of the man told off to guide
them. When his incompetence was plainly manifest, with contemptuous
anger they dismissed him, some bidding him hold by his mother until he
could walk alone, and others suggesting that perhaps his wife needed
him about the house. Then trusting their own instinct, which, in these
“sons of the highway” approaches genius, they proceeded to find the
road for themselves. The long delay, however, destroyed all hope of
seeing _Jerash_ that night.
Soon after starting again we were joined by a bright, talkative
youth, who told us he was at work among the _Beduw_. He knew the
various tribes and their locations, and was familiar with most of
the country. He came from _el-Judeideh_, the summer station of the
Sidon American Mission, which overlooks _Merj Aʿyûn_, the ancient
“Ijon,” from the north-west. This village supplies many of the
brave, light-hearted fellows who drive their hardy beasts with the
necessaries of life through all parts of the land. Most _mukaries_
(“muleteers”) have a wholesome dread of the Lower Jordan Valley, but
the men of _el-Judeideh_ may be seen there almost any day, swinging
along with careless ease, as much at home as on the slope of their
native mountain. This youth was accustomed to visit these parts every
spring, acting as _Kâtib_ (“Secretary”) among the _Bedawy_ chiefs,
at the time of division and arrangement of flocks. He assisted at
bargains, wrote out contracts, registered numbers, etc.; for these
barbarous _sheyûkh_, while holding it _infra dig._ for an Arab to
write, quite realise the value of “black and white” in a bargain.
He busied himself for some months, passing from tribe to tribe, and
with advancing summer turned again to his upland home. He assured us
that _Jerash_ could not be reached that night, and urged us to turn
aside with him to a great _Bedawy_ encampment, where we should find
heartiest welcome and plentiful entertainment. We lived to regret our
refusal; and, after all, we must have slept within an hour of the spot
he indicated--probably with a smaller branch of the same tribe. Our
guide vowed that water would be found on the edge of the plain, so we
judged it best to push on straight towards our goal. The lad bade
us gaily farewell, put spurs to his steed, and galloped away towards a
black patch at the base of the hills to westward, where no doubt stood
the Arabs’ “houses of hair.” A curl of smoke over an apparently ruinous
village away to the north-west was due, our guide said, to the presence
of Circassians, a number of whom had recently taken possession and were
attempting to cultivate the surrounding soil. If any men could succeed,
they should have a good chance. We shall meet them again at _Jerash_.
[Illustration: PALESTINIAN SHEPHERD AND FLOCK]
Amid a confused heap of hewn stones by the wayside we found a broken
column with a few fragments of Greek letters. It had served as a
milestone in ancient days, but could no longer yield information as
to the way. Nothing else arrested attention till we neared the edge
of the waste; then we were drawn to the left by a strip of green and
the music of many frogs--both indicating the presence of water. Water
we found, indeed, but so little of it and so vile, that not even the
thirsty animals would touch it. We came upon two huge reservoirs, with
never a drop in either. They stand one above the other in the side of a
gentle slope, carefully cemented, sides and bottom, a flight of stone
steps leading down into each. From certain marks around, we thought
they might have belonged to a system of baths. On the hill above
the reservoirs stands an old fortress, _Kalʿat Esdein_. Still well
preserved, all save the roof, which is gone, is a building to the east,
which may have been a church. A large cistern within the court raised
our hopes, only to dash them again. It was quite empty. The fortress
must have been of considerable strength, built, as it is, round the top
of a little hill, commanding the pass by which we entered the country
of _ʿAjlûn_.
We were tempted to halt here for the night, contenting ourselves with
dry fare, but the sight of our thirsty animals panting beside us, their
great eyes seeming to plead with us for water, moved our compassions,
so we set forward once more, although the sun was already low in the
west, and darkness comes without warning in these lands. Some of us
went in advance, hoping to find some _wady_ where little pools might
still be left, or a spring under some green wooded hill. Separating, we
searched the country on either side of the pass, taking what bearings
were possible, so that we might not lose the caravan, which wound along
painfully below. Hill after hill was scaled and valley after valley
traversed, with ever the same result. The shadows were falling thick
when at last we struck a well-beaten track, which we knew must lead
to an Arab camp. The rest of our party we saw on a hilltop behind us.
The _mukaries_ with the baggage were a long way back. With no one to
guide them, they were sure to wander in the night that gathered over
us, the darkness deepened by great black clouds, that soon covered
all the sky. As the cook rode a powerful mare, it was hinted that he
might return and guide them past certain tempting openings. The poor
man almost shivered himself out of his saddle, a picture of abject
terror. There was nothing else for it, so I pushed forward my weary
horse, marking the hilltops against the sky. Some distance along the
valley I heard the music of the bells that hung tinkling round the
necks of the baggage animals, and guided by this, by and by came upon
the _mukaries_, moving cautiously for fear of ruts or holes in which
the mules might stumble. There was room enough for anxiety, but no
trace of it was seen in these fearless, happy-spirited children of
the mountain--no anxiety save what was excited by the condition of
a comrade who had fallen sick by the way. The kindness shown to the
sick youth, by these strong-limbed but tender-hearted men, was most
touching. They had an extra animal, which they rode by turns, to rest
their feet a little during the journey. This day and succeeding days
every man of them cheerfully gave up his “turn,” that their fevered
companion might ride all the way. It is hardly doing them justice to
say that they gave it up cheerfully: they never seemed to think of it
at all. Just as they came forward it was found that the sick lad, in
his weakness and weariness, had let something fall a good way back.
The big-hearted fellow who had been walking beside him gave the others
certain charges concerning him, and without even a look of reproach,
dived away into the shadows to search for it. Giving the advancing
party instructions as to the way, I stood to act as a landmark, to
guide the gallant _Mousa_ on his return. The _Bludân_ men, reared in
the bracing air of _Anti-Libanus_, are among the finest specimens of
the Syrian people. Independent, manly, yet withal respectful, ever
showing to advantage in difficulty or danger, their tender solicitude
for their unfortunate comrade did more to win our hearts than all their
more showy qualities.
Standing alone in the bottom of that thickly wooded vale, distant
objects already faded from sight, the hilltops themselves hardly
distinguishable against a sky that grew ever darker, flocks of vultures
fighting for places in the branches of trees near by, apparently
unused to fear in that solitude, I was not sorry to hear, at last, the
footfall of the returning _Mousa_. As we started forward together, a
bright flame leapt from the top of the highest hill before us. In the
red glare we could almost see the figures of our friends as they piled
on the fuel. The idea of the fire was excellent. The cook made the
suggestion, and fell to work with frantic energy, tearing up roots,
pulling down branches and heaping them up to burn, as if he hoped
the flame might scorch the reproach of cowardice from his accusing
conscience.
[Illustration: ARAB CAMP IN MT. GILEAD]
Guided by the fire, we soon rejoined our companions on the hilltop. The
doctor, meantime, had found an Arab encampment, and returned to lead
us thither. His cheery voice rang out of the darkness, calling us to
follow him. It was only the voice we could follow, as we never saw each
other again until we gathered in the ruddy light of the _Bedawy_ fires.
We came long after sunset, committing thus unwillingly a breach of
desert etiquette. But the Arabs easily understood our plight, and soon
great draughts of delicious warm milk were provided. There is no better
restorative than this, after a fatiguing and anxious day. But our
excitements were not over yet. Great drops of rain slid down through
the darkness, as if the clouds perspired supporting their own weight.
Warning drops they were: we rushed up our tent before the shower came
which they heralded. Under its roof we all took refuge until the
_mukaries_ had pitched a second tent; then we separated for the night,
to make the best of circumstances--sleeping on chairs, or stretched on
the canvas of our camp-beds, covered with anything that came to hand.
Silence as of death had fallen over the mountains; not a leaf stirred
in the trees around us; sheep and oxen huddled closely together
beside the hair houses of their masters; and the clouds hung dark and
threatening, like birds of evil omen poised in the sky above us. The
darkness overhead was cloven as by a flaming scimitar, and out rushed
a stream of living fire, that spread for a moment over the hills like
a curtain of gleaming light, to which every particular leaf responded
with individual glitter. The thunder roared and bellowed through all
that empty land, like the mingling of the tornado with the voice of
many waters. The earth shook as if the very hills were being hurled
headlong in divine displeasure. The rain fell in torrents, and beating
on the taut canvas of our tents, served to increase the uproar. It is
impossible to exaggerate the grandeur of the scene. Not till then could
I fully appreciate the majestic realism of the famous old song of the
thunderstorm, Psalm xxix. Surely it was after witnessing a storm like
this that the Psalmist penned these marvellous descriptive verses:
The voice of the Lord is upon the waters:
The God of glory thundereth,
Even the Lord upon many waters.
The voice of the Lord is powerful;
The voice of the Lord is full of majesty.
The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars;
Yea, the voice of the Lord breaketh in pieces the cedars of Lebanon.
He maketh them also to skip like a calf;
Lebanon and Sirion like a young wild-ox.
The voice of the Lord cleaveth the flames of fire.
The voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness;
The Lord shaketh the wilderness of Kadesh.
The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve,
And strippeth the forests bare.--PSALM xxix. 3-9.
As one reads, all seems to pass before him again in unparalleled
grandeur. In the midst of a scene like this, how completely one is cast
back upon the Lord Himself.
Once we could distinguish no interval between flash and crash, and one
of our company experienced a strange thrill passing through his body.
