Soon after entering the village of Coefrinje my dragoman had the
rare good fortune to find a former acquaintance, but whom he did
not know to be in those mountains. His name was Elias Mitry, who,
with his wife, had come up from Jerusalem to do missionary work
under the auspices of the Church of England. Although he was a
native of Palestine and talked very poor English, yet he offered
us a welcome to his humble home than which no more royal was
accorded us anywhere. The meeting with my dragoman was an
exhibition of genuine joy, and he seemed equally pleased to have
me in his home; especially did he consider it an honor to be my
host when my dragoman told him that he was escorting a "school-
master" through the land. In that land it seems that the teacher
is almost reverenced because of his profession, while, it may be
said by way of contrast, in some sections of my home land he is
scarcely respected because of his profession. Indeed, I was
treated as a guest of honor; the best that the home afforded was
at my service. Stuffed cucumbers, figs, olives, pomegranates, and
what, for want of a better name, I call "congealed grape-juice,"
--all these were placed before me when in the early evening they
aided my guide in serving supper.
We spent little over four hours in the saddle to-day, so I am not
wearied, and I can give interested attention to the surroundings.
And there is much to interest me here. For, while the name
"Coefrinje" is not mentioned in the Bible, nor is its site
definitely identified with the location of any biblical city, yet
there is much of Bible story centered at points within five miles
of this town.
Just across the narrow valley, only a few hundred yards distant,
is the height, Kulat er Rubad. It is crowned with the ruins of an
old castle-fortress called (together with the peak on which it
stands) the "watch-tower of Gilead." The view from the dismantled
ramparts is not excelled in this part of the world. It, indeed,
rivals the view from the celebrated peak south of the Jabbok,
Jebel Osha. Dr. Thomson says, "In reality this prospect includes
more points of biblical and historical interest than any other on
the face of the earth." And Dr. Merrill, after enumerating many of
the famous characters of history that moved under the gaze of this
mount of out-look, adds, "The view is more than a picture. It is a
panorama of great variety, beauty, and significance." To me it is
wonderfully impressive.
As the evening wore on I first gave attention to the large olive-
press close to the mission-house. The press was simple in
construction, consisting of a large bowl-shaped rock from the
center of whose depression rose an upright post of wood; to this
post was fastened a long nearly-horizontal beam, not unlike what
might be seen in the old-time cider-mill or cane-mill; slipped
onto this beam by means of a large hole in its center was a large
stone shaped like a grind-stone; this rock, pushed well up to the
post, rested in the bowl of the other rock. When the natives
pushed or pulled the beam around in tread-mill fashion the
circular stone turned on the beam, and at the same time moved
round and round in the hollow of the other rock. Thus the olives
placed in the bowl-shaped rock were thoroughly crushed and the oil
was caught in vessels.
Then I watch the shepherds leading their large flocks of sheep and
goats in from the mountain pastures to their folds for the night.
All day these faithful guardians have been with their flocks
seeking good pasture and water for them,--no easy task in the fall
of the year near the end of the dry season. They have guarded the
sheep from the danger of beast, or precipice, or pit; have
released those caught in the under-brush; have ministered to the
needs of the sick; and now as night approaches they come leading--
not driving--their flocks in quiet movement from out the mountain-
paths to the sheltering fold in the village for the night, again
to lead them forth on to-morrow, and to do likewise day after day.
To see the tender solicitude of the Oriental shepherd for his
sheep adds much to one's appreciation of the beauty and fitness of
the teaching of the Master in his parable of the Good Shepherd.
But it is near the sunset hour of my only evening in these sacred
mountains. I seek a vantage-ground and watch the King of Day sink
slowly down to his couch of rest behind the western mountains and
the farther sea. Oh, how beautiful! The sky is ablaze with a glory
indescribable by mortal tongue. All space seems vocal with praise
to the God of love and beauty.
