Apart, however, from the stimulus of its surrounding scenery it is

obvious to the most elementary student that Nazareth was very little

removed from the most crowded highway, from the centre of the busiest

life of Palestine; that—to speak it with reverence—an intelligent boy,

wandering about the neighbourhood as boys will, would bring in every day

news of all the activities, the competitions, the commerce, the politics

of the times. Midianite caravans making their way to the fords of the

Jordan would tell of all the wealth and learning of Egypt, and reflect

somewhat of its contact with Europe; Damascus caravans coming south or

returning home from trading expeditions; pilgrims going up to Jerusalem

to the feasts, and bringing back news of the capital, the _rendezvous_

of all Jewry; lords and princes with their retinues travelling from the

Greek cities of the Decapolis to the Greek city of Tiberias, but a few

hours distant; Roman legions marching south; luxurious ladies going down

to winter among the palm gardens of Jericho; learned men travelling from

one city to another; peripatetic teachers as the fashion was; Herod and

his Court removing from Tiberias to Sebaste, to Jericho, to

Jerusalem—all such spectacles would be of daily occurrence, a part of

that human training which made the Master, perfect Man; which taught Him

sympathy not only with those who frequented the carpenter's workshop and

the fisherman's hut, but with a learning, a civilisation, a life, which

brings Him nearer to us and to our own temptations and interests than

some would have us think; which made it necessary that His teachings

should be represented not only by the Synoptic gospels but by the author

of the fourth gospel, by the Epistle to the Hebrews, by the philosophy

of St Paul.

Looking down from our elevation at a scene which showed the ploughman

with his yoke, the sower with his basket, the busy little town, the many

schools, hospitals, orphanages; the hospitalities of the Franciscans and

the Russians, frequented, later in the year, by persons of every class

and nationality; the buildings in progress, the vehicles and laden

beasts travelling seawards to Haifa, in touch with all the commerce of

the age, we turned for one moment to the convent of Poor Clares at our

feet, with the passing thought that asceticism, inactivity,

contemplation such as this, was an anomaly compared not only with our

own life but with that of Him whom they would serve.

The Artist's horse required an off day or two, and the roads were in

such good condition that it was arranged that the Artist should follow

in a carriage, as the rest of the party had a long day in prospect. The

Church of the Annunciation had been crowded every evening with village

people, singing special litanies, and praying for rain. "I thought of

your long ride, and prayed with mixed feelings," said a kindly Father;

"but the majority are against you, and you had better make the most of

the time. I saw 'as it were a man's hand' over Carmel!"

Accordingly we set off at twilight next morning, and saw the sun rise

over the hills of Galilee. The little town had not yet awakened to life,

and not a single woman waited with her pitcher at the well which

yesterday had been a scene of so much activity. We had planned to visit

the Austrian hospital, where so much science and surgical skill are

devoted to the poor by the Brothers of St John the Divine, but the early

start and a change in our route made this impossible. The country

hereabouts is not in itself interesting, except for the beauty of

colouring, which is never wanting in Palestine, and for the associations

of which we were everywhere reminded. We looked back at the Mount of

Precipitation, with its sheer precipice of 1000 feet, at the range of

Carmel, at Tabor and Hermon, at the wide plain to the south and the

rising ground beyond, where, in Nain and Endor and Shunem, men and women

were still perplexed by the mysteries of life and death.

Khalil chose to conduct us off the highroad, which seemed to us better

adapted to the imperfect light, and over some very rough ground through

the village of Gath-Hepher, birthplace of Jonah, and where, as may be

gathered from the presence of his tomb, he was also buried. He was,

additionally, buried near Jaffa, and somewhere in the direction of

Hebron—circumstances of a nature not unusual in the case of saints and

heroes popular among the faithful of more than one confession. This, we

gathered, was his Moslem burial-place.

About twenty minutes later we reached the spring of Kefr Kennâ, probably

the Cana of the New Testament, and, if so, the source of the water that

was made wine. The women, somewhat wild-looking and unkempt at this

early hour, were filling their jars from the sarcophagus into which the

water runs; but they offered no discourtesy, and made no demands for

backsheesh. It was barely seven o'clock when we rode into the courtyard

of the little Latin church built over the alleged site of the first

miracle of Jesus. The Franciscans in charge of the mission were in

church, we were told, and we made our way in, and found the father (with

the single attendant brother) saying his office by the light of a

solitary candle. When he had finished he hastened to place himself at

our disposal, showed us the church, and afterwards invited us to take

refreshment. The church is a little gem, both as to architecture and

decoration. It is seldom one can honestly admire a modern church in this

country, as, however good the building may be, it is generally hideously

disfigured by the offerings of the faithful. However, at Cana there are

no nuns to make crochet and paper flowers, no opportunities for grateful

Arabs to testify piety by Christmas-tree balls. All is of rich

simplicity, and the Père Curé is too good an archæologist to allow of

the usual glaring anomalies. The church, built in 1880, stands on the

site of an older one, visible below the present flooring at various

points where trap-doors are open to exhibit, here an inscription in

mosiac, there a fragment of wall or of carving; but it may be doubted

whether these belong to the church built by Helena and described by

Paula in the fourth, Antoninus Martyr in the sixth, and Willibald in the

seventh century; and visited, according to Michaud, by St Louis, in May

1251, with his wife, Margaret of Provence. A large earthenware jar is

shown in the church, of antique design and of local manufacture, in

illustration of those in use in the time of our Lord. The amount of wine

that six such water-pots would contain was, indeed, a princely

wedding-gift.

In the simple little presbytery, at right angles with the church,

curiously reminiscent of many an one in the Highlands of Scotland, we

tasted the wine of Cana of Galilee, the red wine of the district, pure

and refreshing, with the cordial quality of Burgundy rather than the

acidity of claret.

A little Franciscan oratory, built upon the foundations of an ancient

chapel, which, in its turn, became a mosque, marks the traditional site

of the house of Nathaniel. The adjoining ground now serves as a

cemetery. We retraced our steps to the entrance of the village, and

returned once more to the Great Plain, where, as we passed by the

village of Nahallal, the conviction was forced upon us that the praying

agriculturists were about to meet with the fulfilment of their hopes. We

had talked of the great black clouds which had been gathering ever since

our departure as "fine atmospheric effects," and had refused to listen

to the kindly warnings of our good friends at Cana, but we looked with

some dismay at the wide, shelterless valley we must cross before

reaching the foot of Mount Tabor, where protection among the trees might

be hoped for. Fortunately, there was no wind, so the horses made no

objection to the rain, although the abrupt, rocky descent into the

valley was very slippery. The climb beyond we made on foot, partly out

of regard for our horses and partly for the pleasure of delaying at will

to enjoy the views and examine the flora.

The flowers and shrubs were very interesting, but less varied than on

Carmel; and the clouds somewhat obscured the view until we reached the

top, when a grand panorama burst upon us. It was a steep climb, for the

mountain is two thousand and eighteen feet, and the plain can be very

little above sea-level. However, the road is good, and we were rewarded

by the discovery of a dolmen, of which we have not been able to find any

record, the more interesting in that they are exceedingly rare west of

the Jordan. Fragments of walls and heaps of stones, at various levels,

show traces of earlier habitation; and, indeed, it has been lately

maintained that, at the time of our Lord, the mountain was too thickly

populated for such a scene as the Transfiguration to be at all possible.

The evidence on this point is very conflicting, and the authorities at

variance have been carefully discussed by P. Barnabé d'Alsace, who,

unlike many critics of Holy Land sites, is familiar with the locality

under consideration.[5] Lightfoot was the first to express, in 1675,

doubt on the subject, mainly on the ground that a friend of his who had

climbed the mountain said that it did not tally with the description of

Josephus. Granted, for the sake of argument, that the village of the

time of Josephus was equally large in the time of our Lord, the

existence of an ancient cemetery sets a limit to its eastern extension,

as a burial ground could never have been included within a Jewish city.

The distance from the cemetery to the edge of the plateau exceeds the

distance from the walls of Jerusalem to the Garden of Gethsemane, and

the solitude of the Agony has never been called in question.

When we reached the top of the mountain we found ourselves facing a

substantial gateway, worthy of the entrance to a park, and with a good

carriage drive beyond. Arguing, from force of habit, that a desired end

is never approached in this country by a straightforward path, and being

wet, hungry, and tired, we reflected that to climb two or three walls,

drop into a kitchen garden, and then across a long, ploughed field with

no visible means of exit, was the most likely method to bring us quickly

within reach of food and shelter. Accordingly we arrived, in time, at a

group of buildings, defended by a number of indignant dogs, from whom we

were happily separated by a locked gate. Their remonstrances brought

forth assistance, and we were finally rescued by a Greek monk, who

welcomed us kindly, although to the wrong convent. The Doctor made a

rush at some Arabic inscriptions leaning against the west wall of the

church; and, of course, we paid a visit to the church itself, within

which some remains of an ancient building are preserved, consisting of

two apses and part of a mosaic pavement, possibly belonging to the

Church of St Elias, and probably of the fourth or fifth century. A

little boy led us finally into the right path, and in a few minutes we

were within the kindly hospice of the Franciscans, and, but little

later, in the presence of a breakfast which we felt we had, for once,

earned in the sweat of our brow. A German father and a Dutch brother

supplied all our needs, and refreshed us, moreover, with much pleasant

talk, reminding us that our climb had been accomplished by the Empress

Helena "in her eighties."

The plateau is covered with ruined churches and convents, as the

mountain has been held sacred from a very early period—the earliest

known mention of it as the site of the Transfiguration being in the

Apocryphal gospel according to the Hebrews, the exact date of which is

not established more precisely than that it was known to St Ignatius,

who died in 107. The mountain is mentioned by Origen and St Jerome, and

was visited by several early pilgrims—Paula, Antoninus Martyr, our

English Willibald, and others. The earliest convent was established by

the Benedictines in 1100; but as early as the sixth century the three

tabernacles, desired by St Peter, were already built.

The Franciscan buildings, which are very simple, date only from 1873,

when the Friars Minor first obtained a footing on the mountain, the

Greeks (Orthodox) having preceded them by five or six years.

Climbing on to a platform of masonry, at the western end of the plateau,

we were much encouraged, on looking N.E. towards Tiberias in the

direction in which we were going, to observe a blue sky, and the hoary

head of Hermon gleaming bright in clear sunshine.

It was a hint to depart, and we hastened, despite intermittent "April

showers," to begin our descent, which, to our regret, had to be made by

the same path by which we had ascended. We had hoped to have enjoyed the

variety of examining the northern or eastern slope.

[4] "English readers may be interested to know that it was by the

intercession of the Bishop of Salisbury that Salah ed-din in 1192

permitted the restoration of divine worship in this church. The bishop

himself selected the priests and deacons for this office."—MICHAUD,

"Croisades" II. p. 724.

[5] _See_ "Le Mont Thabor: Notices Historiques et Descriptives." Paris,

1900.

