At twelve o'clock our train stopped. I was quickly introduced to
him who had been awaiting us, and who was now to join our party--
"Haleel," of Jerusalem. He was dressed in typical Eastern fashion,
wearing the wide pantaloons, flowing robe, and "kufiyeh"; he was
apparently twenty-five years old, dark-skinned, and blind in one
eye; he could not speak a word of English; and he was a devout
Mohammedan. "Haleel, of Jerusalem!" Notwithstanding his fantastic
appearance, the name and place of residence seemed to me a
blending of mystery and sacredness. I did not hesitate to extend a
cordial greeting, and his smile of confused interest as I tried to
shake hands with him while he tried to give me an Oriental
salutation won me to him. It was his only intelligible language to
me, but it was sufficient to give me assurance of his friendship,
and I was beginning to feel that from that hour I should need
friends. The salutation that Haleel offered to me was a quick,
graceful movement of his hand toward my feet, next to his lips,
and then lightly to his forehead. I had seen the natives do this
in exchanging salutations, and now that it had been offered to me
I sought an interpretation. My guide explained that Haleel meant
to tell me that he felt so honored in meeting me, that he "would
take the dust from my feet, would kiss it, and then place it on
his forehead." Beautiful sentiment! Had I ever previously in my
life been so honored in meeting any one!
The greeting over, I noticed unusual movements about the station.
Many Turkish soldiers were there. They stood about in groups
engaged in animated conversation. Upon inquiry I learned that the
feuds so common in that region were again "on," and that the
soldiers were there to quell lawlessness. As I was the only
tourist there I became an object of special interest. Some of the
men came to my dragoman, and only a few words had passed until I
knew that I was the subject of their conversation. I could
occasionally catch the word "hawadje," which means "master," and I
knew they were referring to me. Then they would look at me and
shake their heads. I was anxious to know what it all meant, but
had to be content with what my guide was pleased to tell of it. He
seemed to have gained his point, but he told me nothing except to
prepare for a hard trip, as a day's distance must be covered, if
possible, before nightfall. As we had already lost two days in
Damascus, I was not averse to trying something strenuous in order
to make up in part for that loss. I felt quite equal to the task,
(though it proved to be a severe ordeal,) when it was explained to
me that it would require a ride of more than forty miles to reach
a safe halting-place for the night. My guide had planned it; and I
was committed to the plan.
After a hurried lunch, eaten in the tent of an Arab, I prepare
for,--I know not what. I put on my leggings and head-gear. Then I
give over my luggage, which consists of a suit-case, hand-grip,
umbrella, and alpenstock, to Haleel. I keep my overcoat, not
because the weather is cold,--it is hot,--but because I think I
may possibly need it as a kind of cushion for my saddle before the
day is over. The need was felt, and SORELY felt quite early in the
afternoon; but most of the time we rode too rapidly for my
overcoat to supply the need,--it just would not stay where I had
hoped it might serve me well. So it happened that I was destined
to experience on that ride such misery as I had scarcely thought
one could endure. But, I anticipate.
We are ready. I am anxious to be going. I am delighted when my
horse, a beauty, indeed, and of pure Arabian stock, is led up by
two dusky sons of the desert. Surely my long trip to Jerusalem
will be one of pleasure when I am mounted on such a steed! At
half-past twelve o'clock we mount, and, facing to the south, we
set off at a brisk pace for Gerasa, (known to the Arabs as
Jerash,) where it has been planned that we shall spend the night.
Several of the natives accompany us a short distance on foot, one
running on either side of my horse and holding to the bridle; but
soon, with interesting and graceful salaams, they leave us to
pursue our hot and dusty way alone.
There are just three of us, and we proceed in the following order:
my dragoman, who is guide and interpreter, leads the way; I follow
next after him; bringing up the rear is our muleteer, who takes
charge of all luggage, cares for the horses, and especially for,--
me. Why should I not be happy? For the first time in my life I
have two men engaged to look after my wants. They did their duty
well,--were almost painfully attentive at times. But to-day I
thank them for their kind severity.
Not having spent more than a few hours on horse-back in the
previous ten years, I found, after riding a few miles, that it
required more than a beautiful horse to make riding comfortable to
an inexperienced rider. But our way led through such a beautiful
valley, and on either hand were mountains so suggestive of Bible
narrative that there was much in the earlier part of the afternoon
to divert my attention from any physical discomfort. Where we were
riding there was no road,--simply bridle-paths, and frequently not
even a path.
