Plains of Palestine. ―― No Farm-houses. ―― Great Plain of
Esdraelon. ―― Its Fertility. ―― Topography. ―― River Kishon.
―― World’s Battle-field. ―― Waters of Megiddo. ―― Deborah and
her Victory. ―― Jeneen. ―― Bethshean. ―― Encampment. ―― Modern
Sheikhs and ancient Patriarchs. ―― City of Ruins. ―― Jabesh
Gilead. ―― Pella. ―― Gideon’s Fountain. ―― Mount Gilboa. ――
Battles. ―― Jezreel. ―― Napoleon and the Turks. ―― Shunem.
―― Nain. ―― Endor. ―― Witch’s Cave. ―― Saul and Samuel. ――
Witches. ―― Mount Tabor. ―― Its Form. ―― Woods. ―― View. ――
Misnomer. ―― Transfiguration. ―― It occurred at Night. ――
Argument. ―― Benighted Party.
THERE are two classes of plains in Palestine――those upon the sea-board,
as the Plains of Philistia, Sharon, and Phœnicia, and those of the
interior, as the Plains of Rephaim, Jericho, El-Mukhna, the Bukâ’a, and
Esdraelon. They differ from each other chiefly in location, the former
being maritime, and consequently more or less affected by the action of
the sea; the latter being inland, and subject to the influences of the
lofty mountains by which they are encompassed. Though equally beautiful,
fertile, and historically important, yet at present those upon the
coast are less cultivated and less inhabited than the others, as the
wild Bedouins, dreading the sea, prefer to pitch their tents in the
interior. Nothing evinces the degeneracy of the Syrian Arabs more
than the neglect of these vast garden-plains. Perhaps it is not so
much a proof of their degeneracy, as the Turk in Syria has never been
otherwise than what he now is――indolent as he is overbearing, the
enemy of all improvements, and the destroyer of whatever is elegant in
architecture or beneficial in good government. The proverbial richness
of the soil of Palestine is evinced by the abundance of grain annually
raised at the expense of the least possible labor. Without ever
receiving, the land is ever giving. The superficial process of plowing
resembles our mode of dragging, and the application of mineral and
other kinds of manure is a thing unknown. One often and heartily
desires to see an American farmer occupying these noble plains, with
his enlightened views of agriculture and his improved implements of
husbandry. What golden harvests, in more senses than one, would repay
his toil! He would realize the prophetic blessings pronounced on Asher,
“His bread shall be fat, and he shall yield royal dainties.”
The custom of dwelling in villages, and not upon the land cultivated,
is fatal to the thorough development of the natural resources of any
country. You may travel for miles through the richest portions of
Palestine without seeing a human habitation. In going from Etham
to Hebron, a distance of 15 miles, and through a fertile region, we
failed to see a single dwelling, though occasionally we observed a
small village perched on a mountain top. The traveler never meets
with the clean, comfortable farm-house so common in the agricultural
districts of America. Here the people dwell in towns, and there is
a matter-of-fact meaning in the Savior’s words, “A sower went forth
to sow.” If we except its eastern branches, there is not a single
inhabited dwelling on the whole Plain of Esdraelon, and not more than
one sixth of its soil is cultivated. Occasionally are seen the black
tents of the nomadic Bedouin, who, despoiler-like, feeds his flocks
till the crop is exhausted, and then removes to another section of rich
pasturage, or, mounted on his fleet steed, scours the plain in search
of plunder.
Whether considered as to the extent of its area, the fertility of
its soil, the beauty of its scenery, or the political and religious
importance of its history, the Plain of Esdraelon is the first of
inland plains. The southern frontier of Zebulon, it fell to the lot
of Issachar, “who saw that rest was good, and the land that it was
pleasant;” and, rather than abandon his possession, “he bowed his
shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute.”[521] Extending
from the Mediterranean to the Jordan Valley, it is not unlike a vast
rent in the heart of the land. Resembling in form an irregular triangle,
its base extends a distance of 15 miles from Jenîn to the mountains
below Nazareth; and with one side measuring 12 miles long, formed
by the Hills of Galilee, the other runs along the Samarian range a
distance of 18 miles. Serving as the channel-bed of the ancient Kishon,
its apex is a narrow pass half a mile wide, opening into the Plain of
’Akka. From its base three arms branch out toward the east, divided
by Gilboa and Little Hermon. With Tabor on one side and Little Hermon
on the other, the northern branch has Nain and Endor on its southern
border, and was the path taken by the troops of Deborah and Barak when
on their way to the battle of Megiddo. Lying between Gilboa and Jenîn,
the southern branch terminates among the hills to the eastward. But,
excelling the others in extent and richness, the great central branch
descends in green and gentle slopes to the banks of the Jordan, having
Jezreel on the south and Shunem on the north, and is known in Scripture
as the “Valley of Jezreel,” where Gideon triumphed, and Saul and his
sons were slain. Having its most distant perennial source in the great
fountain of Jenîn, the famous river Kishon flows through this plain in
a northwesterly direction, and pours its brackish waters into the sea.
