The Dead Sea and the Jordan River.
Bargaining for a Guard--Departure from Jerusalem--The Hill of
Offence--Bethany--The Grotto of Lazarus--The Valley of Fire--Scenery of
the Wilderness--The Hills of Engaddi--The shore of the Dead Sea--A
Bituminous Bath--Gallop to the Jordan--A watch for Robbers--The
Jordan--Baptism--The Plains of Jericho--The Fountain of Elisha--The
Mount of Temptation--Return to Jerusalem.
"And the spoiler shall come upon every city, and no city shall escape;
the valley also shall perish and the plain shall be destroyed, as the
Lord hath spoken."
--Jeremiah, xlviii. 8.
Jerusalem, _May_ 1, 1852.
I returned this after noon from an excursion to the Dead Sea, the River
Jordan, and the site of Jericho. Owing to the approaching heats, an early
visit was deemed desirable, and the shekhs, who have charge of the road,
were summoned to meet us on the day after we arrived. There are two of
these gentlemen, the Shekh el-Aràb (of the Bedouins), and the Shekh
el-Fellaheen (of the peasants, or husbandmen), to whom each traveller is
obliged to pay one hundred piastres for an escort. It is, in fact, a sort
of compromise, by which the shekhs agree not to rob the traveller, and to
protect him against other shekhs. If the road is not actually safe, the
Turkish garrison here is a mere farce, but the arrangement is winked at by
the Pasha, who, of course, gets his share of the 100,000 piastres which
the two scamps yearly levy upon travellers. The shekhs came to our rooms,
and after trying to postpone our departure, in order to attach other
tourists to the same escort, and thus save a little expense, took half the
pay and agreed to be ready the next morning. Unfortunately for my original
plan, the Convent of San Saba has been closed within two or three weeks,
and no stranger is now admitted. This unusual step was caused by the
disorderly conduct of some Frenchmen who visited San Saba. We sent to the
Bishop of the Greek Church, asking a simple permission to view the
interior of the Convent; but without effect.
We left the city yesterday morning by St. Stephen's Gate, descended to the
Valley of Jehosaphat, rode under the stone wall which encloses the
supposed Gethsemane, and took a path leading along the Mount of Olives,
towards the Hill of Offence, which stands over against the southern end of
the city, opposite the mouth of the Vale of Hinnon. Neither of the shekhs
made his appearance, but sent in their stead three Arabs, two of whom were
mounted and armed with sabres and long guns. Our man, Mustapha, had charge
of the baggage-mule, carrying our tent and the provisions for the trip. It
was a dull, sultry morning; a dark, leaden haze hung over Jerusalem, and
the _khamseen_, or sirocco-wind, came from the south-west, out of the
Arabian Desert. We had again resumed the Oriental costume, but in spite of
an ample turban, my face soon began to scorch in the dry heat. From the
crest of the Hill of Offence there is a wide view over the heights on both
sides of the valley of the Brook Kedron. Their sides are worked into
terraces, now green with springing grain, and near the bottom planted with
olive and fig trees. The upland ridge or watershed of Palestine is
cultivated for a considerable distance around Jerusalem. The soil is light
and stony, yet appears to yield a good return for the little labor
bestowed upon it.
Crossing the southern flank of Mount Olivet, in half an hour we reached
the village of Bethany, hanging on the side of the hill. It is a miserable
cluster of Arab huts, with not a building which appears to be more than a
century old. The Grotto of Lazarus is here shown, and, of course, we
stopped to see it. It belongs to an old Mussulman, who came out of his
house with a piece of waxed rope, to light us down. An aperture opens from
the roadside into the hill, and there is barely room enough for a person
to enter. Descending about twenty steps at a sharp angle, we landed in a
small, damp vault, with an opening in the floor, communicating with a
short passage below. The vault was undoubtedly excavated for sepulchral
purposes, and the bodies were probably deposited (as in many Egyptian
tombs) in the pit under it. Our guide, however, pointed to a square mass
of masonry in one corner as the tomb of Lazarus, whose body, he informed
us, was still walled up there. There was an arch in the side of the vault,
once leading to other chambers, but now closed up, and the guide stated
that seventy-four Prophets were interred therein. There seems to be no
doubt that the present Arab village occupies the site of Bethany; and if
it could be proved that this pit existed at the beginning of the Christian
Era, and there never had been any other, we might accept it as the tomb of
Lazarus. On the crest of a high hill, over against Bethany, is an Arab
village on the site of Bethpage.
