FROM DAMASCUS TO THE SEA OF GALILEE.
Sick, nigh unto Death—“Night Bringeth out the Stars”—Mount
Hermon and the Transfiguration—Beautiful Camp-Ground—Amnon, the
Reliable—“Thou Art Peter”—Fountain of the Jordan—Slaughter of
the Buffaloes—Crossing into Galilee—Dan—Abraham’s Visit—A
Fertile Valley—Wooden Plows—A Bedouin Village—Costumes of Eden—A
Gory Field—Sea of Galilee—Sacred Memories—The Evening Hour—A
Soliloquy—Bathing—Sailing—Fishing.
I HAD not been feeling well for some days and while at Damascus I was
taken ill with varioloid fever. This was just twelve days after I was
directly exposed to the small-pox and the cholera. The varioloid, with
which I was suffering, was so severe that my friends really feared
it would develop into small-pox proper. It was a dark hour for the
sufferer. The shadows of twilight—the twilight of life, as well as of
day, seemed to be gathering around me. Even then I could say: “I have
lived, and have not lived in vain: my mind may lose its force, my blood
its fire, and my frame perish even in conquering pain, but there is
that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I
expire.”
One night when I was suffering most intensely, when my brow was all
scorched with fever and my body racked with pain, Mr. Hamlin, whom I
have already mentioned, and whose income is more than a dollar an hour,
came into my room and lay down on the side of the bed. With his hand
on my brow he said: “Whittle, we are fellow travelers for this journey
through the Holy Land; we are friends for the journey of life, and
now that you are ill, I want to say that you shall have my sympathy,
my presence and my purse. I am your friend and helper. You may have
cholera, small-pox, or what not, yet I will stand by you to the last. I
shall not leave your bedside until you are well, or as long as you need
a friend.” I said to myself: “Truly, night bringeth out the stars,” and
“every cloud has a silver lining.” I fell asleep; the fever cooled off,
and in a few days “Richard was himself again.” Now that it is over, I
am glad that I was ill. It revealed to me the character of the man with
whom I am traveling. It is not an unpleasant thing, when one is ten or
twelve thousand miles from home, to have a friend talk to him in that
way. Hamlin is a whole-souled fellow.
The second night after leaving Damascus the “Equestrian Pilgrims”
camped at the foot of Mount Hermon, whose regal brow was crowned
with purest snow. It was a glorious sight to see that lonely, lordly
mountain, bathed in the golden splendor of the setting sun. One almost
ceases to wonder that it has become an object of vigorous adoration.
The word Hermon itself means “the holy,” “the unapproachable.” The Arab
word for Hermon means “the old,” “the grey-bearded,” “the venerable.”
The inspired writers of old often refer to Hermon. It appears to have
formed the northern boundaries of the children of Israel. Solomon
speaks of Hermon as the haunt of wild beasts, and strangely enough
my guide-book says, and the natives here confirm the statement, that
bears, wolves and foxes still abound here. The Psalmist says brotherly
love is as pleasant as the “dew of Hermon;” as the “dew that falleth on
Mount Zion.” I have been much impressed with heavy dews since coming
into this Eastern country. I have seen the dew falling before the sun
goes down in the evening, and for an hour after the sun rises in the
morning. In this country it rains six months, and is dry six months.
During the dry season vegetation withers and all nature suffers for
moisture. Every night the falling dew is like a gentle shower of rain,
refreshing the parched grass and “reviving the vigor of vegetation.”
But for these heavy dews nothing would grow, and the people could
scarcely exist. How impressive it must have been to these people,
therefore, when David said: “Brotherly love is as pleasant as the dew
of Hermon, as the dew that falleth on Mount Zion.” God hasten the day
when “brotherly love shall abound:” when men shall say: “Behold how
good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.”
Hermon is, in round numbers, ten thousand feet high and twenty-nine
miles long. Its base is rich, and, for this country, well cultivated.
Higher up it supports several large almond groves, the fruit of which
is most excellent. It is generally conceded by scholars that one of
the slopes of Hermon was the scene of the Transfiguration. By some
this honor was once claimed for Mount Tabor, but this idea has been
exploded. It is impossible that Christ should have been Transfigured
on Mount Tabor, for Josephus tells us that Tabor was at that time
crowned with a city, and we know that the Transfiguration occurred, not
in the midst of human habitations, but out in the solitude of nature.