Called by the Arabs Nakr el-Mukuttah, it is ordinarily a clear and
rapid stream, lined on either side with flowers and dense shrubbery.
Increased in the rainy season by numberless mountain torrents, and
by springs from the base of Carmel and from the bases of the Hills
of Nazareth, it varies in depth from four to eight feet, and from 10
to 40 in width. It is evident that it must have been swollen by some
extraordinary means to have swept away the fugitive army of Jabin. “The
stars in their courses fought against Sisera” may indicate a tremendous
storm that swept over mountain and plain, sending down torrents of
water from the mountain streams, overflowing the steep banks of the
Kishon, and sweeping on to the sea with irresistible force, bearing on
its rapid current the routed foe, who, in the confusion of defeat and
flight, had become entangled in the dense thickets that line its banks.
But the significance of Esdraelon is its marked history. It is the
battle-field of nations. The hosts of Israel and the wild tribes of
the ancient Canaanites have met in death-grapple upon its soil, and
in later times the powerful armies of Europe contended on the fields
of El-Fûleh with the barbarous hordes of the Orient. Here Deborah and
Barak marshaled their hosts against Sisera; here Gideon encountered
the Midianites; here the Philistines fought against Saul and Jonathan;
here Benhadad put the battle in array against Ahab; here Jehu slew
Ahaziah and Joram; here the knights of mediæval times grappled with the
soldiers of the Crescent, and Napoleon and Kleber led their splendid
columns against the relentless Turks. It was a memorable day when
we traversed this plain, recalling the clamor of war, and in fancy
beholding the onset, the retreat, and fierce pursuit of mighty armies.
And equally gratified were we that those scenes of death are past, and
that flowers now bloom and harvests ripen where belligerent hosts once
fought.
Descending from the heights of Carmel, we followed a winding path
through wooded dells to the southwest corner of Esdraelon, and in half
an hour reached Wady el-Mêlhor, “The Salt Valley,” which forms the
boundary-line between Carmel and the Mountains of Samaria. Up this
ravine the French marched in 1799 to attack Ramleh. Fording the Kishon,
our path lay along the base of the Samarian Hills, which are furrowed
by deep gorges, eleven of which are the channels of as many streamlets
flowing into the sacred river. Seven miles beyond is the battle-field
of Megiddo. Here, sweeping along the base of a high mound, are the
“waters of Megiddo,” running northward into the Kishon. On the banks of
this stream is the scene of that great battle between Barak and Sisera.
Roused by the call of a woman, the former had assembled the northern
tribes of Israel on the summit of Tabor, where he was joined by Deborah,
who led to the fight the tribes of Central Palestine. Choosing Taanach
as his rallying-point, the latter had concentrated his host with 900
iron chariots. Approaching from different points of the plain, the
contending foes met hard by the “waters of Megiddo.” Then it was that
“the stars in their courses fought against Sisera,” as at that moment
a storm of sleet and hail gathered from the east, and, bursting over
the plain in the face of the advancing Canaanites, threw them into
confusion, and “the torrent swept them away.”[522] Springing from his
chariot, Sisera fled on foot into the neighboring mountains, where the
nail of Jael awaited him who had escaped the sword of Barak. Then, in
the moment of triumph, Deborah sang her wondrous song.[523]
Six centuries later, here Josiah, king of Judah, fought against
Pharaoh-necho of Egypt, who was advancing to attack the King of Assyria,
and here, in the “Valley of Megiddo, the archers shot at King Josiah,
and he said, Have me away, for I am sore wounded.”[524]
Following the southern border of Esdraelon, we reached Jeneen at
sundown, where we encamped for the night upon its beautiful lawn.
Taking an Arab guide, we started the next morning for the Beisân of
the Arabs, the Scythopolis of the Romans, and the Bethshean of the
Bible, on whose ancient walls the dead bodies of Saul and Jonathan were
fastened after the fatal battle of Gilboa. Our path lay up a low ridge
of limestone hills which overhung the valley of the Jordan on the west,
and, crossing the summit, we descended to a noble plain, well watered,
overgrown with rank weeds and briers, and dotted with the black tents
of wandering Bedouins. Pausing for a moment, we examined, as far as
modesty and safety would allow, the encampment of these nomads. Around
their tents flocks and herds were grazing, watched by the faithful
dog and guarded by mounted patrolmen, who scoured the plain for a mile
in circumference, to discover, if possible, the lurking-place of some
neighboring plunderer. In an open tent “two women were grinding at a
mill,” while others were kneading bread and spinning flax. Every thing
about the encampment wore the aspect of a semi-barbarous state, and
the question rose in our minds more than once as to the tent-life of
Abraham and his sons. In many points there is an evident similarity.