Mercifully we were preserved from serious injury. Sitting there among
the mountains, the worthy theatre of that awful display, the poor
_Beduw_ near us crouching in abject fear beside their trembling flocks,
one could realise the comfort of the reflection with which the poet
concludes his song:
The Lord sitteth as King for ever.
The Lord will give strength unto His people;
The Lord will bless His people with peace.
CHAPTER X
Morning on the mountains--Arab time--Tents and encampments--The Women
and their work--Arab wealth--Scenes at the wells--Dogs--Arabian
hospitality--Desert pests--Strange code of honour--The blood
feud--Judgment of the elders--Arab and horse--The Arabs and
religion--The Oriental mind--Arab visit to Damascus.
THE storm continued all night, abating slightly towards midnight, but
increasing in violence as the _fajr_, or first glint of morning, stole
into the sky. A brilliant flash, followed instantly by a terrific
crash, marked the climax just as day broke. The dust, which had blown
thick around us on our approach, was transformed into soft, clinging
mud. The tents were so wet that packing was out of the question. The
hoofs of the animals sank deep into the yielding soil. Travel under
these conditions would be both slow and painful. We were fain to wait
and see what the sun would do for us. He soon rose in all his strength,
and in two hours worked wonders. As tents and roads grew dry, we became
more cheerful. The Arabs gathered in little groups, submitting their
ills to the doctor’s skill, giving what information they could about
our way, the country, and themselves. _Jerash_, we learned, was only
two or three hours distant. Not that the Arabs knew anything of our
method of measuring time. One said, “What do we know about ‘hours’? But
see: If the sun is _there_ when you leave here, it will be _there_ when
you reach _Jerash_”--pointing the two quarters of the sky as he spoke.
The sun is the great time-keeper in the desert. By his pace all
journeys are measured. The three great points from which the Arabs
reckon are sunrise, noon, and sunset--_Shurûk esh-shems_, _Zahr_, and
_Mughrab_. When travelling, they like to be off before sunrise; and
no one is willingly abroad after sunset. They strive to reach some
friendly roof before the last beams of departing day have fled. It is
contrary to the etiquette of the _Khâla_ (“empty waste”) for a guest to
throw himself upon his host after sunset. The evening meal, the chief
meal of the day, is eaten then. To arrive after it is prepared, or
finished, is to put the host to all the trouble of fresh preparation.
This no Arab would do if he could possibly avoid it. If the guest is
of any consideration, the host would grieve most of all that he was
deprived of the privilege of making a proper feast. Therefore, by
common consent it is said, “The guest who arrives after sunset goes
supperless to sleep.” There is, however, another reason for shunning
the shadows of early night. Then especially the robber pests of the
wilds ply their dark craft, with the long hours till morning in which
to flee. With such a start before his crime is discovered, and knowing
as he does the intricacies of the desert, the robber or murderer is
almost sure to escape.
The Arab “houses,” as they call them, are made of goats’-hair, spun
and woven by the women into long strips, about fifteen inches wide.
The weft is stretched on a frame; the woof is worked in by the
women’s fingers, and drawn up tightly with what looks like a huge,
short-toothed, wooden comb. Dark brown and white are the colours mostly
employed. These strips are sewn together with hair thread, into pieces
of sufficient breadth. Two poles are set up at each end of the space
to be covered. Over these the roof-cloth is stretched by means of
cords fastened to the ends, and attached to pins firmly fixed in the
ground. As many poles as are needed to support the roof are introduced
in the body of the “house,” and over these, by side cords, tied as
at the ends, to pegs in the ground, the cloth is drawn taut. Often
sufficient cloth is made for only one end and one side of the “house.”
This is fastened under the eaves, and is moved round with the sun, so
as to afford shade all day. This haircloth, once thoroughly wet, draws
so tightly together as to be perfectly waterproof. Many think its
rain-resisting qualities are improved by the smoke of greenwood fires.
It is the business of the women (_el-harîm_) to put up the “house”;
and among them it is reckoned a high accomplishment to be able, with a
single blow of the wooden mallet, to drive the tent peg home. Jael the
Kenite brought a practised hand to drive the tent peg through the brow
of the sleeping Sisera.
The tent is divided by a hair curtain drawn across the middle. One end
is the women’s, or more private family department, into which strangers
do not intrude. Here are kept the household stores, coffee, rice,
tobacco, _samn_, etc. Here also will generally be found the small box,
strongly bound with brass or iron, containing contracts, which probably
the owner cannot read, and any treasures to which more than usual value
is attached. A chief’s son on one occasion produced, and displayed with
no little pride, decorations which his ancestors had received from
European governments for services rendered in troublous times. The
other end of the tent is public, where all gather on equal terms. Here
the guest is received and made to recline on cushions, which may be
covered with silk if the “master of the house” is a man of substance. A
shallow hole at one side is the “fireplace,” where coffee is prepared
for the company. Sometimes a large stone shields the fire from the wind.
The tents of an encampment are set end to end, with about the space
of a “house” between them. There may be but a single row, as in the
case of those with whom we had spent the night; but if the number is
large there may be two rows, forming a kind of street. The place of
honour is at the right hand as one enters the encampment; and at either
end this position is occupied by one of sheikhly rank. The status of
the householder may usually be inferred from the size of his house;
and this is reckoned by the number of poles necessary to sustain it.
The chief’s tent in the larger tribes provides accommodation for many
guests.
[Illustration: ARAB WOMEN AND CHILDREN
(Photo. The Photochrome Co. Ld.)]
To the women fall all work and drudgery about camp. We have seen that
they make and pitch the tents. They are the water-carriers, and many a
weary tramp they have, returning exhausted, with the sweating _girbies_
on their backs. If the fountain or cistern is very far off, they may
have donkeys on which to bring the precious liquid, in “bottles” of
partially tanned goat-skins. They, of course, do the cooking, and must
hold themselves in readiness at every moment to obey their lords’
behests. When the tribe moves on, they must pack all the goods, strike
the tents, and put everything in place, ready for the camels to carry.
Their lazy masters, meantime, are lounging in whatever shade there
may be, changing their position as the sun moves, “drinking”--_i.e._
_smoking_--tobacco, indulging in coffee with the sheikh, or yawning
over some tale told for the hundredth time. But when a _ghazzu_, or
“raid,” is projected, then all is stir and excitement among them. Each
man girds on his weapons, mounts his riding-camel, and eagerly pushes
forward in search of plunder.
The degradation of the women is completed by the practice of polygamy
and the freedom of divorce. The husband may in a moment of displeasure
simply utter the formula of divorce, and his wife ceases absolutely to
belong to him. No particular disgrace attaches to the divorced wife,
who easily finds a place in the _harîm_ of another. But the husband
whose wife has run away from him smarts for long under the indignity.
The mother of daughters is despised; but she who bears many sons is
held in reverence, as one who has contributed to the honour of the
family, to the strength and dignity of the tribe.
The wealth of the _Beduw_ consists, like that of Abraham and the
patriarchs, in flocks and herds. The true representatives, indeed,
of Abraham, that grand old sheikh, are not to be sought among the
pale-faced slaves of Talmud and Rabbi, huddled together in the close,
unhealthy towns of Western Palestine; but in the dark-skinned,
free-spirited children of the desert. They roam over wide tracts,
wherever vegetation is found, and water to allay thirst, that haunts
the wilderness like the shadow of death. The humbler men and youths
take charge of the flocks, “leading them forth” to pastures, alas,
not often green; and conducting them every second or third day to the
watering. Here one may see any day a reproduction, true even to minor
details, of the strife between the herdsmen of Isaac and Abimelech. To
the stranger’s eye the confusion of flocks at the watering is complete.
In reality there is mingling, but no confusion. When the shepherd sees
that his charges are satisfied, he simply steps apart and makes his own
peculiar cry, when they at once leave the throng and follow him, for
“they know his voice.” A stranger they will not follow although he copy
their shepherd’s call never so skilfully, for “they know not the voice
of strangers.”
The scenes at desert wells are not always so peaceful. Mr. Doughty
tells a gruesome tale of a band of wild outriders from the _Yemen_
quarter who, after a long hot ride, reached a little pool. The first
man sprang forward, and filling a vessel, put it to his lips. He never
drank. The second man, with an awful oath, plunged his sword in his
fellow’s heart, seized the vessel, and raised it to drink, when he also
fell, bleeding to death under a sword-cut from the man who followed
him, and who in a similar frenzy of thirst would not wait until his
comrade drank. Then the leader of the band exercised his authority. The
fierce fellows were placed in a row, and water was handed to them in
turn. What a man of iron that commander must have been.
To every camp is attached a number of dogs, that belong in a general
way to the community. They are ferocious brutes, and it is by no means
safe for a stranger to approach them alone. They seem to be asleep most
of the day, and awake most of the night. They are trusty guardians of
the flocks during the dark hours, from beasts of prey, their voices of
challenge giving the herdsmen due warning of their enemies’ approach.