In the strange and peaceful quiet of that evening I felt the
presence of a mysterious, subtle influence stirring within me. In
the shower of gold flung out as a good-night to me, and as the
star of evening smiled down upon me in the purpling twilight and
began calling her myriads of companions to their sentry-posts to
keep watch over me through the hours of the night in that strange
land, I felt, I think, the spirit of the poetry,
"Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me," etc.,
in its fullness. Indeed, the air seemed vibrant with a living
personality, which, without undue stretching of the imagination, I
recognized as the SPIRIT OF HISTORY come to tell me the wonderful
story of those wonderful mountains. Enraptured I listened.
SAID THE SPIRIT: "Long before Gad was attracted by these heights
and valleys, tribes of people lived here in their simplicity, yet
in sin. The land seemed not different from other lands. Here were
towering wooded mountain, rocky ravine, and strong-flowing
fountain; here the beast prowled among the rocks, the bird nested
in the trees, and the sweet-scented flowers graced all the
landscape. The storms beat upon the mountains and the waters
rushed in madness to the valley in the rainy season, and the sun
scorched the vegetation and dried up the fountains in the dry
season. Thus in monotony centuries passed.
"But one day the God of heaven sent messengers to encamp here, and
from that time these mountains on which you now stand have been
considered sacred--because pressed by the feet of angels. Yonder
to the northeast, only a little way, is where that event took
place. Jacob, rich in herds and flocks, was on his way home from
far-off Euphrates, but he was much troubled at the thought of
meeting his brother who had sought to take his life about twenty
years previously. He was picking his way slowly over these
mountains leading his company and cattle when there appeared in
his way a host of angels. He was not frightened, but in gladness
of heart he cried out, 'Mahanaim,'--God's host. And although the
wise people of your day are not quite sure as to the exact
location of this meeting, yet be happy in the thought that you are
now only a few miles from the sacred spot, if, indeed, you are not
just where it occurred. Had you then stood here you could have
seen the glorious light of their presence, and could almost have
heard the rustle of their heaven-plumed pinions.
"After this meeting Jacob wandered a little farther to the south,
and just over yonder, on the Jabbok, he spent a whole night in
prayer and in wrestling with the Angel Jehovah, thinking it was a
mere man. There he gained a great victory over self, and he
received the new name, 'Israel.' And on the next day, a little
farther to the south, he met his erst-while angry and murderous
brother in peace and happy reconciliation.
"A few centuries pass. Then the mighty Moses conquers all this
region; and a little later these Ajlun Mountains were given to the
tribe of Gad as a permanent home. But, in the course of time, the
native tribes prove troublesome; and then the great Gideon, having
gained a decisive victory down in the valley, followed the fleeing
enemy, 'faint, yet pursuing,' right through this very district.
"Later the Ammonites were punished in a great battle by Israel's
'out-cast,' and mighty warrior, Jephthah.
"But look again at Mahanaim where Jacob met the angels. The place
in later centuries became a center of other events of interest.
There, after the death of Saul, Ish-bosheth established his
capital, and forth from its gates he sent his armies under Abner
to fight that he might secure the scepter of all Israel to
himself. But after two years of struggle he was treacherously
slain and his cause was hopelessly lost. There, too, David sought
refuge from Absalom; and out from those same gates through which
Ish-bosheth had sent armies against him, David sent armies against
his own son. And there above one of the gates of Mahanaim the
voice of his weeping arose when he heard the news of the death of
his strange misguided boy.
"Time passed on and the Israelites turned from the God of heaven
to worship at the shrines of other gods. Then, to punish them for
their sin God sent a strange invader into these mountains who
carried away the people by thousands into cruel captivity in a
land far toward the sun-rising.
"Later the Romans came and planted olive trees and built fine
cities and established enduring roads. But Rome is fallen, and
where she moved in power and splendor ruin only remains, and the
unambitious, ignorant Bedouin feeds his flock and lives in
idleness amidst broken down terraces and thorn-covered fertile
soil. Desolate! Yes, dark is the picture. But, what of the night?
