FROM JERUSALEM TO JERICHO.
A Man “Fell among Thieves”—The Way still Lined with Thieves—Guards
Necessary—Across the Mount of Olives—Bethany and its
Memories—David’s Flight from Jerusalem—“Halt! Halt!”—Seized with
Terror—Splendid Horsemanship—“A Hard Road to Trabble”—Inn where
the Good Samaritan Left the Jew—Brigands on the Way-side—Robbers
and Guards in Collusion—Topography of the Country—Dangers and
Difficulties—Perilous Places Passed—Plain of Jericho—Writhing in
Agony—The City of Palms—Trumps of Joshua—Jericho in the Time of
Herod—Iron-Fingered Fate—Jericho at Present—A Divine Region—Pool
of Moses—Antony and Cleopatra.
I READ in my Bible that a certain man went down from Jerusalem to
Jericho, and fell among thieves. When this announcement was made, I
am sure that every ear was all attention, for the people naturally
expected some startling revelation to follow. And why? Because the way
was then, and is now, lined with thieves, insomuch that it would be
impossible, to-day for any Frank (Arabs call white men Franks) to go
unprotected from Jerusalem to Jericho without falling among thieves.
This danger is recognized to such an extent that the government (the
Turkish government of course) keeps a garrison of Turkish soldiers
in Jerusalem, whose sole business is to conduct tourists to Jericho,
to the Jordan, and over into Arabia. And the tourist is compelled to
employ these government guards. Oh well, you are not legally bound,
but if you go on this trip without these extra guards, and are killed
on the way, you are not allowed to sue the government. But if you
take the guards, and are killed, after you are buried you may sue the
government twice, if you like. I am not easily frightened, myself, but
I took the guards on Johnson’s account, for I saw plainly he did not
want to die here. I honestly believe that it would almost kill Johnson
to die anywhere! So with four government guards, all well-equipped with
broad-swords, bowie-knives, and javelins, and all splendidly mounted,
we start off for an Eastern trip.
As we cross the Mount of Olives, a sacred feeling comes over us, for we
know that every foot of this road was once familiar to our Divine Lord.
It was here He prayed in the garden. It was here He was betrayed with a
kiss. It was on this Mountain He cursed the fruitless fig-tree. It was
from here, also, that He beheld and wept over the sinful city. Passing
over the brow of Olivet, we come, on its eastern slope, to that sweet
little village where Jesus often spent the night. Here He wept with
the sisters who wept, and raised the brother who was dead. Ah! blessed
household was that where Mary and Martha and Lazarus lived. Blessed
household is that to-day, whose spiritual atmosphere is attractive
to the Son of God. Oh, what a joyous time there must have been with
those two sisters and their brother—“when the Lord to Bethany came!”
Darkness fled at His approach. The shadows lifted when He came. O
gentle reader, make your home a Bethany, and Jesus, who forsook the
city for a quiet, country village, will take up His abode with you! He
will weep with you when you weep. He will revive your hopes when they
are buried.
[Illustration: MOUNT OF OLIVES.]
Continuing our journey eastward, we soon find ourselves in a deep and
narrow ravine. The floor of this wady, or ravine, is twelve or fifteen
feet wide, while its rocky sides lift themselves up very steeply for
three or four hundred feet, getting wider and yet wider towards the
top. I now turn to my Bible, and find that once upon a time David ruled
and reigned in Jerusalem. But Absalom rebelled against his father and
drove the King from the city. Fleeing towards Jericho, David passed
through this ravine. Then Shimei, one of Absalom’s servants, who
was also one of the household of Saul, ran along on the edge of the
precipice and cursed David, and rolled great stones down the steep
bluff, trying to kill him, saying to him: “Come out, come out, thou
bloody man, and thou man of Belial!”
[Illustration: AN ARAB HORSEMAN.]
Passing on through this historic wady, we come now to where it opens
wide its broad arms and forms a splendid valley of a hundred acres or
more. “Halt! Halt!” cries one of the guards. “Halt!” Every horse is
motionless. Every man is seized with terror. We expect the robbers to
attack us at any moment. But we soon dismiss all hope on that line,
for we see we are to be deprived of that privilege. Our guards simply
want to exhibit to us their splendid feats of horsemanship. And ah
me! how graceful they are. Each rider seems a part of his Arab horse.
The guards rush at, and fight each other, to show us how skilled they
are in this method of warfare, and how impossible it would be for us
to resist, or escape from an attacking party of Bedouins. Each horse
feels his keeping. He moves like a bundle of steel springs. It seems
that he will leave the earth and fly through the air. These superb
horses remind us of the beautiful story we have all read in the Arabian
Nights, about those splendid Arabian mares that used to prance through
the streets of Damascus, until break of day, and “then fly away towards
Bagdad on enchanted carpets.”
