ES-SALT
"And fade into the light of common day."
We knew, when we had lost sight of Jerash, that the romance of our
journey was over, although we had still before us three days of the
happiness of an open-air life, and of being face to face with Nature in
her wilder utterances. We were bound for Es-Salt, across the fertile
land of Gilead, and over some of the highest ground east of the Jordan;
but we could not but feel that, having looked upon "the giant forms of
empires on their way to ruin," all else must seem commonplace, so far,
at least, as it was associated with humanity. The land had relapsed into
the hands of a people perhaps even more rudimentary than that from which
it had been wrested, or, so far as the city of Es-Salt was concerned,
into the worse savagery of a veneer of Europeanism.
We were not sorry to have to retrace, for some two hours, our steps of
last night, and so recover some of the impressions which we had lost in
the gathering twilight. We halted, for a short time only, at the fords
of Jabbok, after which we followed a steep path for about half-an-hour,
and then began to descend into the Wady El-Mastaba, a desolate gorge,
shadeless and hot, from whence we were glad to escape again into the
open, passing a few huts, which constitute the village of Mastaba, which
owes its existence to the spring Ain El-Mastaba. Again another gorge,
the Wady Umm Rabi, also with its spring; and a third, and more important
wady and spring, with its village of some thirty huts, Er-Rummâna, which
yesterday we had seen only in the distance. It is inhabited almost
entirely by Turcomans, who, as usual, betray their nationality by the
scarlet and orange touches in their dress—an agreeable change from the
perpetual blue of the Arab. These nomadic tribes are to the settled
Turks as the Bedu to the fixed population of the Arabs. They are fair,
of less pronounced features than their Semitic neighbours, and most
numerous in the north of Syria. They are occupied partly in agriculture,
but more especially in cattle and camel rearing. We passed some women at
a spring, and their manners struck us as having something of Circassian
moroseness.
Just beyond the village the horizon widened, and showed, away to the
west, the distant Samaritan hills, half way between us and the
Mediterranean.
Presently we came to the edge of the tableland, and saw far below us the
fertile gorge of Wâdi Salîhi. Here, we had been assured, we should find
a beautiful waterfall, 60 feet in height, and embowered in creepers—a
phenomenon almost unknown in Palestine. We never saw that waterfall; and
we had a secret theory, some of us, that "Someone had blundered," for we
were, moreover, required to descend a precipice calculated to disturb
the nerves of even such experienced travellers as we considered
ourselves to be. Some traces of a passing donkey were the only argument
which—about half way down—seemed to be in favour of a prospect of ever
reaching the bottom, which, however, was in course of time safely
achieved. We were much impressed by the agility of the baggage animals,
which clumsily, rather than heavily, laden, and wisely abandoned by the
mukaris, picked their way as skilfully and daintily as cats, although it
would be difficult to say whether the loose shale that crumbled beneath
one's feet, or the polished rock, which offered no foothold at all, was
the more disconcerting.
Down in the valley we found abundant shade, and the bushes were fresh
and green, but the water in the wady was so low and muddy that we were
the more convinced that we had entirely missed all traces of the
waterfall. The horses, after the recent excitement, were thankful to
drink, and we gladly spread our luncheon and made some coffee. In
missing our waterfall we had also missed an interesting cromlech, said
to be 13 feet in diameter.
About seven hours after leaving Jerash we entered the Wady Er-Rumemin,
where we forded a brook which serves to turn two or three mills, and
waters the small plain into which the valley finally opens. Here we
found the first traces of Christianity since leaving Madaba, always
excepting the locanda at Ammân: an orderly village with a Latin and a
Greek church, school, and presbytery, well-planted olive grounds and
neatly-kept vegetable gardens. We were already late, and dared not stay
to examine a group of ruins to the west of the Latin church, still less
others which, we were told, lay at a little distance.
Leaving the village by the right bank of the wady, now called El-Hor, we
climbed a steep hill, and found ourselves in a beautiful oak wood.