Like the nomads of the present day, the patriarchs wandered from place
to place; their property consisted of herds of cattle, and flocks of
sheep and goats; their women, to whose lot it fell to grind, spin, and
cook, occupied separate tents, as in modern times; and, like them, they
were constantly liable to be surprised and plundered; hence then as now,
all the males went armed for the protection of their property. But here
the parallel ends. There is no comparison as to personal excellence,
domestic refinement, and social dignity. If the words and acts of a man
reveal his heart and manifest his condition, then the history of those
venerable patriarchs bespeaks a purity of character, a refinement of
social life, and a dignity of private and public behavior not unworthy
the best state of society in this Christian age.
Illustration: WOMEN GRINDING AT A MILL.
Illustration: ARAB ENCAMPMENT.
Reaching Bethshean at noon, we found a wretched modern village of
500 Egyptians, whom Ibrahim Pasha had colonized there to protect his
frontier, but who are now cruelly oppressed by the wild nomads of the
Ghôr. The ancient city was one of the strong-holds of Palestine, which
the Israelites were never able to take. It lies in the line of the
great caravan route from Damascus to Egypt, and is the same traveled
by the Ishmaelites who bought Joseph. Like most of the cities of that
distant age, it was built upon a hill, with a walled acropolis crowning
the summit. Increasing in wealth and population, the limits of the town
were extended to the plain below. Covering a space of more than three
miles in circumference, the piles of massive ruins which remain no less
indicate the strength of the position than the elegance and affluence
of the city. The religious temples of Bethshean were the boast of its
citizens, and, judging from the number and finish of the remaining
marble columns, they must have equaled in magnificence those of more
renowned places. But time has wrought what the marshaled hosts of
Israel could not accomplish. Bethshean is a desolation; its site and
environs are covered with acres of thorns and brambles; the famous
Roman arch, that spanned the streamlet on the east, is broken; the
impregnable wall, upon which the lifeless bodies of Saul and his sons
were suspended in derision, has fallen; the proud temples of Ashtaroth,
that resounded with songs of triumph over the slain, are no more, and
solitary columns rise up amid weeds and thistles, like spectres in the
silent vales. The only remaining building is the amphitheatre, having
a diameter of 180 feet. Though comparatively well preserved, with all
the interior passages and doors nearly perfect, it is so overgrown
with weeds and lacerating briers that we examined it with the greatest
difficulty.
From the summit of the acropolis we obtained a view which was as
interesting as it was commanding. Four hundred feet below us lay the
Valley of the Jordan. Measuring more than three miles in width, it is
every where well watered, green, and fertile, and dotted with thickets
of tamarisk. Directly opposite rose the Mountains of Gilead, in the
side of which stood the town of Jabesh Gilead, whose valiant men, under
cover of the night, rescued the remains of Saul and his sons, and,
recrossing the Jordan, interred them in their own town, beneath a
venerable oak.[525] And in the same direction is the site of ancient
Pella, the first city of refuge under the Christian dispensation.
Called by the natives Tŭbŭkat Fahil, it is a plateau in the mountain’s
side 1000 feet above the Jordan. More than a mile in length, it is half
a mile in width. The soil is a bright red, and the terrace is bordered
with verdure, and so singularly formed that the mountains seemed to
have receded to give place to the persecuted sons of God.
On leaving this city of ruins we crossed a stone bridge 35 feet wide
and 75 long, and entered the “Valley of Jezreel.” It is the central
branch of the great plain of Esdraelon, and is bounded on the north by
Little Hermon and on the south by Mount Gilboa, both of which ridges
run eastward and overhang the Jordan valley. This vale is three miles
wide, and through its centre flows the Jalûd to the Jordan, which is
a clear and noble stream. Extending from its banks to the base of the
hills on either side are fertile fields, on which, at intervals of
two miles, were Arab encampments. To distinguish it from Mount Hermon
proper, the ridge on the northern border of this vale is called Little
Hermon, having received this appellation from the ecclesiastics of the
fourth century, who erroneously supposed, from its contiguity to Mount
Tabor, that the Psalmist referred to it in that sublime passage: “The
north and the south, thou hast created them; Tabor and Hermon shall
rejoice in thy name.”[526] Shapeless and barren, it has neither natural
beauty nor historical interest. It has its greatest height toward the
west, and its eastern end gradually slopes down into a broad plateau of
table-land. But its companion ridge, known as Mount Gilboa, is at once
remarkable for its appearance and its historical associations. It is
neither high nor rugged, but low and rolling. At a distance it appears
smooth and shadowy, but a nearer view reveals the slight gullies that
furrow its sides and the bolder ledges projecting from its summit. In
its northern base, less than two miles from Zer’in, is the large and
famous fountain of ’Ain Jalûd, where Gideon’s men evinced their courage
by lapping water. Without exception, it is the most beautiful fountain
in Palestine. Issuing from two deep caves at the base of Gilboa, the
limpid water spreads out into a basin of solid rock 50 feet in diameter.