Leaving here, the way is so rough that I can but say to my companions:
“Pull off your coats, boys, pull off your coats, and roll up your
sleeves, ‘for Jordan am a hard road to trabble.’” No saying was ever
more true: _Jordan am a hard road to travel_!
We are now stopped for luncheon at a Kahn, or inn, half way from
Jerusalem to Jericho, about eleven miles from either place. Once
more I read in my Bible that a certain man went down from Jerusalem
to Jericho and fell among thieves. The thieves beat the man, dragged
him out to one side of the road, and left him for dead. But the Good
Samaritan came along, took the poor Jew who had been beaten, put him
on his donkey and carried him to an inn, and paid the inn-keeper to
take care of him. Now, reader, what will you think when I tell you
that I suppose I am stopping at the same inn where the Good Samaritan
left the unfortunate Jew? Let me take you into my confidence and tell
you why I think so. The road from Jerusalem to Jericho is the same now
that it was 2,000 years ago. We know this from the remains of the old
Roman aqueduct along the roadside. There is only one fountain on this
road, and that one is close by this Kahn. I take it that every Kahn, or
hotel, must, of necessity, be built near some fountain. Now if the road
was the same in our Lord’s time as it is to-day, and if then, as now,
there was only one fountain on the way, and if the inn, or Kahn, spoken
of in the Bible was built by a fountain, then we are forced to the
conclusion that it was near the spring from which we have just drunk.
[Illustration: A BEDOUIN.]
Be this as it may, we can not tarry here; we must continue our eastward
journey. About an hour after leaving the inn of Good Samaritan fame, we
see several half-naked, ill-favored, hard-featured, cadaverous-looking
Bedouins on the hillsides near the road. They are Brigands, highwaymen,
and their very appearance is enough to make a civilized man shudder.
They are wearing sandals. Their legs are wrapped with straw and bark of
trees, which is tied on with rawhide strings. They have coarse, filthy
clothes loosely drawn around the lower part of their bodies. Their arms
and breasts and chins and cheeks are tattooed in figures of eagles and
serpents and wild beasts. They are tall, lean, swarthy, snuff-colored,
grim-visaged, wrinkled-browed, shaggy-haired, and fiery-eyed. Around
each one is a leathern girdle, looped here and there with gay colored
ribbons or rags. Each belt holds a bowie-knife and two horse-pistols,
and supports a broad-sword suspended from it. In one hand the Brigand
holds a javelin, while the other grasps a long, single-barreled,
flint-and-steel shot-gun. They live in the clefts of the rocks—in the
dens and caves of the earth, and the cave-scent clings to them still.
These are the robbers against whom we have to be protected. They are
numerous along this route, and I repeat that without the government
guards it would be impossible to escape them. And yet our guards are
a part and parcel of the same clan, who would have robbed us if we
had not employed them. We pay the guards so much, and it is a fact
that they divide spoils with the Brigands! It is a kind of division
of labor. The robbers infest the road, making the way dangerous,
so that travelers will be compelled to employ protectors, and then
the protectors and robbers share and share alike in the profits of
the business. It is strange, and yet as true as strange, that the
government itself is in league with highwaymen! A certain sheik, here,
pays the Turkish government so much money each year for the privilege
of robbing travelers! If Peter the Hermit could come forth from his
tomb, he would speak these words in Europe: “where hearing would hatch
them.” I am sure that his words against the Turkish government would
“murder as they fell.” This is enough to arouse another “Crusade for
Freedom in Freedom’s Holy Land.” “How long, O Cataline, wilt thou thus
continue to abuse our patience!”
The country has been dreary and the road rough from the beginning of
the journey, but it grows worse as we continue. We now see nothing but
a succession of deep gorges, stony ridges, and rocky peaks. Imagine
a thousand tea-cups turned bottom upwards, separated by a thousand
deep wadys and narrow ravines, the cups, some of them, rising to the
height of several hundred feet, and the yawning chasms sinking to an
enormous depth, and you have a picture of what now greets my eyes. I
suppose that this mountain side once supported a luxuriant forest, and
that afterwards it rewarded the yeoman’s toil with abundant harvests.
But ages ago the hillside ditches were neglected; hence gutters were
formed, the soil was washed off, fertility gave way to barrenness,
beauty to deformity. Of course the ravines have from age to age washed
deeper and deeper, until now nothing is left but deep, winding chasms,
bare and desolate hills. The road winds around here and there like a
serpent. Now it hangs high on the bluff upon a narrow shelf of rock,
which projects over the valley. Johnson and Hamlin dismount. They know
that one false step would dash them to death. With more of daring than
wisdom I shout to them:
“I wish your horses swift and sure of foot.