As over a score of varieties of oaks are found in Palestine they are
somewhat difficult to distinguish, but some at least of these were of
the species _quercus ægilops_, having acorns with scales, the cups of
which may be familiarly described as looking like miniature pineapples.
They are used in tanning, and, as they form quite an important article
of commerce, the trees are treated with more respect than is usual among
the destructive fellahin.
During the winter one meets, coming into Jerusalem, whole caravans laden
with great roots of trees, dug up for sale by the peasants of the
mountains, and from this, as well as from tradition, we may well suppose
that whole districts have been denuded of their forests. We are told,
however, by various authorities that woods as we know them, lofty, as
well as thick with undergrowth, have never existed here, and that such
wood as we were now passing through is of the normal type, the growth
open and scattered, and the trees thick rather than high. The
undergrowth seemed to consist largely of dwarf oak and terebinth, and as
we progressed farther, and the wood became thicker, of pine and thorn.
With thick foliage on either side, and lofty hills before us, we hardly
realised that the sun was setting when it was suddenly night. Our
cavalcade closed up together, and those in front were constantly calling
back to others to beware of stretching branches or other difficulties of
the path. The very horses, with the instinct of self-protection, in a
country where other protection does not exist, kept close to each other.
Our officer hurried to the front at sound of voices and movement, the
mukaris brought up the rear, and the Lady's horse was secured by a rope
to that of one of the men. An opening in the trees revealed a camp of
charcoal-burners, and as we once more began to ascend we could see the
lurid flames of others of the same trade, lighting up the surrounding
hilltops, and making the darkness around seem all the more substantial.
It was a darkness which might be felt. We knew, from occasional contact
with the branches, that we were still in thick woodland, and as we began
to climb once more, the path was so narrow and so perpendicular that our
horses could go only in single file. All but the Professor and the Lady
dismounted, rather from humanity than for safety, for the animals' sense
of direction was better than ours. As usual on occasions of anxiety, no
one spoke. Suddenly a shout arose out of the darkness, and the horses
halted; while those on foot pressed on to know the cause, and the
Professor, who was in advance, sent back his electric lantern. One of
the baggage horses had found his bulk too great for the narrow passage,
and the way was blocked by his entanglement. It took some time to set
him free and to ascertain that nothing was lost from his various
burdens. As we waited in the dense blackness of the wood, the poor
animals struggling for foothold on the steep ascent, the smell of the
hyænas was almost nauseating, and the cries of troops of jackals,
answering each other out of the darkness, lent a weird touch to our
surroundings.
Presently the obstacle was removed, and we were able to continue in the
direction of our oriflamme—the spark of light which showed that the
Professor, with his lantern, had reached a spot where he could safely
await our arrival. A fervent _Alhamdul-Illah!_ ("God be thanked!") from
one of our mukaris bringing up the rear, showed that the horses at least
were safe; and in a few minutes the stragglers on foot had joined the
group, one at least having special cause for thankfulness, as he had had
a very narrow escape from a fall over an unsuspected precipice. To see
each other was still impossible, and a startled _wain es-Sitt?_ ("Where
is the Lady?") uttered close beside her, almost gave her pleasure, not
from any desire to give trouble to her friends, but rather as assurance
that she had not already done so, for there had been moments of which
some of us hardly yet felt competent to give an account.
The look backward, from the high ground we had reached, was a spectacle
not to be forgotten. Three huge fires flamed high against the great dome
of night, which, now that we were out in the open, was perceptible in
the clear starlight, and no longer the wall of dense blackness which had
seemed to press against our very eyeballs. Moreover, behind us, to the
north-east, the moon was rising from behind the Jebel Osha, a mountain
3595 feet high, associated with the prophet Hosea, said to have been
born and buried here. The Bedu have a wely containing his grave, about
16 feet long, for all the great men of old were giants, and here they
annually sacrifice sheep in his honour. We felt, as we heard the story,
that a sacrifice to the rising moon would be less of an anachronism than
we were accustomed to suppose, so thankful were we to have some notion
of where the next step would lead us.