The last time we see our blessed Lord before the Transfiguration was
at Caesarea Philippi, near the base of Hermon. “And after six days
Jesus taketh Peter, James, and John, his brother, and bringeth them up
into a high mountain apart and was there transfigured before them; His
face did shine as the sun and His garment was white as the light. And,
behold, there appeared unto them Moses and Elias, talking with Him.
Then answered Peter and said unto Jesus: ‘Lord, it is good for us to be
here: if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles—one for Thee,
one for Moses, and one for Elias.’”
We were high on the slopes of Hermon. It was to me a sacred place.
When the evening hour came, I stole away from my companions. I went
out all alone “where nought but the gleaming stars looked down upon me
in silence,” where I could commune with my own heart, with nature and
“nature’s God.” I gave myself up to meditation and prayer. I said:
“Can it be possible that I am now standing on, or near, the spot where
the divinity of my Lord revealed itself; where He wrapped Himself with
celestial glory as with a garment; where the veil was drawn aside, and
Peter, James and John caught a glimpse of that other world and the
splendor thereof?” and an unearthly feeling possessed me—I verily felt
that I was standing on the Mount of spiritual Transfiguration. For me
the scene was re-enacted before my eyes. To me the Master’s face did
shine as the sun, and His garment was white as light. I could almost
hear the Father’s voice as He said: “This is my beloved Son in whom
I am pleased; hear ye Him.” I felt like Peter that I could say, “It
is good to be here;” I felt like Paul that I was caught up into the
third heaven; I felt like Bunyan that I was standing on the top of the
Delectable Mountains, viewing the City of God and listening to the
music of angels. I felt like
“Some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm,
Around whose base, while rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.”
We folded our tents in the morning, to pitch them at night twenty miles
away, by the side of a flowing fountain, in the midst of an olive grove
and amongst blooming oleanders. There was beauty, there was poetry,
in this place. It was so sweetly calm and serenely beautiful, that
we were strongly tempted to “lengthen the cords and strengthen the
stakes” of our tents and remain here a few days. But we were blessed
with perfect weather, and therefore thought best to press towards “that
summer land of the vine and fig tree.”
Next morning “Amnon,” the reliable, the sure-footed, was pronounced
“ready.” I vaulted into the saddle and rode away. Evening brought
us to Caesarea Philippi, now called Banias. Little—practically
nothing—remains of the stupendous temple that Herod the Great built
here. The guide-book says, and the pilgrims believe, that this was the
precise place where Christ said: “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I
will build my church.” But turning to Matt. 16:13, I read, “When Jesus
came unto the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, He asked His Disciples,” etc.
Again, Mark 8:27, “And Jesus went out, and His disciples, into the
towns of Caesarea Philippi, and by the way He asked His disciples
saying: ‘Whom do men say that I am?’” From this we see that Caesarea
Philippi was a district containing more towns than one. True, this was
the principal city of the district, but no man has the moral right to
select a certain town and say, “_This is the place_.” Nor do I care to
know the precise spot. It is enough for me to know that Peter said:
“Thou art the Christ.” Jesus replied: “Thou art Petra (a rock), and
upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall
not prevail against it.” There is no passage in all the Bible that is
so much discussed as this one, for this scripture is claimed as the
foundation of the Romish Church. True, the “gates of hell” have not
prevailed against “papal power,” but the _power of God_ will prevail
against it, and the world shall yet know that Christ, and not Peter, is
the chief “corner stone;” that Christ, and not Mary, is the sinner’s
Savior.
One hour from Banias brings us to the fountain of the Jordan—the
birth place of the sacred river. The spring is large, the water deep
and beautifully clear. We could not resist the temptation; we had to
bathe in the “fountain of the gods.” We could count the pebbles in the
bottom of the swiftly flowing stream. With our eyes we could follow its
windings through the fertile valley, by noticing the flowers and green
bushes fringing its banks. Near this fountain we rode close upon a herd
of buffaloes before they saw us. There were twelve in the bunch and a
dozen of them got away—we killed the others.
We now cross into Galilee. High on the hill, and before us, as we face
the west, is the city of Dan. O Dan, what a history thou hast had! What
memories gather around thy ancient, thy venerable head! As thy name
indicates, thou wast once a judge. Thy sons were born to positions
of honor. But Ichabod!—“thy glory has departed!” Thou art no longer
a sightly city, but a ruined and disheveled village. Thou no longer
rulest, but art now thyself ruled with a rod of iron.