Among the nobler sort these “houses of hair” are the very homes of
open-hearted hospitality. In speaking of the Druzes we saw that the
practice of hospitality was associated with religious ideas long
prevalent in Arabia. The particular idea seems to be more clearly
recognised by the _Beduw_. When, in the slant beams of dying day, the
weary traveller draws near, the _Bedawy_ sees in him a guest sent by
God, and so he is called _Daif Ullah_--“guest of God,” who for sake
of God must be bountifully dealt with. For, are not all men “guests
of God,” spending the brief hours of life’s fleeting day under the
blue canopy of His great tent, sharing together His hospitality? With
such an one the _Bedawy_ will cheerfully share the last food in his
possession. For, did not God give the food? and did not He send the
guest? His bounty will not fail in what is needful for the morrow. How
might two guests sit together in the great Host’s tent, one eating and
the other hungry? Hence we have the Arabian proverbs: “Loaf for loaf,
and your neighbour dies not of hunger”; and “He who has bread is debtor
to him who has none.” Thus do we find in the nobler phases of desert
life a fine reflection of the Christian principle, so well realised by
the Apostle Paul, who felt himself _debtor_ to every one who knew not
the light and joy of the Gospel as he did. The bread of life must be
received and dispensed in the generous spirit of Oriental hospitality.
[Illustration: ARABS AT HOME
(Photo. The Photochrome Co. Ld.)]
It is curious that the Arab should feel himself relieved from all
obligation if he meet the stranger in the open; while if the latter can
but touch the most distant peg or cord of the tent, he is absolutely
safe. To provide for the security of his guest is a point of highest
honour with the Arab; and his comfort is considered before anything
else. He is made “master of the house” while he stays. The owner will
not sit down unless the guest invites him; nor will he eat until the
guest is satisfied. To eat under the same roof, or from the same dish,
constitutes a bond of brotherhood. The host is responsible for the
safety of his guest, as far as his authority or ability extends: the
guest is bound in every way to consider the honour and credit of his
host. The protection of the stranger may even anticipate his arrival
at the tent. If in peril, he may take shelter under the name of some
powerful sheikh. When he utters this name, it becomes the duty of all
to assist him in reaching his protector’s dwelling. Any injury done to
him is an outrage upon the man, who, thus invoked, becomes his patron
and avenger. So in the name of the Lord are deliverance and safety
found (Prov. xviii. 10, etc.). The guest may claim entertainment for
three days and three nights. The host may require him to stay so long.
If he stay beyond this period, the stranger may have to do some work--a
provision, probably, against idlers and hangers-on. The guest may abide
continually in the “house” of his host only by becoming identified with
the family through marriage or adoption (Psalm xxiii. 6).
The guest is expected to show appreciation of the viands supplied
in ways not open to one in polite society. In drinking coffee, for
example, he should noisily draw it in with his breath, smack his lips,
and declare its excellence. But he must offer no payment for his
entertainment. This would be regarded as insult. The Arab eats not
in the morning; the guest departs with a simple “good-bye.” He has
had no more than his right; presently his host will enjoy the like
kindness at his own or some other brother’s hand. The recognition of
this obligation to the needy stranger must often have been the very
condition of life to wanderers in waste lands.
A fuller discussion of many interesting usages connected with
hospitality will be found in the writer’s article “Hospitality,” in
Hastings’ _Dictionary of the Bible_, vol. ii. pp. 427 _f._
Save among the pests that lurk in solitary places, ready to spring upon
the lonely traveller unawares, to whom no life is sacred that stands
between them and plunder, who seem to find a diabolical pleasure in
the mere sight of blood, one need not greatly fear for his life in any
encounter with the _Beduw_. They may take all he possesses, and even
his clothes, wounding him if necessary to this end; but they do not
willingly take life, leaving the disposal of this to Him who gave it.
Like the “bruisers” at home, the Arabs have a code of honour in regard
to hostile encounters; but it refers not to the manner of the blow and
the part where it falls. It has to do with the weapon. To strike a
man with the fist, or with a blunt instrument of any kind, is to put
a heavy insult upon him. On the other hand, to strike with a sharp
weapon, or smite with the edge of the sword, may be criminal, but it
involves no disgrace.
As between man and man, and tribe and tribe, the _lex talionis_ is
in full force. The tribe is not regarded as an aggregate, but as an
organic unity, of which each man is a member, as the hand is of the
body. If the hand do one an injury, satisfaction is found in punishment
through the foot or any other member. Even so, if a tribesman inflict
an injury on one of a neighbouring tribe, and the particular offender
eludes the avenger, any member of his tribe may be taken in his place.
Injury for injury, blood for blood, is the stern law. The offender’s
tribe may confess that wrong has been done, and offer to compound with
the injured for a sum of money. The amount in such cases is fixed in
solemn conclave by delegates of the different tribes, and the value
is represented by a number of camels or other animals. If these are
accepted, the feud is at an end. But among the aristocracy of the
_Beduw_, the nobler sort, such compounding for blood is esteemed
dishonourable. Then the whole tribe, and the wider circle of those with
whom they claim relationship, become a staunch confederacy for defence
of the manslayer, and for mutual protection against the enemy. Thus
the absence of “cities of refuge” is made good to the fugitive; the
usages of hospitality come in to relieve the gloom of dark, relentless
passion. For the manslayer, if he can but penetrate the tent and eat
bread there, may claim sanctuary from the “avenger of blood” himself.
Even the father, who thirsts to avenge the blood of a beloved son, will
let him depart, and neither pursue nor permit him to be pursued until
the space of two days and a night has passed.
The _sheyûkh_--“the chiefs” who administer justice among the
_Beduw_--are renowned for their integrity and for the equity of their
decisions. They scorn bribes. Stories are often told of the disputes
of townsmen who, rather than appear before the corrupt courts of the
land, where each must lose whoever wins, have submitted their case to
arbitration by _sheyûkh el-Beduw_, in whose judgment both parties at
once acquiesced. In cases where blows have been given, no progress
can be made until a balance of injuries has been struck. Only when the
least injured has suffered in person or in goods so as to equalise the
injuries will the case be heard and adjudicated upon. The deliverance
of the _sheyûkh_ carries with it the moral weight of the whole tribe.
He who disregards it practically passes on himself sentence of outlawry.
[Illustration: ARAB HORSEMAN]
The devotion of the Arab to his steed has been sung in many tongues and
in many lands. His mare is the first care of the _Bedawy_; more to him
than either wife or child, save perhaps his firstborn son, when green
food is scarce, and at evening the camels are brought to be milked, the
mare first drinks from the foaming vessel; wives and children share
what she leaves. On his robber raids he rides out upon his camel, the
mare being led, saddled and ready, by his side. In the hour of peril
he will commit himself to her fleet limbs; and not once nor twice in
the course of his roving life the Arab will owe safety and all else to
the speed of his four-footed friend. Tenderly cared for at other times,
her every want anticipated, when the moment of trial comes she will fly
off like the wind; and the distances often covered ere fatigue stays
her career would seem fabulous in European ears. The fondness of the
Arab for the horse frequently becomes a craze, leading him into the
ridiculous. If a man is too poor to own a horse, _e.g._, he will take
a bone of the noble animal and preserve it in his tent! Again, a horse
may be the property not of one or two, but of many. It is considered
as consisting of so many parts, which are bought by different parties.
Each is thus entitled to say, with an approach to truth, that he owns
horse-flesh. The owner of a good horse never willingly parts with
it. If pressed by necessity, he may allow another to become part
proprietor. Even then he will hardly sell outright. The man who has the
_rasan_ (“halter”) feeds the horse, and in return enjoys the use of it.
Thus it was with a beautiful mare, half of which, with the _rasan_,
was owned by the present writer. The other partners were a native
Christian gentleman, a rich Moslem merchant in Acre, and the pasha of
the province.
We have referred to the religious connection of certain Arab customs.
From this it might be inferred that they are a religious people. This
is strictly true. Nominally they are Moslems; but their religious
knowledge is scanty at best, and their thinking far from clear.
They believe in the existence of God; they are taught to consider
themselves His special favourites. All non-Moslems are regarded as
His enemies and theirs. But of the moral character of God they have
hardly the glimmering of an idea. They will “thank God” as heartily for
success in a robber-raid as for recovery from sickness. One must know
something of the character of God before he can understand what _sin_
is, and why God abhors it. But the _Allah_ of the Moslem, capricious
in his choice of favourites, is very indulgent towards the frailties
and failings of those who confess him and his prophet. It is futile
to seek to identify _Allah_ with the God of Christianity. His name is
for ever on the lips of his devotees. The most trivial expressions
they confirm by appeal to Deity, and that with equal glibness whether
they be true or false. Some isolated articles of faith they have, and
certain rites, such as circumcision, which are religious in their
origin, but they have nothing which can properly be called a religious
system. The mind of the Orient, indeed, while singularly fruitful in
ideas, is deficient in the elements essential to the thinking of ideas
together. It is mystical, reflective, analytic, but it lacks the power
of synthesis. There are no great Arabic philosophers, in our meaning of
the term. Their “philosophers” are gifted men, whose wit flashes forth
in sparkling epigram, in wise discriminations and sage counsels for
the conduct of life. For systematic treatment of the problems of being
and well-being we search among them in vain. Even what by courtesy we
call the “system” of _Islâm_ is not an organic unity, but rather an
aggregation of ideas around the great central dogma. For the hints as
to systematic treatment of the revelation in Jesus Christ found in the
Epistles of St. Paul--for even here there is hardly anything beyond
hints--we are indebted not to his Hebrew training, but to his Gentile
learning, and especially to his acquaintance with Roman Law. While the
Oriental mind has been prolific in originating thought, the great task
of synthesis has been given specially to the mind of the West.