It seemed as if Es-Salt were extraordinarily remote, and we asked Khalil
if we were not near, with a faint hope that a light we could see away
down in the valley might represent the windows of the convent upon whose
hospitality we counted, and when he replied: "After two hills," we were
even inclined to suppose it a _façon de parler_, equivalent to
"by-and-by." However, he was right enough, and we had to descend and
climb, and again to descend and climb before, below, up the valley to
our left, the town became visible. The light we had counted upon, proved
to be again that of charcoal-burners, and a most Satanic spectacle it
was, for we came near enough to see a group of figures dancing and
leaping against the flaming background.
The last descent was somewhat of a pendant, except that it was on open
ground and by moonlight, to our perpendicular ascent in the wood, and a
row of telegraph posts at the bottom seemed to add insult to our
injuries: the affectation of an effort at civilisation which we felt had
been better expended in the clearing of a few rocks and the construction
of, let us say, some kind of path. Again, most of the party dismounted,
and it was interesting to observe how cleverly the animals picked their
way, even the laden baggage animals. When now and then they went, for
convenience, a little wide of the ultimate point, we noted with interest
how they came at a call from the mukaris—each animal having his own
name, to which he readily responded. It may be mentioned in passing
that, so willing and intelligent were our friendly quadrupeds, that the
only whip in the cavalcade was never used during the whole expedition
but to reprove the moral obliquities of the Professor's horse, who took
long to recover from his jealousy.
It was some consolation, in riding through the long town of Es-Salt, to
find that its inhabitants were still up. They were, in fact, celebrating
a festive occasion—the engagement, or, perhaps, more correctly, the
sale, of the daughter of some prominent townsman. We could learn no
particulars of the transaction, but to judge from the extreme gaiety of
the groups gathered about a flaming bonfire in an open space, it would
seem to be satisfactory to both parties—meaning, of course, the
bridegroom and the nearest male relatives—father, uncle, and brothers—of
the bride, for she herself was not likely to be consulted in the matter.
The kindly parish priests of the patriarchate, like those at Madaba,
received us with ready hospitality; one of them even vacated his own
room for the use of the Lady when it was ascertained that the Sisters of
the Rosary, who could more conveniently have accommodated her, had
closed their doors for the night.
We had time next morning to make some small acquaintance with Es-Salt.
Although it is a town having a large fixed population (10,000, which
includes 3000 Christians) we were struck by the anomalous fact that a
large number of the people looked like Bedu. The men had the slender
build and finer features we had met so universally since crossing the
Jordan, and the women had the much-tattooed faces, and even the long,
trailing skirts, we had met all over the Belka. Although it is the seat
of a kaimmakâm (governor), and has a Turkish telegraph office, it seems
to be still in spirit, as until recently it was in fact, in opposition
to the Government. Burckhardt, who was here nearly a century ago, speaks
warmly of the hospitality of what he calls the "Szaltese," who were then
Bedu at heart, and even in dialect. He says their public hospitality may
be estimated at about £1000 a year, collected from the people, and adds
that were they subject to the Turks more than that would be extorted
from them for forced entertainment. They had lately withstood a three
months' siege by the Pasha of Damascus. Then, as now, they were engaged
in three branches of commerce: the collection and sale for export of
sumach leaves, used largely for dyeing purposes; the weaving of carpets
from the wool of their own flocks; and above all, the preparation of
raisins.
It was quite a useful enlargement of notions to most of us to find that
the familiar raisin used in puddings is not, as the grocers spell it,
"Sultana," with some vague notion of an Oriental association with the
Sultan, but _Saltana_, and that it comes almost entirely from Es-Salt.