We descended into the valley of a winter stream, now filled with patches
of sparse wheat, just beginning to ripen. The mountains grew more bleak
and desolate as we advanced, and as there is a regular descent in the
several ranges over which one must pass, the distant hills of the lands of
Moab and Ammon were always in sight, rising like a high, blue wall against
the sky. The Dead Sea is 4,000 feet below Jerusalem, but the general slope
of the intervening district is so regular that from the spires of the
city, and the Mount of Olives, one can look down directly upon its waters.
This deceived me as to the actual distance, and I could scarcely credit
the assertion of our Arab escort, that it would require six hours to reach
it. After we had ridden nearly two hours, we left the Jericho road,
sending Mustapha and a staunch old Arab direct to our resting-place for
the night, in the Valley of the Jordan. The two mounted Bedouins
accompanied us across the rugged mountains lying between us and the Dead
Sea.
At first, we took the way to the Convent of Mar Saba, following the course
of the Brook Kedron down the Wady en-Nar (Valley of Fire). In half an hour
more we reached two large tanks, hewn out under the base of a limestone
cliff, and nearly filled with rain. The surface was covered with a
greenish vegetable scum, and three wild and dirty Arabs of the hills were
washing themselves in the principal one. Our Bedouins immediately
dismounted and followed their example, and after we had taken some
refreshment, we had the satisfaction of filling our water-jug from the
same sweet pool. After this, we left the San Saba road, and mounted the
height east of the valley. From that point, all signs of cultivation and
habitation disappeared. The mountains were grim, bare, and frightfully
rugged. The scanty grass, coaxed into life by the winter rains, was
already scorched out of all greenness; some bunches of wild sage,
gnaphalium, and other hardy aromatic herbs spotted the yellow soil, and in
sheltered places the scarlet poppies burned like coals of fire among the
rifts of the gray limestone rock. Our track kept along the higher ridges
and crests of the hills, between the glens and gorges which sank on either
hand to a dizzy depth below, and were so steep as to be almost
inaccessible. The region is so scarred, gashed and torn, that no work of
man's hand can save it from perpetual desolation. It is a wilderness more
hopeless than the Desert. If I were left alone in the midst of it, I
should lie down and await death, without thought or hope of rescue.
The character of the day was peculiarly suited to enhance the impression
of such scenery. Though there were no clouds, the sun was invisible: as
far as we could see, beyond the Jordan, and away southward to the
mountains of Moab and the cliffs of Engaddi, the whole country was covered
as with the smoke of a furnace; and the furious sirocco, that threatened
to topple us down the gulfs yawning on either hand, had no coolness on its
wings. The horses were sure-footed, but now and then a gust would come
that made them and us strain against it, to avoid being dashed against the
rock on one side, or hurled off the brink on the other. The atmosphere was
painfully oppressive, and by and by a dogged silence took possession of
our party. After passing a lofty peak which François called Djebel Nuttar,
the Mountain of Rain, we came to a large Moslem building, situated on a
bleak eminence, overlooking part of the valley of the Jordan. This is the
tomb called Nebbee Moussa by the Arabs, and believed by them to stand
upon the spot where Moses died. We halted at the gate, but no one came to
admit us, though my companion thought he saw a man's head at one of the
apertures in the wall. Arab tradition here is as much at fault as
Christian tradition in many other places. The true Nebo is somewhere in
the chain of Pisgah; and though, probably, I saw it, and all see it who go
down to the Jordan, yet "no man knoweth its place unto this day."
Beyond Nebbee Moussa, we came out upon the last heights overlooking the
Dead Sea, though several miles of low hills remained to be passed. The
head of the sea was visible as far as the Ras-el-Feshka on the west; and
the hot fountains of Callirhoë on the eastern shore. Farther than this,
all was vapor and darkness. The water was a soft, deep purple hue,
brightening into blue. Our road led down what seemed a vast sloping
causeway from the mountains, between two ravines, walled by cliffs several
hundred feet in height. It gradually flattened into a plain, covered with
a white, saline incrustation, and grown with clumps of sour willow,
tamarisk, and other shrubs, among which I looked in vain for the osher, or
Dead Sea apple. The plants appeared as if smitten with leprosy; but there
were some flowers growing almost to the margin of the sea. We reached the
shore about 2 P.M. The heat by this time was most severe, and the air so
dense as to occasion pains in my ears. The Dead Sea is 1,300 feet below
the Mediterranean, and without doubt the lowest part of the earth's
surface. I attribute the oppression I felt to this fact and to the
sultriness of the day, rather than to any exhalation from the sea itself.