Give to a rude, untutored people the simple idea of the unity of
God, without any conception of His moral character, together with
the further idea that they are His peculiar favourites, and you have
prepared the way for a descent not to be thought of without a shudder.
If, after long generations, we find this people one “whose heart is
not right with God,” “whose mouth is full of cursing and deceit,” our
wonder may be, not so much that they are fallen so low, as that they
have preserved their nobler institutions and maintained themselves as
well as they have done against the tides of corruption. And there are
signs of a yearning among them for better things. Let one authentic
story suffice.
External influences affecting the _Beduw_ are few and slight. Peddling
Jews from Damascus, Safed, Tiberias, Jerusalem perambulate their
country by times; but their trade is almost entirely confined to the
barbarous ornaments worn by the women. The Moslem pilgrimage which
yearly passes through their territory is doubtless a power for evil,
fortunately limited in its effects to the districts more immediately
adjoining the great _Hajj_ road. Once in a while, however, some of the
men may journey to _esh-Shâm_ (Damascus), city of wonder and beauty
to their uncultured minds, returning with strange tales as to its
greatness, and confused ideas of its streets, orchards, and musical
waters. One such had visited this “earthly paradise,” the Arab’s dream
of splendour and pleasure. He, however, was most of all impressed with
what he saw of worship in the great mosque. The effect upon his own
spirit was deep, and this he conveyed to his fellows in the solitudes
when he returned. It stirred the slumbering necessity in all their
hearts for communion with God. At sunset he drew them up upon the
sand, and, standing before them, he imitated as well as he could the
movements of the worshippers he had seen, and in these he was followed
by his friends. _Ya Allah!_ he said, _mitl ma bikûlu fî esh-Shâm_;
and his fellows responded in turn, _Wa azwad, wa azwad, wa azwad_. “O
Allah! just as they say in Damascus.” “And more, and more, and more”!
The tale may seem ludicrous, if not absurd; but it has also a pathetic
aspect. Does it not seem like a cry from the hearts of men in darkness,
yearning for light on the Godward road? Are we not _debtors_ to such as
they?
CHAPTER XI
Ride to _Jerash_--Magnificent ruins--Circassian
colonists--History--Preservation of buildings--East of
Jordan--_Sûf_--A moonlight scene--Down to the Jabbok.
[Illustration: JERASH, GATEWAY]
OUR _Bozrah_ guide was first in the saddle, and, starting out along
the valley, he led the way towards _Jerash_; from this point, however,
his office was a sinecure, the road being well marked. We followed the
winding path through wooded vale and over wooded hill until we reached
a height overlooking rich, cultivated flats, to which we descended by a
rocky track, leaving for a time the woodland behind us. Here we found
a road on which some labour had been expended, passing between fields
partly surrounded by stone walls.
Going forward, we met a cart of antique shape, drawn by a team of
oxen, guided by a sturdy Circassian, who was seated in front. The
cart was long, narrow, and deep; the axles were wide, and the wheels
low. It resembled those still to be seen in many country districts on
the continent of Europe. The type may have been introduced into this
country by the German colonists. These carts are the only wheeled
vehicles used as yet by agriculturists in Palestine, of whom, next
to the Germans, the Circassians are perhaps the most successful. We
spoke to the driver, but received for reply only a bow, and sundry
gestures by which he manifestly sought to make himself agreeable, from
which it could also be inferred that he knew no Arabic. Our way led
round the left shoulder of a little hill, and down a gentle incline,
when, suddenly, almost the whole extent of the ruins on the southern
bank of the stream came into view. Men and animals were gladdened by
the cheerful sound of flowing water. Just where the road turns sharply
to the right towards the ancient city gate, we struck an irrigation
channel, full of clear, cool water. After a general scramble for
the refreshing liquid, in which riders and horses seemed to mingle
indiscriminately, spectacles, etc., being dropped into the stream
and duly fished up again, we assumed a more dignified attitude, and
prepared to enter the city. On the height to the right were several
empty sarcophagi and burial caverns. We traversed the whole length of
the city on the northern side of the valley, and pitched our tents
under the cliffs just outside the boundary, beyond a copious fountain,
over which remains of Greek buildings are still standing. It was yet
early afternoon, and most of us were at once drawn forth to see the
splendid ruins.
_Jerash_, or, as it was anciently called, _Gerasa_, stands in _Wady
ed-Deir_, on either side of a perennial stream which flows into the
Jabbok a few miles to the south, and one of the sources of which is the
fountain above mentioned, at the north-west corner of the city. All
the principal buildings of which anything noteworthy remains are on
the southern bank of the brook. The ground rises quickly from the bed
of the stream, some fifty to a hundred feet, and then slopes gradually
backward. Upon this higher part, almost all the magnificence of the
old city was gathered. From north-west to south-east runs the famous
street, paved throughout, and lined on either side its whole length
with fine columns, many of which are standing, capitals and architrave
being in parts almost perfect still.
Of _Jerash_ we may say generally, it is the best preserved of all the
ruined cities east of Jordan. The ruins are weather-worn and beaten
with the storms of centuries; earthquakes have shaken down many once
splendid buildings, but there were no traces of the destroying hand
of man. The Circassians have now supplied this lack. One fears that
much of value and interest has already perished under their hammers,
as they sought materials to build their houses. This points the urgent
necessity to have the ruins thoroughly explored, and measures taken at
once to secure what is worth preserving. Passing along the street from
the north-west, we first saw a small theatre to the right, now sadly
ruined. A little farther forward, on the same side, stands what must
have been by far the finest building of all, as it still is the most
imposing ruin. This is known as the Temple of the Sun. Situated on an
elevated terrace, it is approached by a broad stairway, which leads to
the portico. This consists of three rows of columns of magnificent
proportions and artistic workmanship. Originally fourteen in number,
the greater part are still in position. Of the principal building, the
area is now blocked up with fallen stones. The temple stands in the
middle of a court, once surrounded by a colonnade, and measures some
eighty feet by seventy. The position commands a fine view of the city.
In the near neighbourhood to the south and west are traces of columns,
arches, etc., which may have belonged to smaller temples. There are
also remains of a church. But all are so buried beneath their own ruins
that it is impossible now to speak of them with certainty. On the other
side of the road are remains of baths and of a basilica. The pillared
street terminates in a circular area surrounded by columns, of which
nearly all are standing; many still supporting pieces of the architrave.
[Illustration: JERASH, TEMPLE OF THE SUN]
Beyond this, on rising ground, close to the ancient city wall, are
the ruins of a large theatre and temple. The rows of stone seats in
the former are well preserved. The slopes in front are literally
heaped with great stones and pieces of colossal columns, while the
amount of building underground seems almost equal to what is seen
above. The acoustics of these theatres are perfect. Once, with some
friends, I made trial of that at Gadara; the lowest articulate sounds
were audible throughout the entire building. A little to the east of
the temple, a road leads off directly to the south, passing under a
triumphal arch, dating, probably, from the time of Trajan. To the
west of the road, just inside the triumphal arch, lay the Naumachia
(for mock sea-fights), without which these cities would seem to have
been incomplete. Westward, outside the city wall, are great numbers of
sarcophagi. This, apparently, was the chief ancient burying-ground.
Nowhere, not even at Gadara where these are numerous, have I seen so
many stony receptacles of the dead lying exposed. All have been opened
long ago, many of the lids being broken, no doubt, in the feverish
search for hidden treasure.
Turning back, we walked the whole length of the street, noting the
remains of a _tetrapylon_ near the southern end, and of another not far
from the northern end, in each case traces of the ruined arches being
distinguishable. The ancient gateway to the north is blocked up, but
a passage is cut through the great mound of stones which once formed
the wall; and along this a considerable volume of water, caught in the
higher reaches of the valley and led captive hither, passes, to turn
the picturesque old mill below. Above the city, on the southern bank
of the stream, are numbers of sarcophagi, many of them adorned with
sculptured wreaths, roses, and heads in relief. There are traces of
what must have been a large and fine building, with broken columns and
sculptured stones. Several mutilated Greek inscriptions are to be seen
among the ruins. In the cliffs north-east of the stream, above the spot
where our camp was pitched, are several large natural caverns, which do
not seem to have been used for any other purpose than the sheltering
of flocks. Beyond the city wall, to the north-east, however, are many
sepulchral caves, some of those visited being hewn out of the living
rock.
The northern bank of the stream is now occupied by a colony of
Circassians, whose neatly-built and plastered houses, each with a
walled court in front, contrast most favourably with those of any of
the native peasants in Palestinian villages. The houses were built for
the most part of ordinary materials, very few of the sculptured stones
from the ancient city being employed. This may be accounted for by the
fact that few public buildings of any importance stood on this side of
the stream. Since then these settlers have gone farther afield, to the
peril, as we have seen, of what lends _Jerash_ its attractions for us.
Entering the town from the north, we find the fountain arched over,
from which the main supply of the colony is obtained; beautiful, clear,
cool water it is. In the lower ground to the right are vestiges of a
temple, around which the colonists have fine gardens. Turning up to the
left, for a long distance the city wall is almost intact. Within the
wall, to the south-east, are prostrate columns and sculptured stones,
marking the site of a building of no little splendour, but whether
palace or temple, it is impossible to say.