After we had been riding for an hour a young Arab on camel-back
joined us. I did not like his searching looks from a face almost
hidden in his head-garment. But he stayed with us for a half-hour,
and in that time had raced his camel with our horses; then he
suddenly turned from us toward the near mountains of Gilead. We
met a number of caravans in the earlier part of the afternoon, and
I noted that every man that I saw carried a gun, or some sort of
sword, or large knife. They were ready for defense, if occasion
should arise.
About two o'clock we passed a "memorial heap," or cairn. Some
tragedy occurred there, and the custom of the region is that the
passer-by places reverently on the pile of rocks already formed an
additional stone. Elsewhere I had seen this done when it seemed to
me the actor was under the spell of a superstitious fear.
About the middle of the afternoon a soldier, full armed, dashes up
to us in a mad gallop, hands a message to my dragoman, and then as
rapidly rides back again. I am a little alarmed at this until I
learn that he has entrusted a writing to us to be delivered in
Jerusalem. A little later I see another soldier leave the group in
which he is riding and gallop ahead across the open way to the
brow of a hill. There he dismounts, lays down his gun, takes the
robe, or blanket, on which he rode, spreads it upon the ground,
faces toward Mecca, and prostrates himself in prayer. The prayer
over, he dashes down to his party and they are off like the wind.
About four o'clock we passed near a little village, the only place
where I saw a house on that long afternoon ride. It is not safe
for any one to live outside the villages; hence there are no
isolated dwellings in all this region. We did not halt for one
moment, but kept pressing steadily on.
After five o'clock the plain was deserted; we saw from that time
neither man nor beast. I was cramped and painfully tired, and
feeling that if I could but walk for a few minutes it would be
quite a relief, I dismounted--quite a difficult thing to do and
keep from sprawling upon the ground. But I was no sooner off my
horse than Haleel was beside me, and my dragoman, who was at that
time nearly a hundred yards ahead of me, rode back and sternly
commanded: "You get right back on that horse; this is no time to
think of walking; you can do that some other time." Inwardly I
resented it; how could I stand it longer! I blamed it on the
saddle, then I thought that they must have given me the worst
horse of the three. But all this helped nothing. They assisted me
again into the saddle. Then my guide delivered a little speech in
Arabic to Haleel. I did not then understand it, but shortly after
I learned the essence of it; it was, "You keep your eye on him and
see that he keeps his horse moving." When I found myself again in
the saddle I determined that if I must ride there would be no more
trotting of my horse,--I would proceed as gently as possible. But,
alas! Haleel had his whip and my dream of controlling my horse was
over. After that I kept close to my dragoman. At that time I
thought it harsh treatment, but later I understood.
We have reached the limit of level land and are now winding among
the eastern foot-hills of the mountains of Gilead. It is the hour
of sunset and the great orb of day sinks in sad beauty to me. In
the twilight I see here and there half-buried pillars of some
famous temple--a temple that surely never stood here. Our horses
are wet with sweat; we have not halted for lunch; not a drop of
water has been seen; night is coming on with its pale moon casting
weird shadows about us; we are alone in a land noted for its
lawlessness, and yet we are unarmed. We move on almost in silence.
There is silence about us, save for the cry now and then of some
night-bird. We see no lights save those above us. My guide seems
bewildered and uncertain as to the location of the town we seek. I
am faint from weariness, and so cramped that at times it is with
difficulty that I keep from falling to the ground. I am now quite
solicitous as to our safety and not a little alarmed when our way
leads through some rocky, narrow passage suggestive of a lurking-
place for men of evil intent. But at last, at half-past nine
o'clock, after being in the saddle for nine hours, I am aroused
from my stupor by a joyful exclamation from my dragoman. A few dim
lights are seen,--IT IS GERASA!
My dragoman continued his exclamations of praise thus, "I thank my
God for saving my life once more." I said faintly, "Why such
words?" "Well," he said, "all natives are expected to be in their
villages by sundown, tourists at their destination earlier. It is
the custom of this region that tourists must have an escort of
soldiers or Bedouins, even in times of peace; and now THE FEUDS
ARE ON; and here we have come alone, at night, unarmed; and I am
responsible for these horses--they are not mine--and for your
life. The ride may have been hard for you, but the hours of
anxiety were more trying to me. I have now done it once, but I'll
never again assume such a risk--NOT EVEN FOR A MILLION POUNDS!" I
had no response that he heard, but mentally I said, "Never again
with ME, Mr. Barakat. NO, NEVER!
Yet I think I never experienced greater joy on entering my own
home than on that night when entering and riding through the
crooked, narrow lanes of that miserable village of Gilead.
"At Gerasa"