It was early on the following morning when our horses were led
around to the door of the mission-house, but notwithstanding the
early hour a dozen or more of the natives were standing in line to
receive medical attention from the missionary. A few were there
who seemed to have come to witness our departure. Our guide,
promised the night before, was on hand, mounted, ready to lead the
way over what proved to be by far the roughest part of my trip.
For that day my party consisted of four persons. Our new leader,
whose name I did not learn, was a man of about fifty years, and
was a genuine Arab in appearance and dress. But he wore nothing on
his feet--not even sandals. I felt better satisfied, knowing that
he would lead the way on that day, for my dragoman was not
familiar with that part of Gilead. However, when toward the middle
of the afternoon we descended into the Jordan Valley, he was quite
at home again.
Single file we proceed from Coefrinje along a narrow path with the
bushes and briars brushing the sides of our horses and wetting us
with dew. It is not long until we begin to ascend a high ridge.
Here there are no paths whatever, and at times our horses can
scarcely move on because of the steepness of the ascent. But a few
minutes before nine o'clock, after a toilsome struggle, we reach
the summit of the ridge, and here I get my first panoramic view of
the west-Jordan country. It is entrancingly beautiful.
When we had reined up our horses I said to my dragoman, "Tell our
attendants to be still until I have finished speaking; I want to
explain the scene before us." And then while he listened, and
looked as I directed, I said: "That towering height far to the
north is Mount Hermon; the sheet of water some miles on this side
is the Sea of Galilee; to the west of the Sea of Galilee is
Hattin, the Mount of Beatitudes; that white spot southwest of
Hattin is Nazareth; that great plain south of Nazareth is
Esdraelon, the 'battle-field of Palestine'; these rounded
mountains here in the eastern part of the Valley of Esdraelon are
Tabor, Little Hermon, and Gilboa;--on the north is Tabor, at whose
base Napoleon fought; the next is Little Hermon, where lived the
witch of Endor; and the one south of Little Hermon is Gilboa,
where Saul and his sons were slain; that range of mountains
forming the southern wall of Esdraelon is Carmel, where Elijah
held his trial with the priests of Baal; here below us, winding in
its serpentine course, is the Jordan in its great trough or Ghor;
in the center of the picture are the mountains of Samaria, with
Ebal and Gerizim; to the south are the mountains of Judea, where
lies Jerusalem; and that broad expanse of water beyond all these
is the Mediterranean, the 'great sea toward the going down of the
sun.'"
Then I waited for his criticism. He said, "You are right in every
point, but how did you know?" I said, "It is just like the
Palestine of my childhood's fancy that I located in the field back
of the barn on my father's little farm in western Pennsylvania,
and with that picture I have been familiar from the days of my
early youth." It is impossible for me to express what were my
feelings at this supreme moment of my life, as I viewed for the
first time what is distinctively known as the land of Patriarch,
Prophet, Priest, and King--the land of my Redeemer's earthly
pilgrimage--the world's best Holy Land! After some time spent in
viewing that almost matchless scene, and in gathering mountain
lilies, we began our descent into the most remarkable depression
in the world--the great Ghor of the Jordan. The next few hours
afforded little of pleasure. Careful attention had to be given to
our horses as we wound about among the rocks. The horses of both
my dragoman and muleteer fell on this trip, but without serious
results to either horses or riders. It was quite wearying to
proceed thus, so when we finally reached a large sloping rock
under which was a kind of stagnant pool--the only water we had
seen since leaving Coefrinje--I was glad to know that there we
would lunch, even though I could not drink of the water.
This rocky wady is like a prison-house to me. But while eating I
hear sweet strains of music somewhere on the mountains--it is from
a shepherd's pipe. Scanning the heights I see far above me
shepherds with their flocks of sheep and goats, and the music that
I hear is from their reed-harps which they play as they lead the
way over rugged mountain paths to find greener pastures and better
waters.
We tarry here only a little while. Not long after lunch we pass a
grotto of small size in the hill-side. Evidently the carven ruins
are the remains of an ancient temple that stood here in the days
when a pagan people held possession of the land; and I feel sure
that a fountain must exist here a good part of the year, though
now it is dry.
A little farther on is Jabesh-gilead. The story of Jabesh-gilead
is a touching one. The people of the city were besieged by the
Ammonites under their king, Nahash. The men of the city were
willing to make a covenant to serve the Ammonites. But Nahash told
them that the only condition on which he would make a covenant
with them would be to thrust out all their right eyes and lay it
as a reproach upon Israel. The elders of Jabesh asked a respite of
seven days in which to get help, which request was granted. The
situation was critical in the extreme. Messengers left the
besieged city and hurried to the new king of Israel. Saul heard
the story of their distresses. Immediately he gathered an army of
three hundred and thirty thousand men, and, marching rapidly up
the Jordan Valley, crossed the river and attacked the Ammonites
and completely routed them with great slaughter. And thus he saved
the city.
The men of Jabesh-gilead never forgot Saul and his kindness to
them. Forty years later the disastrous battle of Gilboa was
fought. In this battle both Saul and Jonathan were slain. The next
day when the Philistines searched for spoils among the dead they
found Saul and his three sons, and they cut off his head to carry
it as a trophy to Philistia; but they took the headless trunks of
the king and his sons to Beth-shan and fastened them against its
walls as a terrible warning to the Israelites. But, "when the
inhabitants of Jabesh-gilead heard of that which the Philistines
had done to Saul, all the valiant men arose and went all night and
took the body of Saul and the bodies of his sons from the wall of
Bethshan and came to Jabesh and burnt them there. And they took
their bones and buried them under a tree at Jabesh, and fasted
seven days." (II. Samuel 31:11-13.)
Off to the left a little way I see Tabakat Fahil, identified as
Pella, the place to which the Christians of Jerusalem fled just
before the siege of Titus in obedience to the prophetic warning of
Christ.
It is two o'clock when we reach the Jordan Valley, at a point a
little south of Beth-shan, which is on the west side of the river.
We now turn northward and pursue our way steadily near the
mountains until after five o'clock; then we turn toward the river,
which we reach at sun-down.
The Jordan Valley is covered with a growth of thorn said to be
like that used in the crowning of Christ at the time of his mock-
trial. We eat of a delicious yellow berry now ripening on these
thorns. We pass two or three small villages, the names of which I
could not learn. We cross a number of small streams this
afternoon, the largest of which is the Tayibeh. All of these
streams are thickly lined with reeds and pink oleander; so thick
is this growth in some places that the streams are completely
hidden. Our Arab guide springs down into each of these water-
brooks and hands drink to us, but he drinks, I think, after the
manner of the drinking of "Gideon's three hundred," in the time of
their being tested; that is, by a quick movement of the hand
throwing water into his mouth.
Pushing rapidly across the open valley we startle gazelles from
their hiding-places among the reeds. Then, near the river, we pass
several encampments of Bedouins whose tents are black as those of
Kedar. At last, after being in the saddle all of ten hours, just
at sun-set, we reach the Jordan at the bridge of Jisr el Mejamia,
six miles south of the Sea of Galilee. Just across on the other
side of the river we shall tarry through the night.
The way has been long and trying. I am very weary. But, now, just
before me the Jordan--sacred stream! And then, on the other side,
rest! Happy, soul-cheering thought!
"At the Bridge"