Outside the wall are scanty remains which may indicate the position
of an ancient church. Judging by the magnificence of many of the
sarcophagi found here, this may have been the burying-ground of the
greater ones. Just below, by the wayside, at the entrance to the modern
village, lies the Circassian graveyard. The graves are of the ordinary
Moslem type--little mounds with a protuberance at each end, supposed
resting-places for the angels. Here, however, the Circassians seem
to expend but little care. The whole place was overgrown with rank
grass, nettles, and thistles. The stream which divides ancient from
modern _Jerash_ is lined with oleanders, whose luxuriant growth in many
places quite hides the rippling waters. Just where it passes beyond the
boundary of the town it plunges in foamy streaks over a high cliff into
a romantic ravine, whence issues the music of a water-mill.
Of the Circassians who now occupy the place, we learned that only some
six years before they had come hither. The Turk, finding it hard to
control these brave, free-spirited people among their native mountains,
has been carrying out gradually the policy of expatriation, adopted
wholesale by ancient conquerors in these regions. Removed from the
associations of childhood and the inspiring memories that haunt the
scenes around them in their highland homes, required to work hard for
the mere necessities of life, their rulers hope to make docile subjects
out of these once turbulent clans. Colonies are scattered over all
Syria and Palestine. One large village is occupied by them on the
heights between Tiberias and Tabor. Old _Kuneitera_, in the _Jaulân_,
is awakening to new life at their touch. In their agricultural
enterprises they are protected by their reputation for absolute
fearlessness, unwavering resolution in avenging an injury, and skill
in the handling of their weapons. Roving _Bedawy_ and robber peasant
alike stand in wholesome dread of their keen blade and unerring bullet.
They can thus reckon with certainty on reaping what they have sown,
and enjoying the fruits of their labours. They scruple not, therefore,
to put hard work into the soil. Gathering the stones from the surface,
they form walls along the boundaries of their fields. Their implements,
although antiquated, are yet an improvement on those employed by the
ordinary fellahîn. The qualities that protect them from thief and
robber also secure them in great measure against the unjust exactions
of a corrupt Government, and guarantee them entire immunity from
outrage at the hands of the soldiery, to which the miserable peasants
have so often to submit.
Of the history of _Jerash_ but little is known. Josephus places it
in the Decapolis, and in his day it must have been a city of some
importance. It was one of the chief cities in the Roman province of
Arabia. In the days of Bozrah’s splendour, _Jerash_ must also have been
a wealthy commercial centre, Arabian and Egyptian caravans probably
passing this way to the north. Baldwin II., in 1121, is said to have
marched against _Jerash_, but already in the thirteenth century the
city is described as deserted. Why, we cannot tell.
[Illustration: JERASH, STREET OF COLUMNS]
To the west of Jordan there are very few ancient sites where remains
of any consequence are to be seen. The few half-buried pillars of
Herod’s colonnade at Samaria and the ruined synagogue at _Tell Hûm_ are
about the most important, outside the discoveries made in Jerusalem.
The most famous sites are marked only by pottery-strewn heaps, or
stretches of shapeless ruins. These are insignificant when compared
with the massive walls and stately columns with artistic adornments
that meet one everywhere on the east of Jordan. The west, more open to
influences from without, has suffered heavily under the many changes
it has experienced. Ancient structures were carried off bodily to form
new buildings of a more temporary character. These soon perished, the
old materials being thus scattered or buried under the debris and
dirt. Several causes have contributed to the better preservation of
the cities east of Jordan. The land has been much more secluded from
foreign influence, and, since the days of the Mohammedan conquest, can
hardly be said to have been in contact with the outside world at all.
The inhabitants, being chiefly dwellers in tents, have had no occasion
to employ ancient materials for the building of houses. The peasants
who do occupy stone houses have usually found all the shelter they
required in the durable structures of basalt, which are so numerous,
ready to their hands. A company, moving to village or town, simply
swung back the stone doors, opened the stone shutters, swept out
the rooms, and took possession, finding thus much finer houses than
they could have constructed for themselves. If they did require to
build, the smaller stones of the ruins around served their purposes
admirably, and the remains of the larger buildings, spared through
centuries by storm and earthquake, secured immunity from attack.
_Sûf_, reputed Mizpah, the famous meeting-place of Jacob and Laban,
where he fled with his wives, children, and possessions, lies only
about an hour to the north-west of _Jerash_. On the occasion of a
second visit to the district, I passed through this village. It stands
on the south-west lip of the _wady_, which here is of considerable
depth. The houses are of the common type, built of white limestone and
mud. It is inhabited by Moslems. When I saw it, a large weather-worn,
goats’-hair tent was pitched in the middle of the village, where the
youth of _Sûf_ assembled to learn verses of the _Korʾân_ from the lips
of the _Khatîb_--probably the only man in the village who knew how to
read and write. The numerous dolmens in the vicinity point back to a
very high antiquity.
On the same occasion I enjoyed the exquisite pleasure of seeing the
beautiful ruins of _Jerash_ under the mellow beams of the moon. It was
a sight never to be forgotten. The kindly light, hiding all that was
defective, seemed to reveal only what was fair, throwing its delicate
splendours over tall column and massive wall, until the ancient city
seemed to stand before us in all its ancient magnificence; and one
could almost imagine, through the quiet night, the echoing footfall of
the Roman guard along the pillared street.
[Illustration: JERASH, GENERAL VIEW]
Our road lay through the triumphal arch and down _Wady ed-Deir_ to
the Jabbok. Just on the point of starting we were treated to another
entertainment by our friend the cook. From this point southward he
was quite familiar with the country, but he feigned first ignorance
and then fear, in order to secure a convoy from _Jerash_. For sake of
peace and pleasantness we had almost yielded to his importunity, but
the man he brought forward was so exorbitant in his demands, doubtless
instructed by the cook, that he received unceremonious dismissal. The
road could not be hard to find in any case, so we set out, leaving
the knight of the toasting-fork to follow at his leisure. Soon he
thought better of it, and took his place again at the head of the
procession. In the lower reaches of the valley we saw further evidence
of Circassian industry, in the rich crops that waved by the wayside. A
short distance east of our route lies a small village, which takes its
name from the saint whose tomb stands there--_Neby Hûd_, renowned in
ancient Arab story.
We took the more easterly of two possible roads--the longer, but also
the easier for the animals. The greater variety and beauty of the
scenery repay the extra travel. The descent into the Jabbok valley
winds down a narrow ravine, turning sharply round jutting crags, and,
in parts, almost precipitous. Oaks and thorns clung to the steeps;
luxuriant vegetation covered the ground. The fertile soil of the
valley supported a fine crop of wheat. The line of the river could
be traced by a winding glory of oleander bloom, overtopped by tall,
gracefully-bending papyrus reeds, whose heavy heads swayed in the
breeze. Reaching the “brook,” we found the bed more than half dry,
but even thus the water took the horses above the saddle-girths. With
a short struggle, we all landed safely on the other side. During the
winter months this must be a perfectly impassable torrent.
On the farther bank we sat to rest and lunch. The horses too refreshed
themselves before facing the steep mountain in front. We gathered
bunches of papyrus heads--an operation requiring both care and skill,
as we found the undergrowth bound together with trailing brambles,
furnished with the sharpest of prickles. Two square towers stand one at
each end of the meadow in which we halted. They have not the appearance
of great antiquity. There is no entrance to their interior, and their
use we were unable to discover.
Climbing the mountains south of the Jabbok, or _Zerka_--“the blue”
river, as it is now called--was the hardest work our horses had
to face. The track was narrow, and the foothold often extremely
precarious, especially over rocky parts where a slip would have meant
a fall of hundreds of feet. What a tremendous gorge that Jabbok is! It
literally cleaves the country in twain.
[Illustration: GORGE OF THE JABBOK]
Now we were within the borders of the modern province of _el-Belkâ_,
of which _es-Salt_ is the principal--indeed, the only--city. This lies
in the land of the ancient Ammonites. These cool, breezy uplands,
beautifully diversified with wooded knoll and pleasant vale, in
which may be heard the murmur of flowing water most of the year, offer
a rich return to the hand of the enterprising and diligent cultivator.
But whence is he to come? Numerous are the flocks and herds that browse
on the grassy slopes, find shelter in the shady woods, and drink from
the oleander-fringed streams in the vales. But no one who sees it can
for a moment suppose that this rich soil is designed simply for the
support of sheep and oxen. Those who hope for the return of Israel to
the land of their fathers should turn their eyes rather to this rich
and empty land than to the more populous and less kindly country west
of Jordan.
CHAPTER XII
“Time is money”--_Rumamain_--Priestly hospitality--Fair mountain
groves--Es-Salt--The springs--Relation to Arabs--Raisins--Descent to
the Jordan--Distant view of Jerusalem--View of the river, the plains
of Jordan, the Dead Sea, and the mountains beyond--The bridge--The
“publican’s” shed--The men from _Kerâk_.