François remarked, however, that had the wind--which by this time was
veering round to the north-east--blown from the south, we could scarcely
have endured it. The sea resembles a great cauldron, sunk between
mountains from three to four thousand feet in height; and probably we did
not experience more than a tithe of the summer heat.
I proposed a bath, for the sake of experiment, but François endeavored to
dissuade us. He had tried it, and nothing could be more disagreeable; we
risked getting a fever, and, besides, there were four hours of dangerous
travel yet before us. But by this time we were half undressed, and soon
were floating on the clear bituminous waves. The beach was fine gravel and
shelved gradually down. I kept my turban on my head, and was careful to
avoid touching the water with my face. The sea was moderately warm and
gratefully soft and soothing to the skin. It was impossible to sink; and
even while swimming, the body rose half out of the water. I should think
it possible to dive for a short distance, but prefer that some one else
would try the experiment. With a log of wood for a pillow, one might sleep
as on one of the patent mattresses. The taste of the water is salty and
pungent, and stings the tongue like saltpetre. We were obliged to dress in
all haste, without even wiping off the detestable liquid; yet I
experienced very little of that discomfort which most travellers have
remarked. Where the skin had been previously bruised, there was a slight
smarting sensation, and my body felt clammy and glutinous, but the bath
was rather refreshing than otherwise.
We turned our horses' heads towards the Jordan, and rode on over a dry,
barren plain. The two Bedouins at first dashed ahead at full gallop,
uttering cries, and whirling their long guns in the air. The dust they
raised was blown in our faces, and contained so much salt that my eyes
began to smart painfully. Thereupon I followed them at an equal rate of
speed, and we left a long cloud of the accursed soil whirling behind us.
Presently, however, they fell to the rear, and continued to keep at some
distance from us. The reason of this was soon explained. The path turned
eastward, and we already saw a line of dusky green winding through the
wilderness. This was the Jordan, and the mountains beyond, the home of
robber Arabs, were close at hand. Those robbers frequently cross the river
and conceal themselves behind the sand-hills on this side. Our brave
escort was, therefore, inclined to put us forward as a forlorn-hope, and
secure their own retreat in case of an attack. But as we were all well
armed, and had never considered their attendance as anything more than a
genteel way of buying them off from robbing us, we allowed them to lag as
much as they chose. Finally, as we approached the Pilgrims' Ford, one of
them took his station at some distance from the river, on the top of a
mound, while the other got behind some trees near at hand; in order, as
they said, to watch the opposite hills, and alarm us whenever they should
see any of the Beni Sukrs, or the Beni Adwams, or the Tyakh, coming down
upon us.
The Jordan at this point will not average more than ten yards in breadth.
It flows at the bottom of a gully about fifteen feet deep, which traverses
the broad valley in a most tortuous course. The water has a white, clayey
hue, and is very swift. The changes of the current have formed islands and
beds of soil here and there, which are covered with a dense growth of ash,
poplar, willow, and tamarisk trees. The banks of the river are bordered
with thickets, now overgrown with wild vines, and fragrant with flowering
plants. Birds sing continually in the cool, dark coverts of the trees. I
found a singular charm in the wild, lonely, luxuriant banks, the tangled
undergrowth, and the rapid, brawling course of the sacred stream, as it
slipped in sight and out of sight among the trees. It is almost impossible
to reach the water at any other point than the Ford of the Pilgrims, the
supposed locality of the passage of the Israelites and the baptism of
Christ. The plain near it is still blackened by the camp-fires of the ten
thousand pilgrims who went down from Jerusalem three weeks ago, to bathe.
We tied our horses to the trees, and prepared to follow their example,
which was necessary, if only to wash off the iniquitous slime of the Dead
Sea. François, in the meantime, filled two tin flasks from the stream and
stowed them in the saddle-bags. The current was so swift, that one could
not venture far without the risk of being carried away; but I succeeded in
obtaining a complete and most refreshing immersion. The taint of Gomorrah
was not entirely washed away, but I rode off with as great a sense of
relief as if the baptism had been a moral one, as well, and had purified
me from sin.