CHAPTER VI

THE SEA OF GALILEE

"We go to the Sea of Galilee ... and although they call it a sea, it is

neither a sea nor arm of the sea; for it is but a stank of fresh water

... and it hath in it great plenty of good fish, and the River Jordan

runs through it."—SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILLE, 1322

It was a glorious ride from Tabor to Tiberias. The rain clouds hastened

westward, and, as we heard later, gratified the thirsty souls at

Nazareth, and left us to a thorough enjoyment of our day. We were

delighted to find ourselves off the beaten track, for the carriage road

to Tiberias was considerably to our north. We had been told, to our

satisfaction, that the alternative road by way of Tabor, as it lay a

little low, did not give us such frequent glimpses of parts of the lake,

but that we should come upon the glorious prospect all at once, and the

expectation kept us constantly on the watch. Our road lay for the most

part through well-cultivated country, belonging partly to the Bedu and

partly to the Circassians, and the wide fields, in which the corn was

springing, were a delightful and refreshing sight. We pictured what it

would be later in the year to ride, as we were assured we might, through

vegetation up to the saddle—barley, maize, sesame, doura, with yellow

marguerite and blue eryngo, and campanulas of every shade, raising proud

heads above the golden wealth. We were, however, quite content with the

garden which had been prepared for us—such an one would be, indeed,

difficult to find anywhere else, in such combination, and in the first

week of January. Perhaps one great charm of it all was that it was just

such a day, and such a spectacle, as one might enjoy, three months later

in parks and gardens at home—only glorified as to colour, size, and

fragrance, and that here all the flowers were the wild children of

Mother Nature. Capers, fennel, asparagus, and scores of balsamic herbs,

in which the bees were gaily humming, took us, in thought, into the

kitchen gardens of home, now lying under a white coverlet in winter

sleep. Here all was so warm in the sunshine that lizards, and even

chameleons and tortoises, had wakened up to greet the glad new year.

We passed the immense ruins of a fine khan of fifteenth-century

workmanship, and those of an Arab castle on a height beyond, both now

serving only as refuge to the flocks of the Bedu, who, on account of the

presence of an excellent spring, seek shelter about its walls.

Circassian and Bedawy cultivation we had seen, wide tracts in possession

of the Jews were pointed out to us at a distance, and at Kafr Sabt we

found a village of peasantry from Algeria. Somewhat to the north, the

twin peaks of Karn Hattîn looked down upon this aggregation of race and

creed—the scene, according to a tradition (not, however, older than the

sixteenth century), of the Sermon on the Mount. The same mountain has

another association, that of the battle in July 1187, in which Salah

ed-din totally defeated the Franks, and gave the death-blow to their

power in Palestine. King Guy de Lusignan was taken prisoner, the knights

were sold as slaves, the Templars and Hospitallers executed, on the very

site where, perhaps, the Master, looking down the avenue of centuries,

had said: "Blessed are the merciful, the peacemakers, the pure in

heart." Whether the blessings were any more applicable to the Christian

Crusader than to the Moslem conqueror is a point upon which the

testimony of history leaves one somewhat in doubt.

At the bottom of the valley, into which we soon descended, followed

close by a family party of Jews, who seemed glad of the protection of

our presence, we found ourselves upon a wide, fertile plain bounded by a

water-course;—that we noted the water-courses is a sign that we have

been living in arid Judæa;—and then we rose once more, and for the last

time, reaching the plateau of Ard el Hammâ, when the promised view burst

upon us. Our Jews were actually alarmed by our simultaneous shout of

delight: Khalil only smiled sardonically, quite inured to the

unaccountable pleasure which the Frenjys exhibited over what not even an

Armenian or a Government official could turn into so much as a bishlik

(value 6d.).

The Sea of Tiberias is about thirteen miles long by five to eight wide;

its proportions much those of Windermere; its form an irregular oval;

indeed, it is said that its ancient name of Kinnerôt is derived from

Kinnor, a lute, in allusion to its shape. It lies 681 feet below the

Mediterranean, so that it has an almost subtropical, and very abundant,

vegetation. The steep hills are of moderate height; but great Hermon,

looking over their shoulders at the northern end, dwarfs all else into

insignificance. There is, for the most part, but a ribbon of coast,

green with herbage and trees, and bordered with glistening sand and

shells. It is like a bonnie Highland loch, not wooded like Loch Lomond,

nor, on the other hand, bare like Coruisk, but smiling, peaceful,

inviting to repose. The very sight of such a quantity of water was

refreshing to us, coming, as we did, from a city where it is often

cheaper to drink a bottle, or even two, of wine, than to take a bath. In

little villages dotted along the shore we could fancy that we might hear

the kindly Gaelic instead of the Arabic, which has, however, many

similar sounds; the laddie herding on yonder hill is playing an

instrument "own brother" to the chanters, and snow-crowned Hermon

dominates his world like Cruachan or Schiehallion. The extreme southern

end is hidden from us, and we must advance to the very edge of the cliff

to see Tiberias lying at our feet—a long line of houses, varied by palms

and minarets. At this distance, and before bettering our acquaintance

with details, it is not difficult to reconstruct in imagination the city

which must have been, in the time of Jesus, one of the many glories of

Galilee. To realise the sheen and consistency of its beauty we have to

remember that the whole had been newly built by Herod upon a

long-deserted site; that palace and race-course and citadel and forum, a

great synagogue for the Jews (who refused, however, to enter the city),

a wall three miles long, were all new, and all part of an artistic plan.

We must remember that this was only one of nine cities, all more or less

Greek in architecture and customs, said to have contained each, at

least, fifteen thousand inhabitants—an almost unbroken chain around the

lake, now so solitary that one's eye finds with difficulty traces of

humanity otherwhere than in and about Tiberias, now a squalid townlet of

four thousand inhabitants. As Sebaste was called after Augustus, so the

name of Tiberius was given to this city—perhaps the old Rakkath. When

the foundations were laid, quantities of human bones were laid bare, and

the Jews refused to dwell in a city ceremonially unclean, so that Herod

was driven to populate his new possession with the scum of the country.

To judge from our later acquaintance with the manners and customs of the

inhabitants their descendants are still in possession, reinforced by a

still larger number of Jews, of whom, indeed, two-thirds of the

population now consists. Rich gardens once existed where now are only

swamps, beautiful to the eye, but breathing out malarial fever; and

fleets of sails met the eyes of Jesus and His fishermen friends where

now we can discover but two little rowing-boats. Khalil pointed out the

spot where, as he said, Jesus had made forty loaves of bread, and was

much hurt that we did not take a note of the story, as we had done of

other traditions. The story was true, he affirmed, and the company had

eaten them with their fish.

Our horses were in good mood to-day, and we made them descend the steep

hillside above Tiberias, by which we not only cut short the tortuous

windings of the road but obtained a quick series of points of view,

which furnished a panorama wonderful in colour and outline. The approach

has still a certain grandeur. The wall and gateway, probably entirely

ineffective as such, are picturesque in their decay. They are, indeed,

of no great age, and may even belong only to the eighteenth-century

restoration, when the town was refortified, to be again destroyed by an

earthquake in 1837. We passed some modern European buildings, including

a small but inviting little German hotel, and the hospital and manse of

the mission of the Free Church of Scotland, and, still descending,

paused before the gate of the Franciscan hospice. The rain which we had

seen ahead of us in the morning had fallen in Tiberias, and the streets

were simply ditches of dirty water, with occasional islands, upon one of

which we descended, and then, with a spring, found ourselves in the

orderly courtyard.

A hearty welcome awaited us from the Brother in charge, an old friend,

formerly gardener in the Garden of Gethsemane, and still practising his

art, as the neat flower-beds and well-trained creepers testified.

The Arabs say that the king of fleas lives at Tiberias; if so, he holds

his court elsewhere than at the hospices—here and at Et Tâbigha, where

next day we were kindly and comfortably entertained. After dinner we

climbed to the roof, and had a glorious view of the lake, and of Mount

Hermon, and of the tall palms waving in the moonlight. An epidemic of

cholera in 1903 produced a fearful mortality, amounting, it is said, to

one-fourth of the population, and of these over three-fourths were Jews,

probably owing to the extreme filth of their surroundings.

Next morning we set off, after an early breakfast, to ride up to the

north end of the lake. Our farther journey, to Besan, would take us

southward, and we were warned not to attempt the eastern shore without

an escort, as the Bedu there are very wild. We passed the neat hospital

and manse, covered with a crimson flame of bougainvillea, and shaded by

pleasant trees, with gardens sloping down to the water, and in a few

minutes were out of sight of the town, with only the blue lake, with its

green margin and surrounding hills, to feast our eyes upon. Ruins, wells

with stone enclosures, rock tombs—all speak of a past population. The

first sign of present habitation was a miserable village, said to be

Magdala. Even here some massive fragments of wall testify to earlier

prosperity. Here the shore widens out into the plain of Gennesaret,

bounded towards the south-east by a rugged hill, in which are many large

caves, formerly the stronghold of robbers, which were fortified without,

and adapted for residence by long connecting galleries, and by cisterns,

which collected water for the occupants. These bandits gave much trouble

to Herod the Great, as they were practically unassailable, the only

access to their homes being in the face of a rock eleven hundred feet

high. They were finally reached by means of lowering soldiers from the

top in cages, and were ultimately overpowered. At a later date these

fortified caverns were utilised by Josephus in his struggle with the

Romans, and still later they served as hermitages.

According to some authorities, Taricheæ is to be identified with

Magdala, though others place it farther south. Its associations are

historical and commercial, not religious. The name signifies

"pickling-place"; and the salt fish of Galilee were known throughout the

Roman Empire—large quantities were taken up to Jerusalem at feast-times,

and barrels exported to the shores of the Mediterranean. The great

draughts of fish such as we read of in the gospels must have been

brought to Taricheæ for preservation, otherwise they would have been

wasted in this subtropical climate.

A little past Mejdel our road led us down to the very edge of the lake,

where we were tempted to dismount to gather shells, which are very

beautiful and varied. The shore is fringed all the way with

oleander-bushes, "the blossoms red and bright" of Keble's poem—one of

those touches of realism in his verses which are the more remarkable

that he was never in Palestine. Khalil thought our occupation very

childish, and never could understand why we should want to walk when we

were paying for horses to ride upon. Before long we were forced to mount

again by the necessity of having to cross several streams making their

way down to the lake. The path gradually ascended till we found

ourselves following an aqueduct along a very narrow ridge at some height

above the water, just after passing the ruins of the large Khan Minyeh,

to which it had served to conduct water in the days of Salah ed-din. We

had forcible illustration of the sudden storms for which this lake has

been always known, for just as we were carefully picking our way along

our precarious path a sudden squall arose, and in a moment the wind was

whistling about us, rain was dashing in our faces, and the lake was

beating angrily upon the shore. There was an instant's question of

sheltering among the fig-trees below or of going back; but we would not

give in, and after some twenty minutes of discomfort, we came suddenly

upon a little group of buildings, obviously European. The Doctor

dismounted to beg shelter, and in a very few minutes we found ourselves

within the hospitable walls of the hospice of the German Catholic

Palæstina Verein. This was a welcome surprise; we had heard of this

mission and its hospitalities, but had not realised that we were already

at Ain et Tâbigha (possibly Bethsaida), and actually under the roof of

the well-known Father Biever, of whom we had heard so much at Madaba.