The fruit used for the purpose is a small grape without seeds. They are
spread out as soon as picked, and then turned over and over, with
fingers dipped in olive oil until they are all impregnated in every
part. They are then dried on wood ashes,—the wood employed being the oak
or terebinth—collected in baskets, and then spread out to dry on a
well-trodden earthen floor. Two and a half kilogrammes (a kilogramme is
about two pounds and a fifth avoirdupois) cost, on the spot, twelve
piasters, or about two shillings, less, in large quantities.
Another article of commerce is a very strong tobacco known as "heesh,"
from the Arabic word for the forests where it is cultivated. It burns so
badly as to have given rise to a proverb applied to a man or a subject
which puts a stop to conversation: "It is heesh tobacco; do not speak!"
A minor industry, the manufacture of rosaries, has originated in the
abundance of certain kinds of hard wood.
The situation of Es-Salt is 2740 feet above sea-level; but the town
itself lies in so deep a gorge, the mountains rising like a
perpendicular wall on either hand, that we asked the padre whether the
place were healthy, and he pointed out that the town extended, in fact,
along two valleys—the Wady Osha, and a narrower wady, much less airy,
and consequently less sanitary, as had been proved again and again in
times of epidemic, when cholera and influenza have lingered and recurred
long after they had ceased in the town itself.
The water is good, and very abundant, the town spring being the finest
we had seen in the country.
Es-Salt, the seat of a bishopric, was not important till the Crusades. A
fine mausoleum, known as Sâra, is said to be of Christian origin; and
there are the remains of a church, hewn in the rocks, with many
scattered rock tombs. The castle dates only from the thirteenth century,
when it was rebuilt after destruction by the Mongols of the ancient
fortress, which may have withstood Saladdin.
We were quite sorry to take leave here of our silent Circassian, who had
always shown himself kindly and capable, but it seemed that his duty
ended at Es-Salt—and, indeed, his services were no longer requisite. We
noticed several Europeans in the town, probably merchants bringing
raisins for export, or possibly grapes—for we had had some for breakfast
of very unusual quality, and what a gardener would call "well grown,"
which seldom happens in this country, where the vines are most often not
raised from the ground, so that the under side of the bunch, though well
ripened by the warm, dry earth, is flat, and not always well coloured.
Considering the amount of commerce with other places it seemed to us to
show an almost insolent—perhaps it was only an ignorant—indifference on
the part of the inhabitants that they should make no effort whatever to
improve the approach to Es-Salt. We left the town by a track but little
better than that by which we had approached it—a track which would have
spoilt the business of any decent stone quarry. The immediate exit was
over a series of ash-heaps and middens, across which the women were
trailing their long skirts with entire composure. Next we mounted a
steep ascent over polished rock or scattered shale, just as it happened,
and then, after a short distance on level ground, we began a long and
difficult descent into the deep gorge, which more or less we followed
all the way to the plain, that of the Wady Shaib, now absolutely dry,
but which must be in winter, judging from the nature of its bed, a
rushing torrent, losing itself finally in the Jordan.
About an hour from Es-Salt we met a boy with a laden donkey, which we
passed with some difficulty, and a little farther observed a spring of
water and a khan. There was some question as to whether we should meet
with any water in the only other spring upon our route; but it was
obviously too early for luncheon, and we continued our way, passing on a
hill, to our left, a wely dedicated to Shu'aib, diminutive of Shaib, the
Arabic name (used in the Koran) for Jethro, who gives his name to the
wady—why is not obvious.
About noon we reached the Ain Es-Shech, and our horses were not slow in
discovering that water of a kind was to be had. There was, at all
events, welcome shade from a magnificent, wide-spreading fig-tree, the
branches of which, growing close to the side of the hill, were available
as couches and resting-places for half of its height. We boiled the
water again and again, and fished out all its most striking
disadvantages, though some were, unfortunately, less obvious than the
microbes during a recent cholera scare at Bethlehem, which were reported
by those personally interested in the quarantine question to be "as
large as a napoleon."