CAUSES for delay are never far to seek among Orientals. “Time is money”
is a phrase void of meaning in Arab ears. Money is precisely the thing
he lacks most, while of time he has more than abundance. An Eastern
in a hurry is one of the rarest sights. We were still on the uplands,
far from our destination, when the sun began to throw his evening
glories over the western hills. Our cook thought fit to profess that
he had lost the way--this doubtless to pay us out for our refusal
of a guide. His manner, however, was much too cool and collected,
so we were not deceived. But it was annoying, as the whole caravan
drew up, to see him comfortably seated among the bushes, on the top
of a huge precipice, enjoying a cigarette. We moved rapidly forward,
and fortunately found a wandering _Bedawy_ who, for a consideration,
agreed to conduct us to _es-Salt_. He led us by a steep pathway to the
bottom of a sweet valley. Then suddenly we plunged into a romantic
ravine, down which dashed a brawling stream, sprinkling rock and bush
with sparkling diamonds. A stiff climb up the farther bank brought us
to the little village of _Rumamain_, just as the light departed. Our
tents were pitched by candle-light. The villagers, who are Christians,
were most cordial in their welcome, and hastened to furnish whatever we
required, as far as it was in their power. The priest invited our party
to take refreshments with him, and those who could be spared from the
camp gladly accepted his hospitality. He well maintained the eastern
traditions in the entertainment of strangers, although some of his
beverages were stronger than the desert law prescribes!
[Illustration: RUMAMAIN]
The village stands on the edge of the gorge through which we had
passed. The mountains tower aloft on either side. The valley narrows
southward, but to the north it opens out into a broad, fertile expanse,
bounded by the mountains, torn with water-courses, which form the
southern bank of the gorge of the Jabbok.
Before daybreak we were all astir. Waiting only for a supply of
beautiful milk, which was brought us by the Arabs in the mountains,
we got to horse again. Our guide shouldered his club and marched off
towards the thickets that hung, shaggy and dark, on the sides of the
valley. Our path wound among these delightful groves almost to the
confines of _es-Salt_. About three hours sufficed to bring us to the
city, but the ride was one not soon to be forgotten. It was one of
the most enjoyable parts of our whole journey. Thick oaks and thorns
gathered in the bottom of the hollows; honeysuckle, entwining their
gnarled limbs, shed perfume on the air; the hillsides were clad with
trees of richly varied foliage, while tall pines swayed gracefully high
over all. The morning was fresh and beautiful. Even the horses seemed
to feel the inspiration of surroundings, and footed it merrily along.
It seemed all too soon when we reached the edge of the forest, and
looked forth on the treeless hills beyond. Many of these are, however,
covered with vineyards, whose sprouting green relieved the dull
monotony. Tree-clad they too once were, as we can see from the numerous
stumps in the fields. A few of the forest patriarchs, left here and
there in the cultivated ground, would have done much to beautify the
land, and would have yielded grateful shade to the labourers. But it is
difficult to restrain the axe when it is once set in motion. Here we
found evidences of genuine industry. Wherever it is possible, vines are
planted and carefully tended, so that the face of the country assumes
quite a cheerful and prosperous aspect.
The city of _es-Salt_, lying as it does on the steep slope of a
valley, is not seen until one is fairly upon it. The name _es-Salt_ is
evidently derived from _salton hieraticon_--“the sacred forest.” The
inhabitants may number in all some seven thousand, of whom the great
majority are Moslems. With the Christians, however, they continue to
dwell together in harmony. There may be about two thousand Christians,
taking Greeks, Latins, and Protestants all together. The last belong
to the church founded by the Church Missionary Society. It was our good
fortune to meet with the Syrian clergyman of this congregation, _Kassîs
Khalîl Jamal_--a gentleman whose praise is in all the churches. With
his counsel, we were persuaded to stay here for the day, instead of
pushing straight on to Jordan, as we had originally intended. In the
valley under the city are olive groves, where the company, dismounting,
sat down for lunch, under shadow of the trees, with the sound of
running water in their ears. Our tents we pitched on the top of the
hill overlooking the town, separated by a narrow valley from that on
which the ruins of the old castle stand.
Having seen all right about the camp, some of us set out, gun in
hand, tempted by the numerous partridges, and enjoyed an excellent
opportunity to see the surroundings of _es-Salt_. There are few remains
of antiquity, and these not of great interest. Traces of old graves,
found along the hill-faces, and the bare ruins of the old castle are
the chief. The springs, to which the town owes so much of its life,
are, of course, highly prized. The town itself is interesting as
being the chief mercantile centre in all the district east of Jordan
through which we travelled. The market is frequented by the _Beduw_
from far and near, and everything necessary for their poor life is
found exposed for sale in the streets. Hither the “housewives” bring
their _samn_, _jibn_ (clarified butter and cheese), skins, and other
products of the wilds, and carry off in return the cloth of which
their scanty clothing is made, coffee, tobacco, etc. _Es-Salt_ thus
forms an excellent basis from which to reach the Arab tribes in these
parts. The advantages it offers are utilised, as far as possible, by
the missionaries there, and, with the help of the medical department of
the mission, they have found considerable entrance; but, in order to
overtake the work in a manner at all satisfactory, men would have to be
set apart to devote all their time to evangelising the Arabs. With a
well-manned station here and another at _Bozrah_, nearly all, if indeed
not all, the tribes that touch the eastern borders of Palestine might
be reached; and in due time evangelists from among themselves would go
forth with the glad tidings into the inhospitable wastes beyond.
We were assured that the grapes grown in the district are unsuitable
for the making of wine. However that may be, wine is not made, but a
great business is carried on in raisins, those of _es-Salt_ being famed
throughout the whole country. The Jewish merchants of Tiberias buy
large quantities of them and use them to produce _’arak_--a distilled
spirit which is working havoc among the youth of western Palestine,
Moslems as well as others falling a prey to its seductive influences,
although all use of intoxicants is for them under religious ban.
[Illustration: ES-SALT, THE FOUNTAIN]
Our stores were replenished from the market, two days’ provision only
being required, as in that time we hoped to reach Jerusalem. Early next
morning all was packed up and ready for the descent to Jericho.
Several of our party were already in the saddle, when the horse of one
who had been assisting the ladies to mount thought fit to bolt, and,
in their wild efforts to catch him, the European horsemen may have
given the Arabs some new ideas in horsemanship. In any case, we gained
a more intimate acquaintance with the nearer surroundings of the city
than would have been possible otherwise. When at last the runaway was
captured, the main part of our caravan had already disappeared some
distance in front; and it may give some idea of the crookedness and
irregularity of the road to say that we did not catch a glimpse of
them again until we were almost upon them, on reaching the plain to
the north of the Dead Sea. It is a descent of over four thousand feet
in about fifteen miles. The road turns abruptly now to one hand, now
to the other, adapting itself to the possibilities of the rough, rocky
surface, plunging into ravines, and anon emerging on grassy tracts;
but downward, ever downward, is its course. The wild birds here are
evidently little used to be disturbed by man. Even the timid partridge
sat quite close, or nimbly ran along the rocks on either side of the
path. We had not left _es-Salt_ half-an-hour when, from an eminence
commanding a wide prospect, we saw the high tower that crowns the Mount
of Olives in the far distance, and thus caught the first glimpse of the
environs of Jerusalem. This is one of the most tantalising sights. It
seems so near, and yet hours of toil in the hot sun seem to bring the
traveller no nearer. And when, as the sun sinks, he descends into the
valley, and it is lost to view, it seems as if he had been following
some strange kind of “Will o’ the wisp.” Ere long, too, we obtained
a view of the Dead Sea, lying under a blue haze away below us to the
left; and soon we could trace the course of Jordan through the sandy
plain by the winding breadth of deep green that fills the valley within
the valley in which the river is confined.
[Illustration: JORDAN, SHOWING TERRACES]
In that clear, dry atmosphere distances are most deceptive. Seen
through the openings in the hills, one would think that on touching
the plain we should immediately reach the river, but there are miles
of flat, sandy ground to cover ere we pass under the shadow of the
embowering foliage and hear the rush of the waters of Jordan. Leaving
behind us the mountains of Ammon, which form the eastern boundary
of these deep plains, their scarred sides stretching away into the
beetling heights that rise darkly over the Salt Sea, the prospect
before us was one of enchanting interest. We were already on the
borders of the “circle” of Sodom, which charmed the worldly eye and
heart of Abraham’s nephew, when viewed from yonder mountains to the
west, and which was so generously given up by the aged uncle to the
youthful Lot. How strikingly these barren plains enforce the lessons
of that old-world history! How vain the choice of beauteous pastures,
one day ere long to be o’erwhelmed in desert sand! How infinitely
wise the choice of Abraham, the portion of whose inheritance was the
unchanging God Himself! There, stretching away southward until lost in
a blue haze between her guardian mountains, are the waters of the
great sea, which still, in name, is associated with the unhappy Lot;
for the natives call it only _Bahr Lût_--“the sea of Lot.” Before us
flowed the river whose tide rolled backward, and over which, while
the ark of the covenant stood in the midst, the great “congregation”
of Israel crossed dry-shod. Yonder lies the site of Gilgal, whence
the conquering hosts went forth under the gallant Joshua. Towards the
western border of the plain we saw great patches of green, over which
rose a curl of blue smoke, marking the position of _Erîha_, the village
which now represents the city of Jericho, whose walls fell down at the
shout of the armies of Israel. Beyond rose the dark, frowning crags of
_Karantal_, by tradition identified with the wild scenes of our Lord’s
Temptation.