The house was in course of structural alteration, a good deal of

furniture encumbered the wide piazza, workmen were sheltering from the

rain, the Father himself was absent, but none of these difficulties

subtracted from the cordiality of our welcome. Our horses were stabled,

and we, laying aside our wraps, prepared to stay to luncheon. It was an

ideal spot: the house built upon a narrow terrace, the bank laid out in

gardens sloping down to the water's edge, the arcade covered with roses,

among which the _Maréchal Niel_ was conspicuous; abundance of flowers of

various kinds, and a friendly family of cats, dogs, ducks of the

handsome Aleppo breed, and some fine poultry and pigeons, added to the

attractions.

Our vice-host, Father Biever's companion and assistant priest, made us

soon feel at home, and we were not difficult to persuade that the rain

was far too persistent to make our return possible, and that we had

better take up our quarters in the hospice till the morrow. Khalil was

despatched back to Tiberias to relieve the anxieties of the Artist, and

we settled down, very thankful to be out of the storm.

We were greatly interested in our passing glimpse of a life which seemed

to us to have something of the practical usefulness, the

self-renunciation, of real mission work. Here were two highly-cultivated

men deliberately and permanently establishing themselves in a spot

where, for three hours' north and but little less south, they had no

single neighbour except the Bedu, and one solitary Franciscan, whose

acquaintance we were to make next day. Their own immediate household

includes some four or five Arabs who serve the hospice, and assist in

the labour of the well-kept fields and gardens, by which the house is

largely supported, and lessons of practical utility taught to the

surrounding natives. One of these was pointed out to us as the best

fisherman on the lake, and we asked him to explain the use of the nets,

which were lying under the wall of the house. He proceeded to collect

one, which seemed to be circular, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, into

large folds with his left hand. The mesh was fine, and the net, in spite

of its size, easily grasped. Transferring it to his right hand, with a

quick movement he threw the net from him, when it expanded into a large

circle, so that one easily understood how the casting of such a net

might include "a multitude of fishes."

Tristram says: "The lake swarms with fish as I could not have believed

water could swarm"; but though fourteen species are reckoned as

inhabiting the lake only four or five are ordinarily on the market.

There are some, however, of exceptional interest, not only to the

learned in such matters, but also to the merely observant like ourselves.

These include two species found nowhere else outside of the tropics—one

the _chromis simonis_, of which one species, the _chromis

paterfamilias_, for several weeks carries the eggs and the young, to the

number, it is said, of two hundred, in his mouth; the other, the

_clarias macracanthus_, which emits a sound: it was known to Josephus as

the _coracinus_. Several varieties of the _capoéta Damascéna_, the

luminous fish, are also found here.

There was so much to hear of interest that we were almost thankful to

the rain for keeping us indoors. These solitary priests have adapted

themselves to their environment in a manner which, were it more

customary among religious teachers, would be of infinite value not only

to religion but to science. One cannot think without regret of the

wealth of information lost to the archæologist, anthropologist,

philologist by the neglect of those who might secure unrivalled

opportunities of intercourse with the people, but many of whom after

years in this country, leave it as ignorant as when they came, of all

that lies beneath the surface. Our friends here, though able to converse

in, at least, three or four European languages, use Arabic as their

vernacular, speaking it even between themselves, the better to enter

into the life of the people; they are good horsemen and good shots, two

qualifications absolutely necessary for friendship with the Bedu.[6]

They possess, in addition to the animals necessary to the hospice, a

beautiful Arab mare, the gift of one of the Madaba flock, and a very

fine specimen of the Arab deerhound, not unlike an Irish deerhound in

appearance, but swift as the gazelle which it hunts, and so exquisitely

light of limb, without the hideous attenuation of the English greyhound,

that such a dog is almost invariably known as "Rischân" (feather),

feminine, "Rischi." Father Biever was originally an officer in the

German army; hence, probably, his power of organisation. He has also a

natural capacity for architecture, as is testified by the very large and

handsome Convent of St Pierre, perhaps the most effective modern

building in Jerusalem, of which he was the architect and practical

builder, in addition, it is said, to his having collected a part of the

cost in America, where he had some experience of life among the cowboys.

He made a very large collection of the flowers of the country, which,

unfortunately, was lost with the vessel in which it was sent to Europe.

It is to be earnestly hoped that his unique collection of the folklore

of the Bedu and fellahin may be given to literature.

We were fortunate in happening to be present at an interesting little

social ceremony. Our visit fell on Epiphany, and all the neighbours,

Bedu and Druse, came in the evening to celebrate the visit of the Three

Kings. The long hall was simply furnished with a table, moved aside for

the occasion, and a divan running round the walls. It was brightly

lighted, and the household servants presided over the refreshments,

which consisted of tea and some confectionery, specially made for the

occasion, of very rich and sweet pastry, some of it in the form of puffs

containing honey, and the rest in narrow rolls, which are known as "the

fingers of Mary."

The company arrived all together, men and boys (the women, of course,

being left at home), all dressed alike in the long robe, shawl, girdle,

white keffeeye, kept in place on the head by a double rope of goats'

hair, and camels' hair mantle, which many removed. Some came barefoot,

others removed their shoes on entering, and all sat cross-legged on the

divan. The household servants were Arab peasants (fellahin), and

regarded by the others as of a lower class—tillers, rather than owners,

of the soil. They were differentiated by wearing turbans, made of large,

coloured handkerchiefs twisted round the red tarbush, which is of

different shape and manufacture from those worn in the towns. Two Arab

women and the Lady were the sole representatives of their sex. The

guests were perfectly self-possessed, with none of the _mauvaise honte_

of such a gathering at home. They were perfectly easy to entertain, and

ready to converse upon any subject, although, we were assured, less

interesting than the natives east of the Jordan. The Bedu smoked when

invited—the Druses add the prohibition of tobacco to the Moslem

prohibition of wine.

When tea was handed round, the fun of the evening began. Two of the

cakes contained each a bean, and those who found themselves possessors

of the beans were king and queen for the evening; obviously a variant of

an original three beans and three kings. The queen was a young Druse,

tall and slim, with good features, and long, narrow eyes, which gave him

an expression of sleepy good nature; the king was a much quicker-witted

fellah, thick-set, with a certain piquant ugliness, and bearing the name

of Dieb, which, in Arabic, means "wolf," and which, whether in Arabic or

in German, was, we were told, equally appropriate.

In true Oriental fashion, the king issued commands through his wife, and

required services of various kinds from the assembled company, who

cheerfully complied, filled his drinking-bowl with tea or water as he

might desire, fetched his tobacco, sang to him, and danced for him. The

climax was reached when two of the men were required to serve the queen

for a horse, and the tall Druse had to proceed up the room leaning on

the shoulders of the two. The Oriental is a born mime, and the

ridiculous situation was carried off with a _savoir faire_ which only an

entire lack of self-consciousness could account for. No musical

instrument was at hand, but a little boy, of perhaps twelve, evidently a

known expert, produced an excellent imitation of the shepherd's pipe by

blowing into his fingers. We were sorry to get none of the

characteristic singing, in which, as in the Hebrides, a _motif_ is

announced by one, and taken up in chorus by the rest; but the guests

came from different villages, and, therefore, did not know the same

songs—a fact which speaks volumes for the wealth of folk-songs—a wealth

as yet very imperfectly estimated.

Nothing could have been more orderly and well mannered; the only

exception was one of those which prove the rule. A boy, of perhaps

sixteen, probably from shyness, refused to sing, upon which he was told

to go. "You have had your _Kuchen_" (it was quaint to hear the Arab

adoption of the word used among ourselves); "you have had your tea; you

will do nothing—go!" And go he did, though we were pleased to see him

slip in, half-an-hour later, by another door. When the king became

impatient of his consort's inertness he started to his feet, tore off

his head-dress, distorted his features, producing the most entire change

in his appearance, and performed a whole drama in dumb show, which, even

to the uninitiated, was extremely comic, and which produced shouts of

laughter among the Arab element of the party—the Druse and Bedu dignity

being less easily disturbed.

Arab entertainments are very long drawn out: when we retired to our

rooms, adjoining the chapel, the party showed no intention of breaking

up. The long-desired rain was a source of satisfaction, which added to

the general placidity, if not hilarity.

Next morning we awoke to a world of intense green and blue, glistening

with raindrops and glad with the singing of birds, the bulbul among the

loudest, though it must be owned that, apart from association, he is

much overrated, being vastly inferior to the nightingale or, to our

ears, the thrush or the blackbird. After an early breakfast we remounted

our horses, and, accompanied by our host, proceeded upon our interrupted

journey northward.

We noted the little landing-stage, one of those reminiscences of the

visit of the German Emperor to be found all over Palestine—sole

representative of the busy wharves and boat-builders' yards of the time

of our Lord, to which time belong also the tanneries, potteries, and

dyeing-sheds, the remains of which are scattered around Et Tâbigha.

Farther on we came upon hot springs, and the, to us, novel sight of a

hot waterfall, with the remains of mills, aqueducts, and, possibly,

baths.

In about half-an-hour we were at Tell Hûm, which, although no systematic

excavation has yet been possible, is by many authorities assumed to be

identical with Capernaum, and which, in this belief, was acquired in

1890 by the Franciscans, who, however, dare not, for political reasons,

call attention for the present to the elaborate ruins which exist not

far beneath the surface, and the workmanship of which appears to be

Roman. Meantime the soil is under cultivation for the use of the convent

at Tiberias, a solitary brother remaining there to direct the labours of

the Arabs. The low, swampy ground is unwholesome for Europeans, and it

is necessary to replace the lonely Franciscan every few months. The

authenticity of the site has been much disputed; but the cautious

Baedeker regards it as "as good as certain," largely on the authority of

the old itineraries of pilgrims. Whatever its name, it was undoubtedly a

sacred spot to the early Christians. The remains include the foundations

of a building of unusual beauty, constructed of immense blocks of white

limestone, so fine as to resemble marble, which must have been 75 feet

long by 54 wide. The bases of columns and some very ornate Corinthian

capitals are still visible, and it is not impossible that we may have

here the synagogue built by the centurion, of whom it was said: "He

loveth our nation!" The ruins, probably of a Christian church, which

were seen here in 600 are not far distant, and it is evident that a

considerable town once stood here—if not Capernaum then some other—upon

which Romans and Christians have, in turn, expended wealth and interest.

On our way back to Tiberias, we listened to many stories illustrating

the psychology and beliefs of the people; of, among other things, the

science and superstitions in regard to the horse—traditions which

deserve to be preserved. In this country, except where civilisation has

introduced bearing-reins, tail-docking, and other deformities, it is

assumed that Nature understood her own business, and that, for example,

the object of a tail was for the relief of a horse when tormented by

flies, for which purpose, as well as for beauty, the longer and fuller

it is the better. They judge of a horse's age not only by the teeth but

by the tail, which takes some years to bring to perfection. The first

year it is kept bare, the second thinned, after which it is allowed to

grow. The Arabs preserve the genealogies of all their horses, many of

them up to hundreds of generations, and their classification is very

elaborate. There was a time when only one horse existed in the country,

and he was the property of Solomon, who, however, seems to have been

imperfect in horsemanship, as he was, on a certain occasion, thrown, for

which offence against imperial dignity the horse was condemned to death.

He was ridden down from Jerusalem to Jaffa, weighted with stones, and

sunk into the sea. As he was in his death agony, five bubbles rose to

the surface, which developed into five horses, each the ancestor of a

separate type (details, as in the Genesis account of the ancestry of the

human race, not explained). Each of these stems furnished five

sub-families, and from one or other of these, every pedigree horse is

descended.