The water is clear and delicious. From the sides and tops of the
caverns depend trails of fern, maiden’s hair, and other water-plants.
Around the border of this basin, and on the banks of the stream that
flows from it, is ample room where Gideon’s men might have tested and
proved their courage. Called by the inspired writer “the Well of Harod,”
or the “Spring of Trembling,” it evidently derives its name from
those decisive words of Jehovah: “Whosoever is fearful and afraid,
let him return and depart early from Mount Gilboa.”[527] For centuries
this was the rendezvous of many a hostile army. From its pure waters
Gideon crossed the plain at dead of night, and with his pitchers, and
lights, and trumpets, surprised the Midianites;[528] and, years after,
Saul encamped at the “Fountain of Jezreel.”[529] Clad in disguise, he
descended the southern border of the plain, and, crossing Little Hermon
below Shunem, he went to consult the Witch of Endor as to the fortunes
of the coming day. A little to the northwest from the spring the
mighty army of the Philistines lay encamped before Shunem, and when
the morning came they descended the gently-sloping plain and began the
onset; and the fierce Amalekites drove the army of Saul up the rocky
acclivities of Gilboa, where, on the favorite battle-field of the king
and his sons, “The shield of the mighty was vilely cast away, even the
shield of Saul, as though he had not been anointed with oil.”[530]
In less than half an hour’s ride from ’Ain Jalûd we stood amid the
desolations of Jezreel, the empire city of Ahab, and the residence
of his cruel and impious queen. Situated on the crest of a low spur
projecting into the plain from Gilboa, it is but little higher than the
plain itself, except on the north side, where there is a descent of 100
feet. Twenty miserable huts compose the modern town of Zer’in, together
with a square antique tower called an “inn.” Excepting a few sarcophagi,
with sculptured ornaments and heaps of rubbish, there is nothing to
remind the traveler of the royal city of Jezreel. Here the infatuated
Jezebel planned the destruction of the Lord’s prophet; and here, having
first accomplished his death, she confiscated the property of Naboth,
reserving for her weak-minded husband the long-coveted vineyard. Though
no sign for its identification remains, it must have been to the east
of her palace, as the two kings met the relentless Jehu coming from
Ramoth Gilead, which is on the east, “in the portion of Naboth.” Here,
in the conflict that ensued, Joram was slain on the spot; the queen
was trampled under the hoofs of Jehu’s horses, while King Ahab, hoping
to escape by flight over the plain to En-gannim, was overtaken by his
pursuers, and died of his wounds at Megiddo.[531] Here all the sad
details of the fearful judgments pronounced against the house of Ahab
have been fulfilled, and, were it not for the imperishable places
around, it would be impossible to identify the site of Jezreel, where
Jezebel held her murderous orgies.
Three miles to the northwest, on the direct road to Nazareth,
stands the tower of El-Fûleh, where Napoleon, with 3000 Frenchmen,
successfully resisted the attack of 30,000 Turks during a period of
six hours, and finally routed his powerful foe. But we had lingered too
long on the heights of Zer’in, as night had set in, and we were an hour
hunting for our encampment. Riding through fields of wheat and barley,
we crossed the Valley of Jezreel, and, after a journey of three miles,
arrived at the small village of Shunem, called by the inhabitants Sôlem.