“There is the moral of all human tales;
’Tis but the same rehearsed of the past,
First Freedom, and then glory—when that fails,
Wealth, vice, corruption—barbarism at last!”
In olden times Dan was an important place—the most important city in
north Galilee. We often see the expression, “from Dan to Beersheba,”
which means from the extreme north to the extreme south of Palestine, a
distance of one hundred and sixty-five miles. “From Dan to Beersheba”
meant to Jews of old just what “from Maine to Mexico” and “from New
York to San Francisco” means to Americans—the uttermost limits of the
country.
I give in the following lines an account of a nocturnal visit that
Abraham, the father of the faithful, made to this city of Dan. “And
when Abram heard that his brother was taken captive, he armed his
trained servants, born in his own house, three hundred and eighteen,
and he pursued them unto Dan. And he divided himself against them, he
and his servants by night, and smote them, and pursued into Hobah,
which is on the left hand of Damascus. And he brought back all the
goods, and also his brother Lot and his goods, and the women also and
the people.”
Coming into Galilee, we find ourselves at once in a beautiful valley
lying between two mountain ridges running north and south. The valley
is apparently ten miles wide and fifteen to eighteen miles long. The
soil is as black as a crow and fertile as the alluvial deposits of the
Nile. It is so rich that it looks as if it would sprout a shadow—I
am afraid to stand still long in a place. Only small patches of this
fertile valley are cultivated and these in the most primitive and
imperfect manner. The land is scratched over with wooden plows, drawn,
as I have sometimes seen, by a donkey and a skeleton of a milk cow
yoked together, or by a camel and an ox harnessed side by side. Thus
they tickle the soil which in turn smiles with a sickly, sentimental
harvest, and the people live in filth, penury, and poverty; whereas,
if they had western vim and push and shove and energy, if they had
improved implements of agriculture and would send them deep into the
ground and turn up the soil, “the desert would blossom as the rose,”
and these trifling sons of want would soon have to “pull down their old
barns and build greater ones.” Peace and plenty would usurp the place
now held by pinching poverty, and Jerusalem once more would stand
“Girt by her theatre of hills, and would reap
Her corn, and wine, and oil; and plenty would leap
To laughing life, with her redundant horn.”
Here and there, scattered over the plain, we see a Bedouin village.
Village did I say? Yes, a village; though there is not a log or a
plank, or a board, or a shingle, or a stone to be seen. One of these
villages consists of 300 to 500 Bedouins, living in 75 to 100 tents
huddled together without law or order. The Bedouins take the bark
of the papyrus plant and plait or weave it (by hand of course) into
a coarse, rough matting with which they make their houses. The same
material serves as roof, walls and floor. These sons of the desert hide
their nakedness with robes made of camel’s hair, and their children
dress as did Adam or Eve before fig-leaf dresses came into fashion.
In the southern part of the valley is Lake Huleh, or the waters of
Merom. Some years ago the plain surrounding this lake was a bloody
battle field. Six or eight kings “went out, they and all their hosts
with them, much people, even as the sand that is upon the sea shore in
multitude, with horses and chariots very many. And when all these kings
were met together, they came and pitched their tents at the waters of
Merom to fight against Israel. And the Lord said unto Joshua, be not
afraid because of them; for to-morrow I will deliver them up all slain
before Israel; thou shalt hough their horses and burn their chariots
with fire. So Joshua came, and all the people of war with him, against
them by the waters of Merom suddenly and they fell upon them. And the
Lord delivered them into the hand of Israel.” Lest some people should
suppose that I witnessed that battle, I will state that Joshua lived
some 1400 years before Christ.
[Illustration: SEA OF GALILEE.]
Long before night our tents were stretched on the shore of the Sea of
Galilee. This is the most hallowed spot to which we have yet come. No
place we have visited is so fraught with holy memories. Arriving here,
I dismounted, went into my tent, and there for the first time knelt
down and kissed the earth. I knew it was a sacred place. Around this
lake our Blessed Lord spent most of His public life. Every thing here
wears a holy aspect; every thing is suggestive of the Savior. When I
see the men in their row boats, toiling at their nets, I am naturally
reminded of the miraculous draught of fishes, of the worldly occupation
of those whom Jesus, walking on these very shores, called to follow
Him, saying: “I will make you fishers of men.” Probably the ancestors
of these half-clad people before me were among the “multitude whom
Jesus fed with a few loaves and fishes” on the opposite bank of the
lake, or among that other multitude who thronged the beach where I now
stand, and, pressing the water’s edge, listened with bated breath to
Christ as He spake from Simon’s boat, built, no doubt, like these on
the lake.