Another story which illustrated certain characteristics of native life,

and the possibility of making the most of occasion, related to a couple

of shechs who came from a great distance to consult a certain priest in

a very delicate matter. As is the custom of the country, they talked of

irrelevant matters for about four hours, and then submitted their

difficulties. Neither of them had any children—_i.e._ possessed no son,

but merely "a piece of a daughter." The phrase is equivalent to our use

in referring to "a head of cattle." The priest was well known for his

power and benevolence; surely he would exercise both in so worthy a

direction! With characteristic presence of mind he seized the occasion

for a moral lesson, and represented that certain changes of habit might

be rewarded by the desired result. The shechs promised obedience, and

departed. A year afterwards, when the incident was forgotten, the priest

called to his servant one morning to remove a sheep which had trespassed

into his garden, and was informed that this was a valuable present

brought by one of the shechs upon the occasion of the arrival of a son

and heir. Whether the other was less fortunate or less grateful history

does not relate.

On our return, we visited the Khan Minyeh, and a little east of it a

small Tell, by some identified with the site of Bethsaida, which,

however, is by other authorities located on the east side of the lake.

The towns on the shore of Tiberias have been destroyed, to a degree

surprising when we compare them with contemporary cities in the

Decapolis. In Jerash, in Ammân we were able to reconstruct the life of

the people—their homes, their temples, their amusements; in Chorazin,

Bethsaida, Capernaum, Magdala we found, at the best, heaps of stones,

and mounds grown over with grass and flowers.

In the absence of Khalil, Dieb, our friend of the night before, rode

back with us to Tiberias, as, without a local guide, we might have found

it difficult to know whereabouts to ford the many streams, which a

twelve hours' downpour had swollen to considerable size. He was very

useful and kindly, and filled the Lady's pockets with pretty shells from

the lake, some of which must have been occupied, as she found two of

them walking about, a month afterwards, in her hotel in Jerusalem.

[6] As an illustration of the esteem in which these acquirements are

held we were told elsewhere the following incident:—A Franciscan friar,

accustomed to ride between the widely-scattered convents of the order,

was, on one occasion, traversing the desert on a very powerful young

horse not yet properly disciplined. The party met with some Bedu

belonging to a rich and powerful tribe, the shech of which was present.

The young horse, possibly taking fright, or excited by the presence of

the Arab mares always ridden by the Bedu, became violent, and tore off

across the sands. The Franciscan, a very small man, and hampered by his

habit, nevertheless retained his self-possession and his seat, and, in

course of time, brought the animal back to obedience. The shech watched

every manœuvre with the deepest interest, and when the priest returned

to the party congratulated him very cordially, and offered him his

daughter in marriage. It was explained that he was a priest. "I don't

mind that," said the shech; "he is just the son-in-law for me." But the

priest was poor. "No matter, he shall have her without payment of so

much as a single camel. I have two daughters; he shall choose between

them: he shall be to me as a son." History goes no further.

CHAPTER VII

TIBERIAS AND BESAN

"The River Jordan boils out from two foundations, of which one is

called Jor and the other Dan, the streams of which, joining in one,

become a very rapid river, and take the name of Jordan."

SÆWULF, 1103

Of the town of Tiberias the less said the better, though it should be

admitted that we saw it under exceptional circumstances—after twelve

hours' steady rain, for which it is certainly not adapted. Most of the

streets are stone tunnels, where, when it once enters, the water stands

in large pools unaffected by sun or wind, and with only islands of

decaying matter, animal and vegetable, to serve as steps for hapless

pedestrians. In the open streets the inhabitants, with a view to

protection from sun, have rigged up coverings of old mats, old carpets,

old clothes, which, naturally, shed unsavoury drippings upon our heads

as we passed beneath. The exquisite cleanliness and brightness of our

convent quarters tempted us to stay within, and enjoy the glorious view

of lake and mountain from the roof; but we resisted, and were well

rewarded for our walk up to the Scottish hospital by the sight of good

work well and scientifically done, of missionaries who follow in the

footsteps of their Master, who has left us but one sermon, and countless

instances of work among the sick and the needy. Of the Scottish and

American missions in Palestine the English visitor can feel justly

proud, if not of his race, at least of those who speak his tongue.

The remainder of our time in Tiberias was spent, not in the world of the

Old or New Testaments, or even of the Crusaders, but in the first six

centuries A.D., when the Jews had forgotten their original hatred of its

novelty and its ceremonial uncleanness, and had accepted it, with

Jerusalem, Safed, and Hebron, as one of their four holy cities; had

established a theological university, and built over a dozen synagogues.

As at the universities of Europe in the Middle Ages, students would come

and attach themselves to this or that teacher, sitting at his feet in

his own house, or listening to his discussions with other Gamaliels in

public places. It is probable that Christ never came to this city; and,

indeed, all its personal associations are of a later period. Here

Josephus had a powerful stronghold during the Jewish wars; here, after

the destruction of Jerusalem, we find the Sanhedrin; here, testifying to

the strength and progress of Christianity, the opposition school of the

Talmud was established; here the Mishna, the collection of ancient

tradition, was published in 200 A.D.; here, some four hundred years

later, the so-called Jerusalem Talmud; here the now accepted pointing of

the Hebrew Bible came into existence—in fact, it is the cradle of Jewish

literature and learning. Its Christian associations are few. There were

bishops of Tiberias in the fifth century; but their flocks must have

been small, and the bishopric died out, to be revived by the Crusaders.

It was here that St Jerome learned Hebrew, in preparation for his work

upon the Vulgate.

We picked our way among the pools, as best we could, to the outside of

the city, and up the hill westward, asking our way to the tombs of

various learned rabbis from the Jews whom we met on the road, but who,

unless they were silent from suspicion, seemed but little acquainted

with the shrines of Maimonides, the philosopher, Rab Jochanan Ben Sakai,

or even with the celebrated Rabbi Akiba, who took so prominent a part in

the revolt of Bar Cochba, whose claims to be the Messiah he supported

with a zeal which led to the ultimate destruction of the last remnant of

the Jewish kingdom in 135.

We found the graves of the great Talmudist Rabbi Meîr and two of his

pupils in a school of the Ashkenazim, which, for the nonce, was serving

a very useful purpose as hospice for a number of German Jews travelling

to a new colony farther south. They had spread their mattresses all over

the dais, and were eating a meal which had the characteristic Jewish

smell of fish and onions.

Of course, also, we visited the celebrated hot baths, which lie about a

mile to the south of the town, in the neighbourhood of the old city, as

is testified by the columns, capitals, and hewn stones scattered in

every direction. The road seems to follow the lines of an old colonnade,

to judge from the numerous bases of pillars gradually wearing away under

the friction of carriage wheels. The water has a temperature of 143

degrees Fahrenheit, and even in the open air we found it impossible to

endure the warmth of a little spring which gushed out from the hillside

with a very unpleasant sulphurous smell. There are two general

bath-houses, in one of which private baths may be had. These are much

frequented, and seem to be very effectual in cases of rheumatism and

cutaneous disease, though, perhaps, less so than those at Callirhoe,

east of the Jordan, of which marvellous, and apparently authentic, cures

are related.

After one more night in Tiberias we set out at an early hour next

morning on our way to Besan, from whence we proposed to visit Pella,

and, crossing the Jordan, return down its eastern bank. It was a very

easy ride, of about eight hours, along a good road, with fertile fields,

greensward, and abundant trees and bushes to refresh the eye; but as it

lies, for the most part, six hundred feet below sea-level, one may well

imagine that it is, as reported, later in the season intolerably hot. In

strange contrast to the almost tropical vegetation, the palms and

bananas, the oleanders and azaleas, were the great snow-covered

shoulders of the Jebel es-Shech, the Mountain of the Shech, the highest

point of Mount Hermon, dominating the landscape, and visible, whenever

we looked backward, for the greater part of the day.

We were much interested in a Jewish family which accompanied us for some

distance on their way to the colony. The mother, grasping an infant, was

perilously balanced upon the top of the family bedding, beneath which

the legs of a mule were barely visible; while an older child, of perhaps

three, hung in a wooden box, accompanied by several gas-tins, on one

side of a donkey, balanced on the other by the family wardrobe. The men

were afoot, and generally in the rear, unless some displacement of the

baggage or a specially deep ford seemed to require some attention on

their part. The child seemed quite confident and happy, although the

donkey, less heavily weighted than the mule, was generally far ahead,

with the object of accumulating leisure for the snatching of a meal

wherever specially tempting thistles invited.

We lunched at Jisr el Mujamia, where a temporary village of tents and

wooden huts had been erected for those employed on the new

railway—engineers, fellahin, workmen, and soldiers. The River Jordan,

which we had been following almost ever since we left the Lake of

Tiberias, here divided into several parallel streams, leaving a number

of islands, now grown over with bushes and herbage, but probably covered

when the river is full. A quaint stone bridge, with very acute arches,

leading to a village, lent human interest to the scene; and on the hills

beyond we were shown the site of the town of Gadara, just south of the

Yarmuk, one of the principal tributaries of the Jordan. Here, also, are

hot springs, much visited in the season, and the ruins of another of the

Græco-Roman cities which encircle the lake, although considerably older

than the Herodian city of Tiberias. We were constantly brought face to

face with anomalies and anachronisms; but it is, nevertheless, a shock

to one's preconceived ideas to turn from the busy scene in the immediate

foreground—the skilful engineering of the new railway—to cross, in

imagination, the Roman bridge, to pass the poor fellahin village, type,

with its contrasting railway, of the civilisation of to-day, up to

where, on yonder height, it is not difficult to call up, on their old

sites, the amphitheatre of Gadara looking up the lake, the acropolis

above, the triumphal archway, the Greek villas scattered on the hills to

catch the breeze, the barracks of the Roman legions, whence the troops

descended daily to the cities around. These were what met the eyes of

Jesus when He wandered among yonder tombs and met the poor madman whose

diseased imagination conceived himself to be one of the legions whom he

daily looked upon in all their bravery of sheen and colour. And now the

fellahin are storing their grain in sculptured sarcophagi; for the grave

outlasts all, even its occupants, and the graceful wreaths which did

honour to some centurion over two thousand years ago still bloom

immortally among the haste and squalor, the railways, the canvas tents,

the wooden huts, the crumbling villages, the competition of to-day.

Beyond the Jordan, with all its associations, at the foot of the hills

which have looked on at so many cycles of change, the wounded earth

yawned and gaped, awaiting the iron road which was to carry her children

yet more rapidly to the end, which now, as of old, awaits us all. This

eastern Nature, so full of the past, is seldom glad—has, except in her

wildest utterances, little of the joy which Wordsworth found in the

simpler revelations of our English hills—but the complication of ancient

leisureliness by modern haste, of cycles of repose by the scars of

modern science, is to add irony to melancholy, cynicism to meditation,

to exhibit decay where she reveals only repose, to force utterance where

she has offered us the music of songs unsung.