Though destitute of architectural elegance, its environs are beautified
with large and fruitful gardens. Occupying the lower slope of Little
Hermon, it consists of a few Arab huts, without a single vestige of
antiquity. Belonging to the tribe of Issachar, it was the home of that
“great woman” who built a “little chamber on the wall” for the Prophet
Elisha, and here she “embraced a son” as a reward for her hospitality,
and received that son from the dead as a farther expression of the
divine regard. Her house, with the “little chamber on the wall,” is
gone, but yonder is the field whither the child of promise “went to his
father to the reapers,” where he received the fatal _coup de soleil_,
and from which he was carried back to his mother. Fifteen miles to
the southwest, but in full view, is the blue ridge of Carmel, where
the prophet and his servant Gehazi lived in solitude, and over this
intervening plain the disconsolate mother rode to lay her complaint
before the “man of God,” who, yielding to entreaties, returned with her
to Shunem, and called back the spirit of her departed son.[532] Behind
the town is the “Hill of Moreh,” along the base of which the Midianites
lay when surprised by Gideon, and where the Philistines were encamped
the night preceding the battle of Gilboa.
Illustration: JEZREEL.
Winding round the western base of Little Hermon, in less than an
hour we came to Nain, whose name is suggestive of the most tender
associations. Situated on a low mountain spur, its dwellings are small
and its inhabitants are few. Directly opposite, standing forth in
all its beauty, is Mount Tabor, and rising up beyond, far away on the
horizon, is the white cone of Hermon. Though fortune has lavished no
favor on this quiet hamlet, yet Christ has linked its memory with one
of his most touching miracles. To the east of the village are tombs
in the hill-side, where the people now, as of old, bury their dead.
It was probably to one of these ancient sepulchres that his neighbors
were bearing the “young man” to his burial when Jesus, coming from the
north, met the funeral procession, and in tones of divine compassion
sweetly whispered to the disconsolate mother, “Weep not,” while, with
an authority that knew no barrier, he touched the bier and commanded,
“Young man, I say unto thee, Arise.”[533] Three miles to the northeast,
located on a rocky acclivity, is the small village of Endor. The path
thither crosses the northern shoulder of Jebel ed-Duhy, and, entering
the Plain of Esdraelon, diverges to the right up the hill on which the
town stands. The transition between Nain and Endor is too sudden to
be pleasant. Tender-hearted mothers and beguiling old witches are too
unlike to be grouped together in the same picture or visited the same
day. Endor is a wretched place of 30 huts, and the noble view afforded
from its rocks is the only natural charm of the village. The sides
of the hills that rise above it contain many large and curious caves,
some of which are used for human habitations. Tradition has designated
the most remarkable one of the number as the sibylline home of the
famous witch of Endor. It is a deep and solemn cave. The entrance is
guarded by two massive rocks, between which there is a large fig-tree,
imparting an air of secrecy to the spot. Within the cavern is a spring
of crystal water, and from the rocks above and on either side trails
of maiden’s hair depend like curtains of Mechlin lace. From its inner
chambers come deep and mournful echoes, and the alternate light and
darkness within gives to the cave an air of witchery. Placed under
the ban of the kingdom, with a price set upon her head, it is not
unreasonable that the Pythoness of Endor should have sought a retreat
so difficult of access in which to perform her necromantic feats.
Celebrated for her skill, it was to her the troubled Saul repaired,
in the darkness of an ever-memorable night and in the disguise of
a peasant, to revive, if possible, his broken spirit by hopeful
disclosures of the coming day. With a duplicity only equaled by her
depravity, she evoked the venerable Samuel. Not in obedience to her
call, but to forewarn the heart-broken king, the venerable prophet,
“covered with a mantle,” appeared, and announced with more than Delphic
authority, “To-morrow shalt thou and thy sons be with me.”[534]
Illustration: NAIN.
The witch of Endor has left to her female descendants the impress
of her brazen-facedness. There is an archness in their countenances
and a boldness in their behavior not characteristic of woman in
any other part of Palestine. Mounting a horse like a man, they ride
with a swiftness and daring hardly excelled even by the plundering
Bedouin. Destitute of all those finer virtues which belong to Christian
womanhood, they are as vicious as they are uncouth. Not suspecting
their honesty, I had left a leather pouch upon the ground which
contained many valuables while I pressed a few ferns from the sibyl’s
cave. Returning to the spot, it was gone. All swore by the beard of
the Prophet they had not seen it. Threats made no impression upon
their fears, and they smiled in scorn at being reported to the Pasha.
In a moment the town was aroused, and our threats were returned with
a shower of stones; but, revolver in hand, we commenced the search
of every hovel. Descending a narrow pass in the rocks, I saw a woman
standing in the mouth of a cave whose countenance excited my suspicion,
and, offering her a _baksheesh_, she drew from the ample folds of her
bosom the stolen pouch, with a shamelessness not unworthy Endor’s elder
witch.