The Jordan Valley stretched away northward between its mountain walls
almost as far as the eye could reach; the high cone of _Karn Sartabeh_
rising full two thousand feet above the plain. This last has been by
some identified with the great altar raised by the Eastern tribes on
their return from the conquest of the West. It is in reality an “altar”
of Nature’s raising, and is interesting as one of the signal stations
from which, by means of great fires, intelligence was flashed over the
land when the new moon had been seen in Jerusalem. The wooden bridge
by which we crossed the Jordan was entirely concealed by the groves
around until we were almost upon it. A substantial structure it looked,
made of strong beams, supported by great posts, all securely fastened
together; it seemed as if it would outlive any ordinary flood, and so,
doubtless, it would. But the floods of the winter 1890-91 were not
ordinary. For some months the rains were excessive. The river rose far
above its usual level, submerging large tracts, and carrying off much
that was valuable--among the rest the bridge, which had done us and
others such good service. The river here is deep and strong, sweeping
with great rapidity round its swift curves. The water is of a thick,
brown colour, charged with the soil over which it passes. Care must be
taken in approaching the treacherous banks of sand and clay. Toll was
collected by an enterprising Syrian, who had erected a wooden shed at
the Jericho end of the bridge. One or two native huts also stood on the
little level, almost surrounded by a bend of the river, and protected
to westward by high sand bluffs.
It was already past mid-day when we arrived, and, as the heat was
terrible, we were thankful to take refuge in the “publican’s” shed.
We were received with every token of welcome by the owner, who at
once busied himself to provide for our refreshment. We found it an
excellent plan to carry with us a supply of tea. It is often easy to
get boiling water when it is hard to get other things. Tea is swiftly
made, and, on a hot journey, is most refreshing. _Leban_, also, there
was in plenty. After our meal, the more weary of the party, stretched
in the shade, enjoyed a delightful nap,--only for a little, however;
for this being the chief thoroughfare between east and west of Jordan,
quiet could not be secured for long at a time. Shepherds passed over
with their flocks, and guided them down to the water’s edge to drink.
Negotiating with some of the more tractable of these half-wild men, we
secured draughts of delicious milk. Then came Arabs from the uplands of
Moab; strong, stalwart, sallow-featured men; some armed with the spear,
others carrying rifles, with belts stuck full of battered cartridges.
They sat down sociably around the shed, and conversed freely. They were
greatly impressed with the strength of the men of _Kerâk_, the ancient
Kir Moab. The district was not even nominally subject to the Ottoman
Government. The spirit of wild independence was abroad among them.
While yielding ready obedience to their own _sheyûkh_, they resent
and battle to the death against any interference with their tribal
liberty. Holding themselves absolute masters of the soil, they consider
themselves entitled to levy blackmail on all who pass through their
territory. This varies in amount, according to the prudence or the want
of it displayed by the traveller. One who goes with tents, a large
retinue of servants, and luxurious appointments may have to pay some
hundreds of pounds before he escapes their hands; another may shoulder
his camera, ride in on a mule, and with a few _rotls_ of coffee and a
judicious distribution of a few pounds of tobacco and snuff, may march
about with freedom, photograph all of interest in the district, and
carry off his work in safety. In these regions one must avoid every
appearance of wealth. The Turkish Government claims a supremacy which
for long it was unable to assert. Often we heard that the _Hajj_ guard,
returning from _Mecca_, was to attack and subdue the Kerâkers. The
report that there were four thousand trained men, armed with repeating
rifles and no lack of ammunition, no doubt restrained the valour of the
gallant guard. At length the Turk has established a certain shadowy
authority in the town of _Kerâk_ itself; but over the Arabs, who
occupy the town only a few months in the year, it is difficult, if not
impossible, to exercise any effective control.
The stronghold, the thought of attacking which gave cold shivers to
the Turkish soldiery, could not daunt the high-hearted soldiers of the
Cross. With admirable courage, in the true spirit of Christian heroism,
a missionary and his wife braved all the dangers in the way, and made
for themselves a home in the midst of these people. That they had
dangers not a few to face, and many privations to endure, needs hardly
to be said. But these “things did not move them”; and the bold warrior
Arab learned to love the man of peace, and prize him as a friend. Who
knows whether the Cross may not soon triumph where the crescent so long
struggled for supremacy in vain!
CHAPTER XIII
The banks and thickets of the Jordan--Bathing-place--The Greek
convent--A night of adventures in the plains of Jericho--The
modern village--Ancient fertility--Possible restoration--Elisha’s
fountain--_Wady Kelt_--The Mountain of Temptation--The path to Zion.
THE Jordan, in the lower reaches, is shaded by overhanging willows, and
the path along the bank is lined with tall oleanders. In the brushwood,
which grows thickly over the little peninsulas formed by the circlings
of the river, we were assured that the _nimr_ (small leopard) found a
lurking-place; and, further, that he and his grim neighbour, the hyena,
haunted the bushy hollows between the sand-dunes which stretch away
towards the sea.
We shouldered our guns, and, armed with ball cartridge, set out to
beat the brushwood in the hope of starting game of this class. Perhaps
it was as well for ourselves that we were disappointed; but a gun in
a man’s hand adds marvellously to his powers of endurance in walking,
so we were able to explore the shady banks of the river, and attain a
fuller knowledge of its windings. The bridge was photographed with a
group in front as a souvenir of our visit; then, sending the muleteers
straight to Jericho with tents and baggage, we prepared to ride
towards the sea, with the intention of returning to Jericho for the
night. Our road wound among the sand-dunes for some distance. Here
we were charged to keep close together. The advice was necessary.
Had one lingered behind, and by any mischance lost the way, he might
have wandered long enough in the labyrinth formed by these little
sand-hills, which resemble each other so closely as to be distinguished
only by the trained eye. They are the haunts of robbers too, who, in
the multitudinous winding hollows, may easily escape pursuit.
We did not go so far down as the fords and famous bathing-place; but
on a subsequent occasion I saw something of the extraordinary scenes
enacted there--a great company of Russian pilgrims, men, women, and
children, plunging promiscuously into the sacred river. Most wore a
thin linen garment as they went down into the water. This is afterwards
carefully preserved, and is worn again only as a shroud. Certain men
standing in the stream saw that each one went at least three times over
the head.
[Illustration: FORDS OF JORDAN. PILGRIMS BATHING]
Leaving the labyrinth, we emerged on a wide sterile plain, over which
grew only a few stunted desert bushes. Here and there we could see the
shimmer of the sunlight on a thin crust of salt. The Greek convent,
standing in the midst of the waste, served as a landmark, and thither
we directed our course, leaving the winding road. This cross-country
riding in these parts has its dangers. The horses are apt to sink
through the soft surface, into holes burrowed by the rodents; and
deep ruts, worn by winter torrents, are often difficult to pass. At
length we stood before the gate of the convent, and the hospitable
monks regaled us with refreshing draughts of pure, cool well-water.
It seemed only a short distance farther to the sea; but some of our
company were growing fatigued, and, at our rate of riding, it would
take almost till sunset to reach our camp by the “City of Palms”;
so, reluctantly, we turned our horses’ heads northward, comforting
ourselves with the hope that in a more convenient season we should
stand on the shores of the Dead Sea and plunge in its sullen waters.
On arriving, we found the _mukaries_ busy with the tents, which soon
were ready for our reception. But we were disturbed somewhat to hear
that one of our attendants was missing. He ought to have come with us
toward the sea; but when we found he had not come, we concluded that he
had accompanied the muleteers to Jericho. Now, however, he was nowhere
to be found, and the _mukaries_ assured us he had started immediately
behind us. The evil reputation of the district made us rather anxious;
but the reckless character of the man, and his habit of starting off
on the wildest projects without a moment’s warning, led us to believe
that _Saʿid_ would turn up again, as he had often done before. We set
up lights, however, on the most conspicuous points, when darkness
fell, so as to guide him, if possible, over the plain. As the night
advanced, and we still had no news of him, our anxiety increased, our
main hope being that, as he followed us, he had arrived late at the
convent and taken shelter for the night, or that haply he had found
his way back to the bridge. Even with fifty men it would have been
futile to search that wilderness in the dark. A hunt after a number of
wild swine that came to the neighbourhood of the camp served only as
a temporary diversion from the graver subject occupying our thoughts.
The “garrison” of the town consisted of one soldier, whose services we
secured without much difficulty. He was despatched, with the breaking
light, to go towards Jordan bridge, and southwards to the convent,
while some of our party prepared to scour the plain, the rest getting
in order for the ascent to Jerusalem.
All were very early astir. Just before mounting, the plain was swept
with the telescope, and in the distance a coming horseman was descried,
who seemed to resemble the lost man. His appearance caused no little
excitement in camp; for, on a nearer view, there was no doubt of his
identity. Both man and horse were utterly wearied, and _Saʿid’s_
garments were covered with blood. The tale he told of his experiences
was terrible enough. On our departure, he lingered a moment to see the
muleteers ready and on the road; then, as he thought, he followed us,
but missing the way, he pushed straight southward, guided in part by
the river, arriving on the Dead Sea shore just as the sun set. As he
had ridden rapidly, he thought he might have passed us on the way; but,
after waiting and careful search along the lonely beach, he despaired
of finding us. He turned away in the twilight, hoping by instinct to
hit upon some way leading to Jericho. Soon the night was filled with
the horrid howlings of the jackals, all over that weary waste, and
here and there the shrill laugh of the hyena fell on his ear. Pushing
forward, he was speedily entangled among the sand-dunes. Climbing one
after another, he sought to hit upon some landmark to guide him; but
ever, on descending, his bearings were lost, and he wandered almost
hopelessly. As the night closed in, he could see shadowy forms moving
around, and the howlings came nearer and nearer. Suddenly, in the
track before him, he saw a hyena glaring upon him. The natives believe
that the hyena will not attack a man save when famishing or grievously
provoked. But in such moments one does not reflect much on these things.