We were almost glad to turn away; and soon the scene was changed. As we

continued our way due south we only now and then caught glimpses of the

Jordan, although we crossed many streams hastening down with their

little contributions to the historic whole. All was fresh and green; we

mounted, perhaps, some 300 feet, and the plain widened out into the

valley of Jezreel, and we found the air fresh and pleasant, although

when we reached Besan we were still 320 feet below sea-level. We were

free to enjoy the green earth and the blue sky without complication of

historical associations, except when, about two hours after leaving our

halting-place, we saw on a hill to our right a village now known as

Kôkab el-Hawa, where King Fulke built a castle, known by the familiar

name of Belvoir, and which was taken by Salah ed-din in 1188. We

resisted the temptation to climb, although there are ruins to

photograph, and it is said that the outlook deserves its name.

The approach to the town of Besan is truly surprising; and, indeed, the

appearance of the whole neighbourhood is unique in Palestine, owing to

the taste and activity of the mudir, who, it is whispered, remains here

for political reasons, and who has had the good sense to make his exile

as attractive as possible. The town lies in a green hollow, sloping

westward towards the low-lying plain of Jezreel, some 300 feet below.

The winding stream of the Jalûd waters it on the north, and streams flow

abundantly in all directions. The hills to the north appear to be of

volcanic formation; and, indeed, most of the rocks scattered about,

seemed to be basalt. An excellent road approaches the town, bordered for

some distance by well-planted trees, though we could not help observing

what must be very discouraging to the æsthetic mudir, that, despite all

pains taken for their security, they had been wantonly mishandled. The

main street might well be called a boulevard. It is wide, planted mainly

with acacias and the graceful azedarach (Pride of India), and the houses

are stone, and mainly of two storeys. A great archway, flanked on either

side by magnificent ancient Corinthian pillars, leads into the village

khan, a large open space, surrounded on three sides by stables and

outhouses; while on the fourth is the inn itself, the upper storey,

reserved for guests of the better class, being approached by an outside

staircase. Here we found a large hall, furnished only by low stools, and

some cupboards containing the wine and arak, theoretically eschewed by

Moslem guests; while various sleeping-rooms opened into a corridor

beyond. Here we immediately secured the requisite accommodation, which

was so far of a superior kind that it included bedsteads, as well as a

table and a couple of chairs. Experience led us at a later hour to

reject bedsteads, curtains, and bedclothes, and to sleep upon a mattress

and _lehaf_ (wadded cotton quilt) upon the floor, supplemented by our

own wraps.

We snatched a hurried meal, for we were occupied with certain ambitious

projects, which absorbed our attention. Our dream—or, at all events,

that of the Lady and the Doctor—the Artist preferred highroads and

hotels—was to descend down the east bank of the Jordan, crossing the

fords of Bethabara, and lunching at Pella, and thence to make our way

through the desert to Jericho, a two days' journey, but a far more

attractive prospect than a commonplace return _via_ Nablûs, along a road

we already knew, and which had long been vulgarised by the "Personally

Conducted." The greatest attraction of all was, that, in the absence of

villages, and having no tents, we should have to pass a night with the

Meshalcha Bedu, who, we were told, were at this time encamped north of

the Jabbok. They are a rich and powerful sept, belonging to the Beni

Hasan, and their district lies about the tomb of the great Moslem

general, Abu Obeidah Ibn el Jerrâh, of the time of Omar (_c._ 650). We

were so very fortunate as to carry introductions from Dr Schumacher, who

is, perhaps, better known east of the Jordan than any other European,

and whose relations with the Bedu, as well as with the fellahin, are

very different from those of the many who have been only unfortunate in

their dealings with the natives. We were delighted at our prospects, and

pictured ourselves listening to songs and folklore, gathered round a

camp fire in the moonlight, pouring libations of coffee to the spirit of

Shech Shadli, the originator of the beverage, giving up our revolvers in

token of confidence in our hosts, looking on at the sword-dances of the

young men, exchanging confidences with the women, and finally sleeping

under a roof of camels' hair, upon priceless carpets and under silken

coverlets.

To achieve this we must go in state, and the main thing was to enlarge

our retinue, which consisted at present of the somewhat ragged Khalil,

by the addition of a soldier, who would receive orders to make all the

demands which were in accordance with our dignity—a fact not patent to

the naked eye, but which the mudir instructed by our kind friend the

American Consul, would doubtless accept. First we had to find the mudir,

who was not at his own house, a fine modern building with large garden

adorned with antique busts, and not at the serai (court-house), but who

was finally discovered making his afternoon devotions at the mosque. He

was good enough to emerge with a train of attendants, a dignified man of

middle age, carefully read the letter addressed to him, and assured us,

in passable French, that our request should receive attention, and that

the soldier would be at our service at six o'clock next morning.

We were then free to visit the sites which were the main object of our

journey to Besan. The name Besan, which we now associate with the most

beautiful city in Palestine, had for us at first no associations, and we

did not feel any great excitement even when told that it was a strong

and walled city in the time of Joshua, that the inhabitants had chariots

of iron, which might well be used on the surrounding plain, nor even

that it was to the wall of Beth-shean, as it was then called, that the

bodies of Saul and his three sons were nailed, his armour being hung up

as an offering in the temple of Astarte. But as we pursued our

inquiries, the story of the city gained in interest. Thothmes III. must

have passed through it when he overthrew one hundred and eighteen cities

in Palestine, as it stands on the highway between Egypt and Damascus; it

is mentioned in Egyptian literature in the fourteenth century B.C.; the

Israelites found it impregnable; Holofernes, Pompey, Salah ed-din,

occupied it, possibly also Tiglath-pileser and Sargon. Josephus calls it

the richest city of the Decapolis, the only one west of the Jordan. In

his time it was called Scythopolis, and it is one of the very few

examples of reversion from the Greek to the older name. On the coins

(Nero to Gordian), and by classical authors, the town is called Nysa,

and the effigy on the coin is that of the nymph suckling Bacchus; but

the present name, corrupted from Beth-Sha'an, possibly the _house_

(_beit_) of some pagan divinity, has been used since the Crusades.

Lastly, for the Christian, Besan has its special interest, as having

been one of the places where, under Decius and Diocletian, the

amphitheatres were used for the cruel slaughter not of wild beasts

alone, but of the confessors of Christ. When we stood gazing at the

majestic amphitheatre, with its twelve basalt benches for spectators,

nearly two hundred feet in diameter, we imagined the Christian gladiator

looking over the sea of heads which surrounded him to where the blue

sky, and the blue hills of Gilead, gave promise of something which

should endure when even yonder citadel, frowning to the north, had

crumbled in decay. Delicate ferns and flowers now shroud the entrance to

the dark passages leading to the dens, where one may still see the iron

rings to which the beasts were chained; and in the recesses in which

brass sounding-tubes facilitated the hearing of the roar of anger and

the shriek of pain, swallows are darting in and out to chirping

nestlings, impatient for their food.

We failed to find the hippodrome, said to lie west of the village, but

now concealed by vegetation. The lines of a fine colonnade are easily

traced, leading along the brook to an ancient bridge, beyond which is a

street, and near by a massive fort; north of this a reservoir, known as

El Hammâm, obviously the site of Roman baths. Everywhere are columns,

capitals, hewn stones. North of the great amphitheatre a Tell cries out

for excavation, the massive wall and the great portal which once

enclosed its summit being clearly traceable. Everywhere, in the hills

beyond, are tombs, many with fine painting and sculpture. Where can the

archæologist find richer promise? There is, happily, a rumour that it is

one of the many sites likely to be taken in hand by German skill and

perseverance. The very fact that Besan is, at least for the present,

well out of the tourist track has preserved the ancient, perhaps also

the modern, city, from exploitation. Unfortunately, the railroad will

soon be here, and who knows how long this beautiful city may escape all

the influences which have corrupted and vulgarised Jerusalem?

Besan is at present purely Moslem: there are a few Christian

inhabitants, mainly of the Greek Church, who seek occasional spiritual

pabulum in Tiberias, only eight hours away, and who seem to enjoy equal

rights with, and even to share some of the beliefs of, their neighbours.

We saw, for example, a very interesting wely, which, like so many, if

not most, in Syria, is resorted to by those of all creeds. It was, as

usual, very difficult to obtain any exact information as to its history

and origin. The tomb, apparently of a giant of ten feet or so, is a

massive stone structure enclosed with a rough stone wall and surrounded

by trees. The derwish in charge lives close by. The tomb and enclosure

are decorated with numerous small flags, mainly white, the offerings of

the faithful. We managed—not without difficulty—to photograph it

secretly, both from within and without. We could only ascertain that it

was sacred to a certain Bishop Jochanan, who, although our informants

were somewhat confused as to details, seems to have been an apostate

from Christianity, and a miracle-worker. The wely serves purposes other

than religious. It is much resorted to for the healing of the sick and

for obtaining special boons; but it is also supplementary to the serai,

and saves many a lawsuit, as an oath made upon the tomb must be accepted

as final, and he would be a very foolhardy man who would lie to the

saint, whatever might be the degree of his reverence for the Almighty!

Every Moslem tomb (exclusive, naturally, of those of women, who are a

mere accident in the course of nature) is surmounted by two stones, for

the accommodation of the good and bad angels respectively, who testify

as to his conduct; one at least of these is of the shape of the fez or

tarbush, which was the characteristic sign of faith and nationality

during life. In the present case this feature is exaggerated in

proportion to the size of the tomb, so that the whole roughly resembles

the outline of a horse, the tarbush being taken for the head. The

suspected culprit, or other person about to swear, sits astride, and

makes oath accordingly. The saint is, moreover, the peacemaker in feuds,

and the most persistent cases of blood-revenge must be abandoned when

the opponents have shaken hands across the tomb. A man who here denies

or confesses a crime receives judgment accordingly, without further

evidence. There seemed to be traces upon the doorposts of recent

sacrifices, with the usual accompaniment of anointing with blood.

Perhaps nothing that we saw upon our ride surprised us more than the

information that a large and handsome stone house in the town belonged

to a Bedawy shech—a shech of shechs. One would have supposed that such a

possession violated every instinct and tradition of his race, for we had

once been present when an elderly Bedu, who had been forced by

politeness to accept hospitality in a house for the first time, had sat

in terror of what might happen, gun in hand. We sought in vain to

account for such an anomaly. "Is he very rich?" we inquired, on the

hypothesis that some crisis of agricultural depression had driven him to

a more permanent investment. "Rich?" said our informant; "he can be as

rich as he likes. Is he not the shech above all other shechs of the

district? He wants a house, a camel, a tent? He takes it. He wants a

wife—he may have had already twenty-nine. He takes my sister, my

daughter, but he does not pay for her. It is not difficult for him to be

rich."

Nay, truly,

"The good old rule

Sufficeth him, the simple plan,

That they should take who have the power

And they should keep who can."

It was the rule of David, of Solomon, of the nomadic Israelites

wandering like the Bedu in the desert.

"Then rents and factors, rights of chase,

Sheriffs, and lairds and their domains,

Would all have seemed but paltry things,

Not worth a moment's pains."

But, of course, this is quite another matter from the oppression of the

poor, the rack-renting, the evictions, the unequal taxation, the results

of free trade, the hunger and misery of great cities, the depopulation

of villages, which are carried on in an orderly and properly organised

fashion farther West.