Three miles to the north, diagonally across the northern branch of
Esdraelon, stands the Mount of Transfiguration. Whether considered
for its natural beauty or as the scene of many thrilling historic
events, Tabor is second only to Olivet in religious interest among
all the sacred mountains. Separated from the surrounding hills except
on the northwest, it stands out alone, having its base swept by the
magnificent Plain of Esdraelon. Its shape changing with the stand-point
of the beholder, it is not easy to define its graceful form. Having
seen it from every point of the compass, its variant forms added not
a little to my impressions of its extraordinary beauty. Viewed from
the Heights of Carmel, it resembled a truncated cone; seen from the
northern Hills of Galilee, it reminded me of the Pyramids of Egypt;
from the Mountains of Samaria it appeared like the segment of a great
circle; while from the summit of Jebel ed-Duhy and from the plain below
it was not unlike a terraced mound or woodland park. More than two
thirds of its sides on the east and north, up to its very summit, are
covered with noble oaks and beautiful terebinths, not densely like a
forest, but with open glades between oaken groves, adorned with grass,
and strewn with pheasant-eyes, anemones, and amaranths. Its summit
is an oblong area half a mile long and a quarter wide, broken into
charming vales and hillocks, enhancing the delights of the spot. In
ascending to the top the path resembled the threads of a screw, winding
in gentle acclivities up to the highest peak. Now it led through groves
of terebinths, now over flowery beds, now verging on the edge of a bold
precipice, now entering dells sombre with the thick foliage of stately
oaks, and anon opening into glades where the grass was green and the
flowers fragrant. Though the heat was intense without, the path was so
smooth and shady that we gained the loftiest point in less than an hour,
where we were refreshed alike by the unbroken silence of the scene and
the unrivaled glory of the view.
Illustration: MOUNT TABOR.
Tabor rises 2000 feet above the level of the sea, and the prospect
from its summit is one of extraordinary grandeur. The eye sweeps over
the Mountains of Samaria, the long ridge of Carmel, the Bay of Haifa,
the Plain of ’Akka, the Hills of Galilee, the lofty peak of Safed, the
“Horns of Hattîn,” the majestic form of Hermon, the gray walls of Moab,
the dark line of verdure defining the banks of the Jordan, while nearer
are the slopes of Gilboa, the rocks of Duhy, and the glorious Plain of
Esdraelon, like one unbroken sea of verdure, with its borders dotted
with the hamlets of Jezreel, El-Fuleh, Shunem, Nain, and Endor. And
no less significant is the thrilling history of Tabor. Tabor was the
northern boundary-line of the tribe of Issachar;[535] here the heroic
Deborah and Barak assembled the children of Zebulon and Naphtali to
fight against Sisera;[536] years later it was the rendezvous of the
brothers of Gideon――“each one resembled the children of a king”――whom
Zebah and Zalmunna slew;[537] and at a later period it became the scene
of Israel’s idolatry, whose priests Hosea denounces for having “been
a snare on Mizpah and a net spread on Tabor.”[538] Bold in its outline
and firm upon its everlasting base, the inspired writers chose it as a
symbol of glory――“Tabor and Hermon shall rejoice in thy name,”[539] and
as typical of the Lord’s unchangeable word, “Surely as Tabor is among
the mountains, and as Carmel is by the sea, so shall Pharaoh come.”[540]
Naturally one of the strong-holds of the land and the key of the
plain, it became in our own era the head-quarters of Josephus, as it
had been in the year 218 B.C. the strong-hold of Antiochus the Great.
But there is one historic honor which does not belong to Tabor, and,
if it did, would not enhance the glory of its associations. Proverbial
for the application of real or fancied names to the scenes of the great
events in their martial annals, and ever fond of a high-sounding name,
the French have designated the conflict which occurred on the Plains of
El-Fuleh as the “Battle of Mount Tabor.” But as the village of El-Fuleh,
where Kleber met the advanced guard of the Turks, and which afterward
became the central point of attack, is ten miles to the southeast from
Tabor, with equal propriety it might have been called the battle of
Mount Carmel, and with greater consistency the battle of Mount Gilboa.
The simple fact of Napoleon’s army coming from Nazareth and sweeping
round the northeastern base of Tabor is not sufficient to justify the
misnomer, nor warrant the application of the name of this most sacred
of “mountains” to a battle fought by a chieftain who had invaded the
Holy Land on an ambitious crusade.
But the glory of Tabor is the transfiguration of our Lord. Anxiously
I sought to identify the spot of that wondrous scene, that I might look
up into the same serene heavens from which came the voice of approval,
and in which appeared Moses and Elias. High up on the northern slopes,
far away from the ruins of the ancient village, is a lovely glade,
inclosed with oaks and adorned with flowers. Shut in from the world,
all nature breathes a sense of repose, and a holy quiet reigns within
undisturbed. The view of the blue skies is unobstructed, and here in
the “stilly night,” watched only by the stars, the Son of God held
converse with Moses and Elias touching “his decease which he should
accomplish at Jerusalem;” and, as a pre-intimation of his glorified
body after his ascension, “the fashion of his body was altered, and
his raiment was white and glistening.”
