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.