We would have gladly lingered in this beautiful spot, surely the garden

of Palestine, so great a contrast to the aridity of Judæa, which Mark

Twain has somewhat severely described as "leagues of blighted, blasted,

sandy, rocky, sunburnt, ugly, dreary, infamous country." We are apt to

look upon the Jews as a utilitarian and money-loving people. Surely,

however, nowhere on earth can we find a race whom sentiment and religion

have so influenced in the choice and love of home. We Europeans do not

realise that the great King Solomon, who reigned over a people "like the

dust of the earth in multitude," and whose wealth made "silver to be

nothing accounted of," had for empire part of a kingdom the size of

Wales; and that, allowing all that one may for change of agricultural

conditions, his capital was situated in its most unprofitable and one of

its least attractive districts—six hours' ride from the nearest river,

of which the average width was eighty feet; a district without a

harbour, on the way to nowhere, out of reach of all the great roads of

commerce and intercommunication of nations. Jerusalem owes her origin

and continuance entirely to the heart and not the brain of man. She is

the creation of the prophet, the priest, the dreamer. The mere

statesman, agriculturist, sanitarian—humanitarian, even—would have none

of her. Even to-day she survives only as a matter of sacred association.

Take away her sanctuaries, her convents, and her tourists, and nothing

would be left but the German colony—which could not remain without

customers for its shops, or even maintain its institutions—and the Jews,

who live mainly on the charity of Europe. Agriculture, Jewish and

German, would continue in the plains; philanthropy, Scottish and

American, in Galilee and Syria; education and culture, American and

Jesuit, in Beirut; commerce, German and Jewish, in Jaffa and Haifa; but

all these exist independently of, almost in spite of, Jerusalem, and

have been created for the advantage of mankind.

CHAPTER VIII

WEST OF THE JORDAN

"Yet who would stop, or fear to advance,

Though home or shelter he had none,

With such a sky to lead him on?"

W. WORDSWORTH

Very few things in the East fulfil adequately the purposes for which

they are intended, and we were not at all surprised when the soldier,

who arrived punctually at six o'clock next morning, and who had many

graces, and possibly all the virtues, appeared mounted on a horse

utterly unfit for the fatiguing journey we contemplated. We accordingly

despatched him back to the serai, with thanks and compliments, and a

message to the effect that we should prefer a better article. These

little matters consume a great deal of time, and a proportionate amount

of bad language, and to economise the one, and avoid the other, we went

for a walk. Our kindly companion, who had been for some years a

dispenser in the Scottish hospital in Tiberias, seemed to think there

would be no objection to a trespass into the grounds of the mudir's

private house, and obligingly lent a hand while we collected the antique

busts which were dispersed about his garden, and arranged them on garden

seats with a view to photography. It is not every day one comes across

half-a-dozen perfect specimens of Greek art never photographed before;

and so obliging an amateur of beauty as the mudir had proved himself,

would assuredly have understood and pardoned our temptation had he been

up, which (perhaps happily, as some element of doubt remained) he was

not. We then walked somewhat farther, feasted our eyes once more upon

all the pleasant things of Besan, classical and modern, and when on our

return we still found the incompetent steed tied up at the entrance to

our khan, we wandered off to the serai, and finally possessed ourselves

of an alternative soldier, although with some suspicion that this time

it was the man, and not the horse, who was incompetent.

Neither Khalil nor the Artist had a high opinion of the plan cherished

by the Lady and the Doctor—one feared scarcity of barley for the horses,

the other of the amenities of civilisation for herself. The Artist,

however, could not speak Arabic, so if there were any collusion with the

officer it could only have been on the part of Khalil. We had not,

however, gone far from Besan, only far enough to be beyond reach of

appeal, when we were presented with a series of pictures of the

impossibilities ahead. No one knew where the Meshalcha Bedu were at

present encamped—the place where they would undoubtedly be found was

quite beyond a day's journey; we had started too late (it was already

eight o'clock) to venture on so great a risk; it was not certain how we

should be received. The consequences to ourselves were painted in vivid

colours, but all these observations had for us an interest that was

merely psychological and linguistic, as exhibiting the way in which the

Arab mind worked. The Arab imagination was not daunted, however, and the

next shot told. The fords of the Jordan would be impassable—had we not

seen how full the Jalûd was, had not the little stream we had even now

crossed reached to the knees of the horses, had not all the streams been

drinking away there up in the hills, where Allah had so lately sent us

the blessing of rain? The Lady and the Doctor looked guiltily at each

other. The one put confidence in Sadowi, the other in his own inches;

but if they should find they had inveigled the Artist into floating down

the Jordan with not so much as an insurance upon her kodak! The Lady,

somewhat disingenuously, began to enlarge upon the prospect of visiting

Pella, in hope of extracting an expression of desire, which might be

quotable in case of emergency; but her friend showed no enthusiasm for

Greek cities, declined to endorse ravings over early Christian refugees,

and asked if any other way were shorter. Khalil's honour was appealed

to, as to the veracity of the soldier's allegations. He swore upon his

beard, which he did not possess, and upon his eyes, of which only one

was in working order, upon his head and his heart, that the thing was

impossible.

What were we to do? Go meekly back to Besan, abandon all our prospects,

our tent of many poles (we had been assured that we must not think of

entering one with less than three, and that our dignity really required

even more), our tattooed ladies with the trains of their dresses in

front, our stately shech, who would undoubtedly kill a sheep and bake

cakes for us, like the patriarchs did when they had guests—return to the

banalities of Nablûs, where children asked for backsheesh, and finally

ride home along a commonplace highroad to Jerusalem?

"When the tale of bricks is doubled Moses comes," say the Arabs—and the

soldier had an idea. We were to descend the banks of the Jordan on the

west side. We had been assured that no one ever did this, that the

district was very wild, and even lawless, and that the few Bedu we might

chance to meet were such as we should not care to house with. However,

we had our soldier, who looked effective (at a distance), and was

bristling with weapons, and it would be quite interesting to sleep in

the desert, light a fire to keep off wild beasts, and take turns to

mount guard, like a boys' story book. Apparently, however, it need not

come to this. Somewhere in the wilderness was a serai, a little fortress

or Government building, which existed for the accommodation of

tax-collectors, and there we could, no doubt, find shelter. We were

somewhat inclined to believe that the whole thing was "a put-up job,"

arranged before we left, and that our soldier's journey was being

utilised for conveying despatches, or more, probably, messages, from the

parent Government establishment in Besan. However, we could only submit;

had we persisted, our leader was not so unintelligent as not to see that

his prophecies were fulfilled, and we wheeled round, and turned off to

the south-east, fairly content with our prospects after all.

We had followed the west side of the Jordan from the Sea of Tiberias to

Besan, and now we were to follow it down to its fall into the Dead

Sea—65 miles in all. Our path lay in the deep valley between the hills

of Gilead on the east and the hills of Samaria and Judæa on the west—a

valley which the Arabs very suitably call _El-Ghor_—_i.e._ The Rift. It

varies in width from 6 or 7 miles in the district of Besan to about 3

for some 13 miles alongside the hills of Samaria, widening by slow

degrees till near Jericho, when it stretches out into a plain, as at

Besan. The river winds and twists deep down at the bottom, its course

marked all the way by an exuberant fertility, often extending for some

distance east and west, showing where tributary streams are hastening

down from the watersheds above. We rode, for the most part, upon

somewhat higher ground, on terraces of land at the foot, or on the side

of, the hills, as the case might be, and were often able to look down

into this deep hollow of vivid green, reminding us, in exaggerated form,

as so much in this land is exaggerated, of a north country ghyll. To

realise its depth one has to remember that it is deeper below the

earth's surface than an average coal mine, that it is really an old

sea-bottom, and that the rapidity of the stream, falling at first 40

feet in a mile, accounts for the weird forms of washed-out mounds of

earth, for the exposed tree roots, for the heaps of débris of all kinds.

The name of the Jordan is not composed of the two names Jor and Dan, as

the early pilgrims so ingeniously conjectured, but means, appropriately,

the "downcomer."

For some distance, all around and below Besan, there are abundant signs

of extreme fertility. In ancient times it was noted for corn, dates,

balsam, flax, and sugar-cane. The edicts of Diocletian refer to its

trade in linen, and Vespasian settled his troops in this district as one

capable of bearing a large additional population. In the course of the

morning we crossed over a score of streams, and many remains of

aqueducts showed how, in old days, they had been turned to the utmost

account for irrigation. When we had passed but a few miles beyond Besan,

we lost all traces of human habitation, although not of human handiwork,

for wide patches of well-cultivated land testified that, like the

Israelites of old, the hill population only comes down to sow, guard,

and reap its harvests. Indeed, for the greater part of the year the Ghor

would be uninhabitable. Its hothouse vegetation implies also a hothouse

climate; its swamps are beautiful but malarious; its streams are

valuable for irrigation but death-dealing to drink, impregnated with

chlorides and sodium, and rank with decaying vegetable matter.

From time to time we came across small groups of Bedawy tents, mainly of

a humble kind, although now and then a tent of three poles, with a lance

planted at the doorway, testified to the presence of a shech. Within but

a short distance we were certain to find large flocks of lambs, white

and woolly, a rare sight to us, accustomed only to the goats capable of

enduring the aridity of the Jerusalem district, and familiar with sheep

only as household pets, sharing equally with the cat and the water-pipe.

The problem which at first presented itself was: What had become of all

the mothers? The answer was generally found a mile or so farther on, in

some green spot, whither they had been driven for pasture, to be brought

back later, to the safety of the camp, and the needs of their nurslings.

It seemed to us that we now and then climbed hills for the sake of

descending them, and that more than once we went across country to

return to the neighbourhood of the point from which we started; but,

after all, it is difficult to judge of distances with only distant

mountains for landmarks, and one part of such a valley as the Ghor is

very much like another. We were to lunch beside the Wady Mâlih, the

first stream on this part of our journey suitable alike for horse and

man, but the wady was long in coming. At intervals we inquired as to its

whereabouts, and were always told it was _ba'ad wahad saar_—"after

half-an-hour"—and after about four half-hours, when the horses were

getting somewhat weary, and our eyes ached from the glare of the sand,

we entered a narrow valley, a wonderful garden of loveliness. For some

time we had seen no animal life except lizards, an occasional jerboa (a

pretty little miniature kangaroo), and occasional birds of prey—ravens,

eagles, and griffon-vultures—flying high in the heavens towards some

horse or camel, dead or dying. Here, at the very entrance of the valley,

we disturbed innumerable pairs of busy little chats, among the daintiest

of the bird creation (_saxicola libanotica_); and, almost equally

graceful as to outline, although of a reddish-brown colour, like a

robin, the little desert larks, which chattered rather than sang, as

they hovered over the tangle of bulrushes and sedge-grass.

Now and then we saw a gorgeous kingfisher, blue as sapphires,

turquoises—blue as the sky itself. A little later we should probably

have found storks, "the father of legs" as the Arabs call them, who

arrive in the early spring in immense numbers, and add to the general

fairy-tale effect of this country. The stream was concealed by a thicket

of verdure, bordered, on slightly higher ground, by oleanders and

willows, above them a belt of white poplars and tamarisks; while the

steep, sloping banks were clothed with the bushes of the graceful

capers, just coming into leaf, rival, in Palestine, of our own wild

rose; while everywhere chrysanthemums, ornithogalums, scented stocks,

hawkweeds, and centaureas promised abundance of colour if we would but

await their coming.