For nearly sixteen centuries Tabor has been regarded as the
veritable scene of this great event, and not till within a few years
has its claim been called in question. The chief argument against this
venerable tradition is drawn from the itinerary of the Evangelists,
in which Cæsarea Philippi is mentioned as the last place where Christ
had taught previous to his transfiguration. It has been suggested that
the probable scene of the event is somewhere on the southern ridge of
Hermon. More than once, while on its noble summit, I had occasion to
regret that the doubt of its identity had been suggested to my mind,
and the more so as the author of the suggestion had nothing better
to offer; but the examination which I felt compelled to make not only
removed all reasonable doubts, but, proving entirely satisfactory,
confirmed the impression of earlier years, and added to the joy of the
moment. If our Lord had been transfigured immediately or on the next
day after the conversation with his disciples touching men’s opinions
as to himself, there would be some force in the objection; but two of
the evangelists inform us that the event occurred six days[541] after
this conversation, and St. Luke assures us it took place “about eight
days after these sayings.”[542] The distance between Cæsarea Philippi
and the summit of Tabor is less than 18 hours, or less than 54 miles,
which, on foot or otherwise, can be accomplished in less than three
days, thus giving sufficient time for the journey between the two
places. And it is a fact equally significant, that immediately after
our Lord had been transfigured we find him in the vicinity of Tabor
at Capernaum, which is but 21 miles over an excellent road to the
northeast; thence crossing the Jordan at the head of the lake, “he
departed from Galilee, and came into the coasts of Judea beyond
Jordan;”[543] all of which is consistent with the location of the
several places in leaving Mount Tabor for the north, but which would
not be true if our Lord came southward from the slopes of Hermon. It
has also been objected that, from the days of Joshua to the time of
Antiochus the Great, Tabor has been an inhabited mountain, and, as
such, would have been inappropriate for the retirement of Christ and
his three disciples; but history simply intimates that during fifteen
centuries the mount had been the rendezvous of belligerent armies, and
that, in process of time, its summit was fortified; but in the times
of Josephus the defenses had fallen into decay, and he caused them to
be rebuilt about thirty years subsequent to our Lord’s ascension. If
inhabited at all when Christ ascended its verdant slopes, it was only
by a few wretched villagers, such as may be seen in their mud huts, or
clinging to ancient ruins in other parts of Palestine; and, though its
summit were inhabited, yet, owing to the peculiar configuration of the
mount, its high northern acclivities are singularly retired. It is a
remarkable fact, that, though accustomed to withdraw from the world for
meditation and prayer, Christ never chose a “howling wilderness” as the
place of his devotion, but always an inhabited mountain. Even the Mount
of Olives, rendered doubly sacred by the frequency of his presence,
was in his day, as now, a populous mountain, but in some of its wooded
dells was his bower of prayer. Jesus sought the haunts of men, and,
like a great warrior sleeping in the midst of his camp, he was ever
with his people. St. Luke more than intimates that the transfiguration
occurred during the darkness and silence of the night. Referring to the
miracle wrought immediately after the descent, he states, “And it came
to pass, that on the next day, when they were come down from the hill,
much people met him.”[544] Such an hour for the display of the divine
majesty was singularly appropriate. During the day he would have been
subject to intrusion from wandering shepherds and strolling hunters on
any mountain in Palestine; but under the cover of the night he would
have been unmolested by either, as the former are stationary in the
midst of their flocks at that time, and the latter are unable to pursue
their vocation. If the vision transpired in the daytime, why were
the disciples overcome with sleep? The suggestion of Peter to build
three tabernacles or booths, or provide some temporary shelter made
of branches of trees, according to a custom still prevalent in the
East, is more than an intimation that night had overtaken them, and,
supposing their heavenly guests would tarry with them, they desired to
shelter them from the dews of the night.
