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_.