We clamoured for an immediate halt—where could we find so inviting a

spot?—but our attendants turned a deaf ear, and pressed on, gradually

mounting to higher ground, and leaving our beautiful, but probably

malarious, swamp behind. We dismounted finally on a little knoll crowned

with trees, the stream, now clear of foliage, and accessible for the

horses, winding about its foot, and a gay little waterfall making music

for us beyond. Here we lunched and rested, and then we had an

illustration, characteristic of this country, of the wild-beast habits

of the Arab. We are well accustomed to the fact that real solitude is

here, in an ordinary way, impossible. You may scan the horizon, and see

no sign of humanity for miles, but within a few minutes a picturesque

Arab is beside you, asking impudently for backsheesh, insinuating that

the hour is propitious for the smoking of tobacco, or offering you water

or milk, according to the degree of his association with the improving

influences of European civilisation. In the desert the Arab is still a

gentleman, and the little group which suddenly appeared within a few

feet of us—though for a dozen miles at least we had not seen so much

humanity as might be implied by the presence of a single goat—offered no

incivility, although they were mainly women, and therefore, as a rule,

inferior in courtesy to the men. They did not even stare unduly; in

fact, not half so much as we did at them. It is a curious and invariable

fact that here, Arabs spring out of the earth, like London boys at an

accident.

We did not feel entire confidence in our cicerone, as such; and as it

was already late we dared not linger, and by three o'clock we had

mounted our horses, forded the Mâlih, and, mounting the steep acclivity

beyond, found ourselves on high ground, which is the watershed for the

innumerable wadys which wander down to the sinuous Jordan on our left.

Hence we could look back to the hoary head of the Jebel es-Shech, of

Mount Hermon, and forward to the Jebel Osha in the Belka; while on the

hither side a break in the hills showed where the river Jabbok, another

old friend of our last ride, was working its winding way down to the

Jordan. If we had but known it—such information being far from the

thoughts and interests of our escort, even had they known it

themselves—we ought to have turned aside some four hours later to see

the caverns of Makhrûd, which are, so far as we can learn, valuable

alike to the geologist, and to the student of natural history.

However, we kept on our way, on somewhat high ground, till we entered a

fertile valley, tending gradually to the south-east, and which our

escort saluted with joy as the Wady Faria, in which our quarters for the

night were situated. Here, _ba'ad wahad sa'a_—"after one hour"—we should

be at the end of our journey. Well-cultivated fields surrounded us, and

even climbed the hill beyond, evidences of the existence of a population

which remained invisible: not a tent, not a single human being was in

sight. We descended yet deeper, the hour passed, and yet another, and we

found ourselves in a wide plain, which we crossed to the eastward.

"Ba'ad nus sâ'a" was now the promise—"after half-an-hour"; varied after

yet another hour by "ba'ad chamseh sâ'a"—"after a quarter of an hour."

Our guide had clearly gone too far west, and had struck the wady at the

point farthest from our destination. The twilight fell, and it was then

clearly evident that we had lost our way. The soldier had the sense to

follow the stream, as likely to conduct us ultimately to our

destination; but we had lost the path, and it was sorely rough riding.

Darkness descended with true Oriental abruptness; moon there was none,

and clouds obscured the stars. Suddenly Sadowi, who was foremost,

declined to move, and the Artist's horse stumbled; the men got off, and

felt the ground. We were on the edge of a precipice, the horses were

already entangled in the rough brushwood, a perpendicular wall rose to

our right—to turn back was impossible. The ladies dismounted, and placed

themselves on a ledge of rock, out of the way of the uneasy horses.

Khalil, afraid for the safety of his animals, broke forth into violent

abuse of the soldier, whose curses, in return, were not loud but deep.

The Doctor commanded silence, some of which he utilised for the

expression of his own opinions. After much searching, in all the wrong

places, some candles were produced, and lighted, upon which the rain

most unexpectedly descended in torrents, and put them out. Anything,

however, seemed better than inaction: two of us finally contrived, by

means of holding the candles within our cloaks to shed enough light in

front of us, to make some kind of progress; while the soldier with

another went ahead. Khalil followed with the five horses, who picked

their way with their usual cleverness, unencumbered except by

saddle-bags, which now and then caught upon the bushes, and were

disengaged with a jerk which would have reduced anything, but goats'

hair, to rags. We contrived, somehow, to reach the top of the bank, and

were much cheered to see, a mile or so ahead of us, a flickering light,

and to hear the barking of dogs—always a welcome sound when one is in

the dark and far from shelter. After half-an-hour of very rough

scrambling we found ourselves again upon a path, which conducted us

direct to the welcome light. This we found to proceed from a great fire

in the midst of a Bedawy camp—a weird spectacle in such surroundings. We

were challenged at various points by their scouts: _shislu?_—"Who goes

there"; but, fortunately, the reply: _sahib_—"A friend"—appeared to be

satisfactory. When we came into the camp we were immediately surrounded

by the inquiring population, who offered no discourtesy; all the same,

we considered it wise to keep an eye upon the contents of our

saddle-bags. The open space was encumbered with cows and sheep, and the

glare of an immense bonfire added to our bewilderment. The children and

women gathered round us, and touched our clothes, though with far more

gentleness than would be shown in London to, say, a group of Australian

natives—and we must have seemed not less strange to our new friends. The

serai was yet far, they averred, the night was dark, the road was rough;

would we not remain with them? We escaped their kindly importunity with

what grace we could, and left Khalil to bargain for a guide—a process

quite as characteristically grasping as their would-be hospitality was

characteristically liberal. Khalil offered a bishlik (6d.); they held

out for four piasters (8d.); finally a compromise was effected upon a

bishlik and a packet of tobacco. We may remark that when, at the end of

the drama, we produced the tobacco from our stores Khalil intercepted

the gift, and stipulated that it should not be bestowed till the Bedu,

whose activity had been stimulated at the sight of so unwonted a luxury,

had helped him to water the horses. We were soon picking our way among

ruins too dark to distinguish, but which we believe to have been those

of the ancient Archelais, erected by Herod Archelaus, the son of Herod

the Great. Before long we were on a good path; the rain stopped, the

stars came out, the Lady remounted her horse, and the spirits of the

party rose again. Soon we were cheered by the steady gleam of a

stationary light, and finally we clattered over a bridge and under a

great gateway, and found ourselves in the court of the serai.

We received a friendly welcome from a gigantic negro, and were at once

shown into a large room, with windows high up near the roof, and a door

opening into the courtyard, around three sides of which the house was

built; while the fourth was enclosed with a wall the height of the

building, with a strong iron-clad door—everything, apparently, being

arranged with a view to security. An official, said to be the lawyer or

secretary of the establishment, politely vacated the guest-room on our

behalf. Our saddle-bags were brought in, and, well content with shelter

and the prospect of food, we prepared to make our arrangements for the

night, our room being already not ill-furnished, all things considered,

with a large rush mat and a lamp. Our host, however, proposed further

hospitalities. We were well supplied with water, then with a charcoal

stove for heating our soup, and finally with excellent and spotlessly

clean bedding. The arrival of guests at so late an hour proved somewhat

disturbing to the domestic animals housed in the courtyard, who crowed,

and quacked, and barked, and mewed, according to their nature. Khalil

came in to say good-night, the Bedu to be paid, the gigantic negro to

inquire after our comfort, various black and white cats to solicit alms;

but finally all was quiet, and we had not long to wait for sleep.

We were up betimes next morning, and enjoyed an early toilet beside the

Fâria, not without a passing thought of pity for friends in England, and

the different conditions which would make it less attractive there to

rise at half-past five on the 10th of January, and bathe in a mountain

stream. We were in the rich oasis of Karâwa, the Koreæ of Josephus,

famous in ancient times for the finest sugar-canes known. Westward rose

the great peak of the Karn Sartabeh, towering 2227 feet above us,

although only 1243 feet above sea-level. This was one of the chain of

peaks upon which, in old times (according to the Talmud), beacon fires

were lighted at the time of the new moon, especially to proclaim the

harvest and thanksgiving festivals. The top is covered with ruins,

which, with much else in this practically unknown district, we hope some

time to explore thoroughly.

Khalil, who had slept out all night, to take care of his horses,

complained loudly of the cold; but our soldier, whom everyone here

addressed as "Haj," denoting that he had made the Mecca pilgrimage, was

quite cheery and unashamed, probably much relieved that we had entered

no complaint of his incompetence at the serai. Khalil assured us of his

own entire ability to take charge of the party; but as the infallible

Baedeker says that for the journey in the west Jordan valley "an escort

is indispensable," we decided to take our soldier on to Jericho. His

weapons, though rust-eaten, looked quite effective, and for anything we

knew his gun might really have gone off in an emergency, or as the kind

friend in Jerusalem who provided part of our own armoury had advised,

when a good echo made it "worth while to bang away."

The greatest interest to-day lay in the number of Tells, which might

well repay more careful attention than has yet been bestowed upon them,

and which indicate that, in spite of the forcing-house temperature of

this district, it must have been at one time fairly well populated.

Our curiosity was aroused by a group of large birds perched on a rock at

some little distance, and apparently motionless. We shouted at them, but

they declined to rise. We discovered through our field-glasses that they

were vultures, at least a score in number, and included a pair of young

ones, no bigger than hens, and of a creamy white.

We were not long in reaching the pleasant Ain Fesail, the head of the

Wady Fesail, which runs down into the Wady el Abyad, and meets the

Jordan in the valley some two or three miles below. Here were wide green

meadows, shady trees, and abundance of water, which, for the first time

since last night's adventures, incited our horses to some return of

cheerfulness. We had time to linger and to explore the adjacent ruins of

Phasælis, and the animals were relieved of all their encumbrances that

they might enjoy a roll in the fresh grass. The Lady rejoiced especially

on behalf of Sadowi, who had been lately so much depressed that she had

conceived the theory that the journey, which, owing to circumstances,

had been slow, and therefore in some respects tedious, had been too much

for him. She had even shown a sentimental desire to walk up hills, had

not the Doctor sternly refused to remount her should she carry it into

effect. Whether a whole field of grass all at once had the effect of

intoxication upon a Jerusalem horse—the chance of a lifetime—or whether

it suddenly dawned upon him that yonder were the hills of Judæa, and

that he was, therefore, within twenty-four hours of home, we shall never

know, but the steady Sadowi suddenly threw care, not to say

respectability, to the winds, and started on a _fantasia_ of his own. He

tore off like a war-horse at sound of the trumpet, a hunter at sight of

the hounds, a saucy colt in the meadows. The other horses, stimulated by

evil example, executed minor interludes; Khalil and the haj scampered

right and left, and one by one brought in the truants, all but the

ringleader, Sadowi, who entirely refused to be caught, and we advised

Khalil to desist, in the hope that he would return of his own accord.

Some time later, a shout from Khalil roused our attention, and we saw

him leading in a sedate and repentant Sadowi by the halter. "He ran and

ran from me like the devil himself," explained his master, with some

confusion of ideas, "when all at once he became afraid, and stood and

trembled." The Lady seized the occasion to express a hope that this came

from no recollection of previous ill-treatment, upon which Khalil threw

his arms round the creature's neck, and kissed him passionately. He

kicked and swore at him a few minutes later, but the horse seemed

equally indifferent to both processes.