It was two o’clock on Saturday afternoon when we left the small village
of Debûrieh, at the base of Mount Tabor, for the Sea of Galilee. Riding
up a fruitful valley, in an hour we came to a branching road――one
branch leading directly to Tiberias, and the other to the mouth of
the Jordan. Either from ignorance or villainy, an Arab directed us to
follow the latter path, which caused us to be benighted, and greatly
endangered our safety. The mistake, however, was to our advantage
in the end, as we passed through a tract of country rarely visited
by travelers, owing to the turbulent and thievish character of the
population. Turning eastward, the path lay along the crest of a
mountain ridge, where the peasantry of both sexes were engaged in
husbandry. Occasionally we passed the extensive ruins of unknown
towns, and now and then entered villages remarkable only for their
wretchedness and filth. Whether to display their horsemanship or test
our courage, three mounted Arabs, armed with Bedouin swords, pistols,
and lances 20 feet long, issued from one of those miserable hamlets,
and, singing a war-song, dashed by us at a furious speed, when,
suddenly wheeling, with their lances leveled at our breasts, they
rushed toward us as if to plunge us through. Finding their equestrian
feats neither awakened our fears nor inspired our admiration, they
returned to their village and allowed us to pursue our unfrequented
path. From the summit of the mountain we were crossing we gained a
noble view of the Vale of Tiberias and its circlet of green hills.
Cheered by the prospect of reaching our destination at an early hour,
we rapidly descended 1000 feet into the wild gorge of Fejas, flanked
by lofty mountains, and followed the banks of a beautiful stream lined
with shrubbery and gorgeous oleanders. Charmed with the surrounding
scenery, and confiding in our Arab guide, we passed the hours happily,
nor were our suspicions aroused that we had been misdirected till it
was too late to retrace our steps. Referring to our maps, we found
ourselves in the wild and uninhabited Vale of Fejas, which terminates
in the valley of the Jordan, 10 miles to the south from Tiberias.
Straining our eyes, as we wound round each jutting cliff, to catch
a glimpse through the opening hills of the vale we had seen from the
heights above, at length, in the dusk of the evening, we reached the
upper terraces of the Jordan. Under other circumstances we would have
surveyed the new landscape with delight; but we were now benighted,
miles from a human habitation, in a country notorious for its robberies,
and with skies already black with the coming storm. Closing up
together so as to form a circle with our horses, we held a council,
and discussed the question of advancing or encamping for the night. Far
to the east, beyond the rushing river, we could discover, by its faint
lights, the solitary village of Kanâtir, but were not near enough to
reach it before we should be overtaken by the darkness and the storm.
Tiberias was 10 miles to the north; night was now upon us; the skies
were cloudy; the rain began to fall; the path to the ancient capital
of Galilee was unknown, and we were without a guide. Against remaining
where we were were the serious facts that our cuisine was empty, and we
were without provender for our mules and horses. Deciding to proceed,
we forded several torrents, and, on ascending a broad upland plateau,
in the darkness of the hour plunged into a marsh, into which our horses
sank to their haunches. Crossing a barley-field which had been reaped,
we met two mounted Arabs, whom we understood to say that Tiberias was
but half an hour to the north. Cheered by the good news, we urged on
our jaded beasts to their utmost speed, now stumbling over rocks, now
floundering in the soft, marshy soil. But, as we advanced, the darkness
increased; each friendly star had withdrawn its guiding ray, and the
rain fell in torrents. Part of the company made directly for the shore,
while two of us continued on the upland to report the first glimmer
of the distant lights of Tiberias. Onward we rode; the hours dragged
heavily by. Near midnight the clouds dispersed, and familiar stars
came out one by one, and looked softly down upon the lost and weary
travelers. The beautiful lake lay quietly in its mountain bed, and the
repose of night rested on all nature, undisturbed save by the rippling
wave breaking faintly on the pebbled shore, or the sudden leap of the
jackal or flight of the stork, startled by the sound of our coming.
Beguiling the weary hours by the recollections of the past, hunger and
fatigue were forgotten as the visions of other years rose up before
my mind, and, by the realization of a sublime faith, I beheld the
Redeemer treading the troubled bosom of Gennesaret in the darkness and
storm of night, as in the days of old. It was now past midnight; we
had failed to reach Tiberias; we knew not the distance to be traveled;
and, determining to encamp, we pitched our tents upon the sandy beach,
tethered our hungry horses, and, contenting ourselves with a little
rice and mish-mish, we laid down to fitful slumber.
The peaceful Sabbath dawned without a cloud. While yet the night
struggled with the morn, I ascended a bold bluff, commanding a glorious
view. The skies were soft and warm; the mellow light of day lined the
east; the sea was placid as an embowered lake, and the surrounding
hills were yet dreamy with the haze of night. The impressions of that
hour were as hallowed as their memory is imperishable. It was the
first time, by the light of day, that I looked upon that most sacred of
lakes. Returning to the tent, we learned, to our happy surprise, from
a passing Arab, that we were within half an hour’s ride of Tiberias.
Compelled by the necessities of the case, we passed quietly up the
coast and encamped within the walls of the ancient city just as the
Jewish population, attired in their most costly robes, were hastening
to their devotions around the sepulchres of their fathers.