Take your place again on the 'watch-tower of Gilead' and scan well
the horizon. Yes, it is well; the morning cometh!"
Having given myself up to reverie and to communing with the SPIRIT
OF HISTORY, as it were, I was for a time forgetful of my
surroundings. The twilight had deepened when I again turned my
thoughts to the village and its people. I look up at some of the
houses near me and see a number of the natives in their dark robes
standing like statues on the flat roofs of their homes, yet
watching every movement of the stranger that has so unexpectedly
appeared in their midst. I do not fear them, but somehow a feeling
of unrest steals over me; they seem like shades of departed
Israelites back again from their long sleep. In the gathering
gloom I pass quickly into the mission-house near by.
This proves to be an evening full of interest to me. I learn that
a mission-service is soon to begin, and that a number of the
villagers will be here for the service. I am impressed with the
quiet (save for the barking of dogs) that prevails in these Arab
villages. I see no drunkenness, and there is no boisterous
rudeness of other sort.
In a little while a score or more of men come quietly to the
mission-house, remove their sandals, pass into the room, and seat
themselves on the earthen floor against the walls. Mrs. Mitry
beckons to me to come to the door; she wanted me to see that row
of forty sandals. She said in her broken way that it was
interesting to her, and she thought it would interest me.
It is only a little while until Mr. Mitry enters and takes his
place at a small table in the center of the room. A half hour or
more is spent in smoking cigarettes--almost every native smokes.
Here it seems that the habit is in no sense considered a vice.
Indeed, the missionary himself, not only smokes, but assists in
making cigarettes for the others. They smoke and smoke until the
room is so darkened that we see each other but dimly through the
haze. I am surprised that I can endure it. The tobacco must be
different from that used in America, for ordinarily a single
cigarette is more offensive to me than was the smoke of nearly
fifty on that evening--for some of the men smoked two or three
apiece in that close room.
After the smoking was over black coffee was served in small cups
holding about one-fourth as much as the average teacup. They sip
this slowly and talk. I note that frequently they are saying
something about "hawadje," and then they fix their eyes upon me.
My dragoman tells me that he has been explaining our hard trip to
Gerasa, that they were skeptical about it, but that he has
convinced them of its verity.
But now it is time for the service. Mr. Mitry opens his Bible and
reads in Arabic the story of Moses' invitation to Hobab. Then he
expounds the Scripture for some time while the men listen with
rapt attention. There are some questions and answers. I understand
only a word now and then, but it is a picture of more than
ordinary interest to me to look upon the expectant, and then the
satisfied faces of these natives.
When the lesson was over a request came from the men for me to
speak to them. Through my dragoman as interpreter I spoke a little
while on the theme of the evening, which meant much to me there
where the migration of Moses was in a measure felt by the early
inhabitants. They listened attentively, and when I had finished
they told my guide to say to "hawadje" that they wanted him to
stay and make his home with them. Then, the meeting over, they
moved out into the darkness with graceful "salaams," and with the
promise of one of their number to accompany us on the morrow. They
said we must not go on alone.
The service-room is now to be my bed-room. A pallet is brought to
me, and on it I am soon trying to sleep. But the beautiful sun-
set, the vision of the past of this region, the mission-service,
the stillness of the night--so still that the very silence seems
audible--keep me awake for some time. I am lying by the "watch-
tower of Gilead." I seem to see the Spirit of Prophecy standing on
its broken battlements, wrapped in the shadows of the night,
looking hopefully toward the place of sun-rising. I call to him,
"Watchman, what of the night?" In sweet tones of assurance comes
the answer, "The morning cometh! The story of the Christ will yet
transform the darkness that rests here into the brightness of
noonday." Then a sweet peace seemed wafted into my soul from out
the unseen somewhere,--but certainly from Him who "giveth his
beloved sleep."
"Down to the Jordan"