Before me are the sites of three ancient cities whose very names have
become a reproach; and who can wonder! They rest under the direct
curse of Him who said: “Woe unto thee, Chorazin! Woe unto thee,
Bethsaida! for I say unto you that in the day of judgment it shall
be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon than for you, Chorazin and
Bethsaida!—and thou, Capernaum, which art exalted unto Heaven, shalt
be brought down to hell.” Yea, truly; Capernaum, the home of Christ,
has been cast down to hell. The city rejected Christ and ever since
that time the curse of God has rested upon it. A word to the wise is
sufficient. I will therefore only add; reader, be sure you do not
reject Him of whom Moses and the prophets did write.
Standing on the western edge of the lake, near the northern end, and
looking in a north-westerly direction, I see, about 300 yards away, a
man plowing with a wooden plow, drawn by a milk cow and a donkey. In
the same field, and close by the plowman, is another man with a basket
on his arm full of seed corn (wheat) which he is strewing broadcast
over the ground. This reminds me that once upon a time our Lord was
standing on these shores, near where I now am. A great multitude of
people had assembled to listen to His gracious words. The press was
so great that our Lord stepped into a little boat and pushed it out a
little way on the water. As the people stood on the shore Christ sat
in the boat and preached to them. He began His sermon, “The sower went
forth to sow. Some seed fell by the wayside, some among thorns and some
in the rocks.” This scene was being re-enacted before my own eyes. How
delightful are such experiences! How it carries one back to ancient
days! This lake furnished the subject for the parable of the net. And
on the left are the hills and fields whence was drawn the comparison
to the leaven, the hidden treasure, the pearl of great price. Around
this lake the lilies grew and the ravens fed, which the Lord bade us
remember.
Galilee is a beautiful lake. It is ten to twelve miles long and six to
eight miles wide. The rocky walls surrounding the lake rise, in some
places, several hundred feet above its surface. Most of the country
around is rough and barren. A few fig and other fruit and shade trees
grow near the water’s edge.
But if you would see the beauty—the poetry of Galilee, wait until
the glare of day has mellowed into twilight; wait until a holy calm
broods over the lake and its surface has been transformed into a silver
mirror. Then the great stars above you gleam like nuggets of gold in
the blue depths below. Now go “silently and alone” and walk on the
beach. You find that distance is annihilated. The lake may be six,
sixty, or six hundred miles wide—you can not tell—you do not care.
You are not thinking of time or distance, either. The beauty of the
scene rivets your attention. Sacred memories crowd upon the mind, and
you can but say: “Oh! Galilee! Galilee! For thousands of years have thy
pure waters been surging against these historic shores—these sacred
shores. Upon thy watery surface Jesus did walk, as though it had been
marble pavement. When the storm did come and thou wert lashed into rage
and fury, when thy waves were tossed like mountains to the sky; when
the frail bark was threatened, and human life endangered; the Son of
God whispered: ‘Peace, be still.’ The winds obeyed Him and thy waves,
O Galilee, crouched at His feet. For these reasons thou hast become a
holy—a sacred sea.
“And now I, even I, a humble disciple of that same Jesus, am permitted
to walk on thy shores and sail on thy waters.”
Being unable to break the chain of fascination which binds us to this
place, we have remained here several days. Swimming in Galilee is truly
delightful. We have had several messes of fish from the lake, but as
yet we have caught no fish with a “silver coin in his mouth.”
Tiberias, the only place of importance on the lake, we find to be a
walled city of some 5,000 souls, the most of whom are Jews. We find
much in the city to attract our attention, but nothing to excite
admiration. The Jews living here are a reproach to their race. They are
as sorry looking specimens of humanity as one can reasonably expect
to find this side of the grave. They are as filthy as monkeys, ugly
as gorillas and as poor as Job’s turkey. Extravagant expressions are
usually out of place, but I am honestly of the opinion that these
people are as poor as a church mouse or a Baptist preacher.
Most of our time here has been spent, not in Tiberias, but in visiting
the mouth of Jordan and some ruined cities around the lake, in
sailing, swimming and fishing, in reading the Bible and talking of
Christ, its central figure.