The ruins close by are those of Phasælis, a town which Herod the Great

named after his brother Phasælus, and which he presented to his sister

Salome, who left it to her friend, Julia Livia, the wife of the Emperor

Augustus. It stood beside the excellent highroad which we had for some

time been following, and which seems to have extended the whole way from

Jericho up to Cæsarea Philippi, at the foot of Mount Hermon, and near

the source of the Jordan, probably bordered by a forest of palms, at one

time extensively cultivated here. The town has no architectural beauty,

but, like the twin town of Archelais, is delightfully situated.

It was unfortunate that we had not been advised to make the slight

detour up to the foot of the hills to visit the ruins of El Aujeh, and

still more that we missed the caverns of Es Sumrah, some ten miles

south, described by Tristram. They are sand-stone quarries, resembling

those known as Solomon's quarries in Jerusalem, and have been worked so

as to resemble huge grottoes. Tristram counted fifty-four pillars still

left, and gives an interesting description of the traces of the wild

beasts by which they are at present tenanted, and of the bones of

camels, oxen, and sheep, which had been their victims.

The ride over the wide plain was exhilarating. Some of the party could

now press forward, as we were nearing a more frequented district, and

even the Lady was convinced that there was no need to spare the horses.

As we neared Jericho we found ourselves enveloped in a sudden

dust-storm, and had to give up certain schemes for botanising in the

neighbourhood. Even next morning we were warned to be off without delay,

in order to secure good weather for the ride to Jerusalem.

The last scene of our drama reminded us, effectually, that we had got

back to "the cab-shafts of civilisation," as represented by the Turkish

Government. We found the courtyard of the Inn of the Good Samaritan

crowded with soldiers, and the level ground all about with laden

donkeys; while excited fellahin shouted and cursed and quarrelled, or—a

sight rare and pathetic among Arabs—sat still. They were peasants from

the village of Bethany, returning home with corn from Moab, and

intercepted by the tax-gatherers, who saw an excellent opportunity for

their business. One poor wretch who had sought to escape them by making

his way round through the hills had been seized, and was now in custody

in the inn-yard. The worthy host was absent, but was efficiently

represented by his two little boys, who ought to have been playing

marbles or whipping tops, but were, instead, keeping up the character of

the establishment, and perfectly capable of dealing with the problems

before them, even to catching the chickens and turkeys, and shutting

them up that they might not be robbed by the soldiers, who were here to

see that the peasants were effectually robbed by the tax-gatherers,

while they, the little boys, in turn showed considerable experience in

robbing their guests.

From the point of view of the continuity of history and the

homogeneousness of humanity it is at least interesting to know that even

now, with all modern improvements of robbers licensed, uniformed, and

salaried, one may still go down from Jerusalem to Jericho and be quite

certain of falling among thieves.

But the storm did not come. The sun was bright, the air was clear, kind

friends awaited us in Jerusalem, and we were content to believe that the

desert of life has many oases:

"Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid

By the clear rill and palmy shade!"

INDEX

Abbasides, 110

'Abd el hamīd Bey, 104, 133

Abdallah, 182, 191

Abisha, 198

Abraham, 24, 177, 202, 209, 222

Abu-dis, 5

Acacias, 22, 253, 311 (_farnesiana_, _tortilis_, _seyal_)

Academy of France, 61, 62

Acre or Akko, 247, 252, 256

Acropolis, 238, 308

Adam Smith, Professor George, 72, 202, 204, 235

Adonis, 253

Adummim, 9

Adwân, 118

Ægean, 234

Agriculture, elementary, 125, 146

— English, 227

— German, 248

— scientific, 38

Ahab, 204, 205, 215

Ahaziah, 235

Ain Es-Shech, 160, 167

Ain Es-Sultan, 14

Ain El-Mastaba, 146

Ain et Tâbigha, 287 (_see_ Bethsaida)

Ain Fesail, 341

'Ajlûn, 100, 127

_Akal_, 4, 24, 48

Al Chirnik, 66

Alexander, 199

Alexander the Great, 207

Algeria, 279

Allah, 31, 76

Almonds, 171, 253

Altar, 232, 233, 239

Ammân, 94, 101, 105, 106, 107, 113, 116, 118, 119, 124, 125, 128, 129,

131, 132, 138, 139, 140, 141, 148, 301

Ammon, 126

_Ammoperdix heyi_, 33

Amphitheatre, 308, 315, 316

Amulets, Jewish, 13

_Anastatica_, 36

Anatolia, 104

'Anazeh, 96, 100

Anemones, 203, 228, 245, 253

Angel, 318

Animals, wild, 32, 33, 255

Anthony, 13

Antiques, 196, 231, 239, 240, 324

Antoninus Martyr, 271, 276

_Apocynacea_, 35

Apostles' Fountain, 8

Apples, 204

"Apple of Sodom," 36

Apricot-tree, 107, 108, 204

Aqueduct, 8, 235, 239, 286, 297, 329

Arabia, 43, 54

— Central, 7, 40

— Roman, 69

Arab steed, 5, 6

Arabs, 17, 48, 66

— characteristics, 112, 181, 182, 213, 251, 325, 333

Arabs, customs, 122, 296, 299

— effect of climate upon, 12

— good cooking among, 114, 237

— superstitions of, 66

— their dress, 24

— their indifference to surroundings, 47

— their lack of initiation, 12

— traditions and sayings of, 71, 75, 76, 82, 127, 284, 326, 332

Arak, 311

Arbutus, 253

Archæologist, 54, 55, 62, 80, 86, 101, 230, 232

Archelais, 338, 344

Archelaus, 338

Architecture, domestic, 16

— ecclesiastical, 68, 72

— Byzantine, 83

— Greek, 205, 282

— Sassanian, 84

Arculf, 258

Ard' Abdallah, 46

Arimathea, 104

Ark of the Covenant, 188

Arnon, 108, 126

Arrow-head, 91

Artemesium, 99

_Artemisia_, 128

Artist, the, 179

Arums, 91, 98, 253

Arvanitaki, M., 60

Ascalon, 199

Ashkenazim, 305

Asia Minor, 63, 84, 103

Asparagus, 278

Asphodel, 254

_Asplenium-trichomanes_, 253

Asses, 24

Assumptionist Order, 62

Assyrians, 206

Astarte, 233, 314

Augusta, 207

Augustus, 207, 343

Azalea, 253, 306

Azedarach (Pride of India), 311

Baal, 46, 68, 207, 216, 233

Ba'albek, 108, 127

Baana, 233

Bab-el Allah, 76

Babylon, 234

Bacilli (of tetanus), 9

— (cholera), 13

Backsheesh, 2, 22, 23, 31, 169, 193, 196, 201, 213

Baedeker, 55, 80, 140

"Baedeker," 179

Balak, 46

Balaam, 46

Balm, 127

Balsams, 13, 329

_Balsamum Gileadense_, 127

Bananas, 11, 19, 306

Baptism, 12

Barak, 266

Bar Cochba, 304

Barley, 278

Barnabé d'Alsace, P., 273

Basalt, 42, 71, 311

Bashan, 128

Basilica, 106, 208

Bas-reliefs, 84

Baths, 129, 209, 297, 305, 316

Battlefields, 227, 266, 279

Bawâbet Allâh, 76

Bean, 294

Bears, 185

Bedu cemetery, 119

— characteristics of, 23, 24, 55, 56, 67, 80, 164, 177, 291, 294, 296

— _versus_ Circassians, 106, 129

— customs, 135, 166

— funeral, 121, 122

— and Hosea, 152, 153

— pipe, 5

Bedu songs, poems, and folklore, 96, 97, 118, 292

— stories of, 291, 319

— superstitions among, 66

— traditions, 101

— women's dress, 120

(_See also_ Beni Sakr, Shech Muhammed, Beni Hasan)

Beersheba, 202

Beitin, 183, 185, 187

_Belad-er-Ruah_, 228

Belka, 104-108, 111, 126, 127, 128, 155, 163, 170, 176, 334

Benedictine convent, 8, 255, 276

Beni Hasan, 135, 312

Beni Jafn, 85

Beni Sakr, 71, 83

Benjamin, 179, 183

— of Tudela, 199

Besan, 284, 306, 310, 314, 315, 316, 317, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328, 329

Bethabara, 312

Bethany, 5, 8

Bethel, 185, 194, 220

Bethlehem, 45, 160, 194

Bethsaida, 287, 301

Bethshan, 227

Beth-shean, 314, 315

Biever, Father, 55, 287, 288, 292

Bint Shech Luth, 10

Birds, 11, 17, 18, 33, 34, 43, 191, 227, 246, 254, 296, 331, 332, 341

Bir es Zet, 185, 192

Bishlik, 337

Bishopric, 54, 55, 158, 210, 304

Blackberries, 125

Blackbirds, 17, 34

Bliss, Dr, 53, 55, 57, 87

Blue (colour used as protection against Evil One), 4, 66

Boar, 32, 255

Boaz, 239

Bones of babies, 232, 239

Boniface of Ragusa, 226

Bosphorus, 63

Bougainvilea, 252, 285

Bowen, 195 (Bishop of Sierra Leone)

Box Colony, 197

Box-tree, 23

Bridge, 22, 23, 28, 31, 141, 164, 168, 170, 307

Brook Cherith, 15, 34, 175

Brothers of St John the Divine, 263, 269

Browning, 51, 78

Brünnow, Professor, 54, 85

Bulbul, 296

Bulrushes, 331

Burckhardt, 108, 109, 110, 111, 155

Burial monument, 46

Burton, Sir Richard, 87

Byzantine architecture, 83

— churches, 70, 110

— priest, 63

_Caccabis saxatilis_, 33

Cactus, 226

Cæsar, 207

Cæsarea, 199

Caifa, 247

Cairns, 90

Calcium, 10

Calf, 185

Callirhoe, 45, 306

_Calotropis procera_, 36

Camels, 12, 24, 38, 64, 66, 146, 263

— in their natural surroundings, 65

— droppings, 41, 75

Camel's hair, 4, 24, 293

Campanulas, 278

Campus Legionis, 235

Cana, 270, 271, 272 (_see_ Kefr Kennâ)

Canaan, 232

Canaanites, buildings of, 233

Candlestick, seven-branched, 187

Capernaum, 297, 298, 301

Capers, 278

Capitals, 56, 87, 119, 120, 142, 189, 211, 214, 298, 305, 316

_Capoéta_, 290

Caravans, 23, 74, 75, 76, 149

Carmel, Mount, 190, 202, 228, 237, 244, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251, 252,

255, 266

Carmelites, 249, 257

Carnelian, 212

Carobs, 204, 253

Carpets, 156

Carts, 104, 105

Casale St Giles, 186

Castal, 70, 71, 94

Castle, Arab, 278

— Arabian, 233

— Belvoir, 310

— at Castal, 95

— of Crusaders, 12, 185, 264

— of Es-Salt, 158

— mediæval, 9

— of Mshatta, 79

— of Lazarus, 8

— Saracenic, 70

Cat, 25, 32, 251

Cathedral, 57, 207, 210

Caucasus, 103, 104

Cave, 16, 101, 203, 285

Cemetery, 119, 224, 272, 274

Cenotaph, 101

Censer, 240

Centaureas, 254, 332

Central Arabia, 7, 40

Central Asia, 76

Central Palestine, 219

Chameleons, 278

Chapel (Rijal el-'Amud), 190

— of St Simon Stock, 25

Charcoal-burners, 150, 153

Chariot, 205, 314