Fortunately, _Saʿid_ had my gun and ball cartridge with him. With
nerves steadied by something like despair, he aimed at the brute’s
head, and, the ball crashing through the brain, he rolled over with a
groan. A momentary silence followed the report, and then the dismal
noises broke out again. Riding onward he saw, and not a moment too
soon, a leopard crouching for a spring. Aiming swiftly, he fired, and
the ball took effect in the leopard’s neck; but, withal, the brute was
able to spring, and almost to reach his mark. “Then,” said _Saʿid_,
his lip quivering and an unaccustomed tear trembling in his eye--“then
I must have had strength given me from heaven; for, as the brute
sprang, I reached forward, caught him by the neck, and hurled him back
violently to the ground, where he lay stunned, and a second ball
finished him.” He attempted to carry the leopard on the pommel of his
saddle, and this accounted for the blood-stains on his garments. But
weariness and anxiety soon overcame his purpose, and the leopard was
left to decay among its native wilds.
Finally, baffled by the darkness and the intricacies of the
labyrinthine windings, he climbed a little knoll, and tying the horse’s
halter to his arm, stretched himself on the ground to sleep; but ever
and anon, as the denizens of the desert drew near, the trembling
creature tugged at the halter to awaken his master, and seemed to long
for waking fellowship. At last he was overcome with sleep, and was only
aroused when the horse had apparently come close up and whinnied in his
ear. Then, rising bolt upright, it seemed to him as if the gloomy waste
were all alive with moving shades, and vocal with dismal howlings. How
he came out of that pandemonium he never could say; but ere long the
dawn stole into the sky, and the wild beasts crept away into their
dens. He found a poor shepherd, walking out with his flocks, who,
seeing his forlorn condition, sustained the best traditions of desert
hospitality by offering what he had for his day’s food to the weary
traveller. Then he was able to make out the direction of Jericho, and,
before the morning was well born, he was again with his companions,
uttering perhaps the most sincere _hamdulillahs_ of his life. After
hearing this tale from the lips of that worn-out man, on the borders of
the desert plain of Jericho, one could better realise what it meant
for the Son of Man when, driven of the Spirit into the neighbouring
wilderness, through the long nights He was “with the wild beasts.”
[Illustration: JERICHO. ELISHA’S FOUNTAIN]
Poor _Saʿid_ has now “joined the majority.” He escaped the beasts of
the Dead Sea plains to fall a victim to a more subtle and deadly foe.
While at work on the new railway near the _Hummeh_, the hot springs in
_Wady Yarmuk_, he and many others were mortally stricken with typhoid.
A heavy toll in human lives these valleys have exacted on the passage
of that road of iron. _Saʿid_ was a typical light-hearted Syrian, prone
to err, who yet through years of service proved faithful according to
his light, with a larger infusion of courage in him than is common
among his countrymen. In steadfast loyalty at his master’s side,
neither fatigue nor peril daunted him.
A burden was lifted from all our minds, and, moving forward that
morning, even higher spirits than usual prevailed. We rode into the
village, and stopped a little at the hotel, where souvenirs of the
Dead Sea plain, staffs made from the oaks of Bashan, _Bedawy_ clubs,
and such-like articles, are exposed for sale to travellers. Then we
rode along lanes bounded by hedges of prickly pear and thorns towards
the spring of Elisha, called now _ʿAin es-Sultan_--“Fountain of the
Sultan,” where man and beast drank from the cool stream and were
refreshed.
The modern _Erîha_ is a miserable representative of the famous cities
that rose one after another in the neighbourhood of this copious
spring. The land immediately around is a marvel of fertility, bearing,
when under cultivation, with tropical luxuriance. Near by the spring
stood the ancient city which was attacked and overthrown by the
Israelites--the first stronghold gained on this side of the Jordan.
Near the same spot rose the city of Heil, who dared the curse and
endured it--the curse pronounced by Joshua--in order to restore the
crown of splendour which his ancestors had crushed so ruthlessly.
This latter was the city known to Elijah and Elisha, not yet ancient
in their time, for the inhabitants of which the waters of this lovely
spring were miraculously healed. One of the “schools of the prophets”
existed here; and here Elijah had his last interview with the youth,
the hope of Israel, ere he went forth to yonder lonely tracts eastward,
to be parted from the faithful Elisha by the chariot of fire, and
caught away to heaven in the whirlwind. The fertility of the plains of
Jericho was almost proverbial in later days, when its rich revenues
were farmed by Herod from Cleopatra.
Then the magnificent balsam gardens and the groves of stately palms
lent added beauty to a scene in the midst of which the luxury-loving
Herod had his winter quarters. In the days of our Saviour the sycamore
tree was not wanting, as we learn from the story of Zaccheus. The
remains of old sugar-mills testify to the ancient culture of the
sugar-cane; and the ruins of ancient aqueducts, dating from high
antiquity, which brought the contributions of distant springs to
the grounds around the city, show with what care the paradise of
Jericho was watered. The balsam has now utterly disappeared; and the
stranger, coming unprepared upon the scene, might well-exclaim, “How
could Jericho ever be called ‘the city of palm trees’?” But great
fruitful vines may yet be seen, in the badly-kept gardens, yielding
with prodigality in spite of indifferent husbandry; and heavily-laden
bananas, bending over the hedges, offer of their sweetness to the hand
of the passer-by. The modern village boasts a hotel, a Greek hospice
for the accommodation of Russian pilgrims, and the ruins of an old
castle, which frown out upon the wilderness to eastward. Those who are
willing to be pleasantly deceived by monkish tradition may also have
the house of Zaccheus pointed out to them. There are some three hundred
inhabitants in the village, creatures of a miserable physique, and with
a most undesirable reputation for laziness and thievishness.
That the plains of Jericho might be once again what they were of old--a
very garden of delights, wherein is enough and to spare for all--needs
hardly to be said. Were proof required, it would be found in the
surroundings of Elisha’s fountain. Wherever the waters of the fountain
come, the desert sands are transformed into fruitful fields, and all
its banks are clothed with emerald. No small supply of water would
serve to waken life over all the plains; but is not the vast volume
of the Jordan only waiting to be caught in the higher reaches, and
taught to run in fertilising streams all over the broad lands? For long
generations it has flowed idly past, only a few yards on either side
of the rushing flood tasting its refreshing power. What untold wealth
is rolling there, in these rich brown waves! What hand shall arrest
the flow, and turn its powers to noblest uses, so that all the valley
may be filled with the music of rustling grain and with the beauty of
ripening fruit?--that the wilderness may rejoice and blossom as the
rose. Ere this is possible, the reins of government must be held by
stronger and more righteous hands, the husbandman must be secured in
the enjoyment of the fruit of his toil. But surely now the appointed
season for favour cannot be long delayed. Happy the eyes that shall
behold the awaking of all the land to fresh life after its death-like
slumber! In those sweet days of reviving, no fairer scenes will greet
the eye than these broad stretches, proudly in the midst of which will
rise once more the beautiful palm-girt city.
[Illustration: MOUTH OF WADY KELT]
We could have lingered long beside that delightful spring, pouring its
sparkling waters forth in blessing over the plain; but the sun rose
higher in the heavens, and we had a hard ascent before us. We rode
along the base of the overhanging hills, crossed the mouth of _Wady
Kelt_, and struck the carriage road leading from Jericho to Jerusalem.
Deep, dark, and forbidding is the great cleft in the hills which, since
the days of the learned and acute Robinson, has been by many identified
with the brook Cherith, where Elijah hid from Jezebel’s wrath, and was
miraculously supplied with food. The probabilities are, however, that
the old Gileadite turned not southward, but eastward. In the ravines
of his own native highlands there must have been many retired spots
known to him in youth, where he might foil the most earnest search
by strangers. The great grim mountain _Karantal_, whether the scene
of Christ’s Temptation or not, has yet a Christian history of deep
interest. The caverns in his frowning sides have been the haunts of
Christian hermits from early days. Even yet, at times, a devotee takes
refuge there from the vain world. On Mount Tabor, at a Feast of the
Transfiguration, I met an Austrian monk who told me he had spent six
years in solitary meditation and prayer in a cave in the Jordan Valley.
Now, as we ascend the winding path along the steep mountain sides,
we pause for one last look over the plain and the sea and the dark
heights beyond, whence came Israel’s hosts of old to possess the land.
There, beneath us, where the plain is lost in green, stood the ancient
Jericho, where the worshippers from the east of Jordan were wont to
assemble ere going up in company to the great feasts. Doubtless these
very hills have echoed to the voice of psalms, as the pilgrims marched
up the steep ascents. So was it our privilege to turn our faces towards
Zion, planting our feet in their footsteps--the footsteps of the tribes
of God who went up thither. Very heartily could we wake the echoes
again with their old song, “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem,” as we
pressed upward to realise a long-cherished dream in the vision of the
Holy City.
Thus may we all press up the steeps of life, Zion’s love in our hearts,
her songs upon our lips, until with joy the pilgrims’ eyes behold, amid
the light and splendour of the Eternal City, the face of the great King!
THE END
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] For inscriptions copied here and in other places on a later
journey, see _Palestine Exploration Fund Quarterly_ for 1895.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
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