We rode for nearly two hours, in a north-west direction, to the Bedouin
village of Rihah, near the site of ancient Jericho. Before reaching it,
the gray salt waste vanishes, and the soil is covered with grass and
herbs. The barren character of the first region is evidently owing to
deposits from the vapors of the Dead Sea, as they are blown over the plain
by the south wind. The channels of streams around Jericho are filled with
nebbuk trees, the fruit of which is just ripening. It is apparently
indigenous, and grows more luxuriantly than on the White Nile. It is a
variety of the _rhamnus_, and is set down by botanists as the Spina
Christi, of which the Saviour's mock crown of thorns was made. I see no
reason to doubt this, as the twigs are long and pliant, and armed with
small, though most cruel, thorns. I had to pay for gathering some of the
fruit, with a torn dress and bleeding fingers. The little apples which it
bears are slightly acid and excellent for alleviating thirst. I also
noticed on the plain a variety of the nightshade with large berries of a
golden color. The spring flowers, so plentiful now in all other parts of
Palestine, have already disappeared from the Valley of the Jordan.
Rihah is a vile little village of tents and mud-huts, and the only relic
of antiquity near it is a square tower, which may possibly be of the time
of Herod. There are a few gardens in the place, and a grove of superb
fig-trees. We found our tent already pitched beside a rill which issues
from the Fountain of Elisha. The evening was very sultry, and the
musquitoes gave us no rest. We purchased some milk from an old man who
came to the tent, but such was his mistrust of us that he refused to let
us keep the earthen vessel containing it until morning. As we had already
paid the money to his son, we would not let him take the milk away until
he had brought the money back. He then took a dagger from his waist and
threw it before us as security, while he carried off the vessel and
returned the price. I have frequently seen the same mistrustful spirit
exhibited in Egypt. Our two Bedouins, to whom I gave some tobacco in the
evening, manifested their gratitude by stealing the remainder of our stock
during the night.
This morning we followed the stream to its source, the Fountain of
Elisha, so called as being probably that healed by the Prophet. If so, the
healing was scarcely complete. The water, which gushes up strong and free
at the foot of a rocky mound, is warm and slightly brackish. It spreads
into a shallow pool, shaded by a fine sycamore tree. Just below, there are
some remains of old walls on both sides, and the stream goes roaring away
through a rank jungle of canes fifteen feet in height. The precise site of
Jericho, I believe, has not been fixed, but "the city of the palm trees,"
as it was called, was probably on the plain, near some mounds which rise
behind the Fountain. Here there are occasional traces of foundation walls,
but so ruined as to give no clue to the date of their erection. Further
towards the mountain there are some arches, which appear to be Saracenic.
As we ascended again into the hill-country, I observed several traces of
cisterns in the bottoms of ravines, which collect the rains. Herod, as is
well known, built many such cisterns near Jericho, where he had a palace.
On the first crest, to which we climbed, there is part of a Roman tower
yet standing. The view, looking back over the valley of Jordan, is
magnificent, extending from the Dead Sea to the mountains of Gilead,
beyond the country of Ammon. I thought I could trace the point where the
River Yabbok comes down from Mizpeh of Gilead to join the Jordan.
The wilderness we now entered was fully as barren, but less rugged than
that through which we passed yesterday. The path ascended along the brink
of a deep gorge, at the bottom of which a little stream foamed over the
rocks. The high, bleak summits towards which we were climbing, are
considered by some Biblical geographers to be Mount Quarantana, the scene
of Christ's fasting and temptation. After two hours we reached the ruins
of a large khan or hostlery, under one of the peaks, which François stated
to be the veritable "high mountain" whence the Devil pointed out all the
kingdoms of the earth. There is a cave in the rock beside the road, which
the superstitious look upon as the orifice out of which his Satanic
Majesty issued. We met large numbers of Arab families, with their flocks,
descending from the mountains to take up their summer residence near the
Jordan. They were all on foot, except the young children and goats, which
were stowed together on the backs of donkeys. The men were armed, and
appeared to be of the same tribe as our escort, with whom they had a good
understanding.
The morning was cold and cloudy, and we hurried on over the hills to a
fountain in the valley of the Brook Kedron, where we breakfasted. Before
we had reached Bethany a rain came down, and the sky hung dark and
lowering over Jerusalem, as we passed the crest of Mount Olivet. It still
rains, and the filthy condition of the city exceeds anything I have seen,
even in the Orient.