And so I do commend you to their backs.”
[Illustration: VIEW ON ROAD FROM JERUSALEM TO JERICHO.]
We now descend into the valley, only to rise again, and skirt along the
bluff where the narrow road is cut into the rock.
But, praise the Lord, perilous places are past, and the scene changes.
We pass out of the Wady Kelt, and lo, the broad valley, the sacred
river, and the Salt Sea burst upon our vision! These things within
themselves are not so attractive to the eye, but, compared with the
hill-country behind us, they are as beautiful as “apples of gold in
baskets of silver.” For ten miles above the Dead Sea the Jordan valley
is fourteen miles wide, and is divided by the river which flows through
its centre. This part of the valley west of the river is called the
Plain of Jericho, while that portion beyond the river is known as the
Plain of Moab. So the valley, practically level, stretches out for
seven miles on either side of the river. Then on either side of the
river, seven miles from it, and parallel with it, there rises up a
frowning wall of rock whose savage grandeur might well typify ruin and
desolation. For ages the winter torrents have been coursing down their
sides, until now they are seamed and furrowed, cut and scarred in every
possible manner, and the mountains seem to writhe in pain and agony!
But we have left the hills. We are now in the valley, and here before
us, seven miles from the river, at the edge of the plain and at the
base of the mountain, stands Jericho, old hoary-headed Jericho—“The
City of Palm Trees.” She is venerable, indeed! It was Jericho that
Moses looked down upon from the heights of Nebo. It was Jericho that
furnished shelter to the “young men” who came from Israel’s camp to
“spy out the country.” It was Jericho that Joshua first attacked “after
crossing over the Jordan.” Her fortifications then were strong, her
walls high. Her people thought “Our castle’s strength will laugh a
siege to scorn.” But the bold spirit of Joshua was undaunted. It was
God’s to command and his to obey. He surrounded the city. He sounded
the tocsin. The walls fell! Now, reader, let us realize that when
God commands you or me to do anything, we should move forward though
confronted by walls of adamant! What is opposition to us? We move in
obedience to the behest of Him who could besiege a city with “trumps of
Joshua,” and route a host with the “lamps of Gideon!”
After Joshua’s day, Herod the Great rebuilt the city on a grander scale
than ever. Stately castles were erected, marble palaces arose on every
hand. Great wealth was lavished upon the city. She was robed in rich
apparel and decked with “rubies rare.” Here Herod held high carnival.
Here he ruled and reveled, and
“All went merry as a marriage Bell.”
But Time has dealt harshly with Jericho. Fickle Fortune has played
her false. She has passed through all the vicissitudes of fortune.
Iron-fingered Fate has torn off her royal robes, and she sits to-day
clad in sackcloth and ashes. “Gray lizards, those heirs of ruin, of
sepulchres, and desolation, glide in and out among the rocks, or lie
still and sun themselves. Where prosperity has reigned and fallen;
where glory has flamed and gone out; where beauty has dwelt and passed
away; where gladness was, and sorrow is; where the pomp of life has
been, and silence and death brood in high places,—there this reptile
makes his home and mocks at human vanity. His coat is the color of
ashes, and ashes are the symbol of hopes that have perished; of
aspirations that have come to naught; of loves that are buried. If
he could speak he would say, ‘Build temples: I will lord it in their
ruins; build palaces: I will inhabit them; erect empires: I will
inherit them; bury your beautiful: I will watch the worms at their
work; and you who stand here and moralize over me: I will crawl over
your corpse at last.’”
The locations of ancient and of modern Jericho are not exactly the
same, though not far apart. The present village is inhabited by about
600 Arabs who are huddled together in less than seventy-five houses.
Houses, did I say? They are unworthy of the name. They are wretched
huts, constructed, for the most part, of rough, unhewn, undressed
stone. As these stones are put together without the use of mortar, the
walls are broad at the bottom, and get narrower and a little narrower
towards the top, which is about six feet from the ground. In each of
the four corners of this rock pen, is driven a stake which is usually
about eight feet high, or some two feet higher than the top of the
wall. Long, straight poles reach from one stake to another, then other
poles are placed like lattice work all across the top of the pen. A
thick layer of grass and weeds and cane tops having been placed on
these cross poles, dirt, or earth, is then piled up to a depth of from
eighteen to twenty-four inches. Thus the roof is formed. The floor
is more simple in its construction, as it is composed of the native
earth or bare rock. Doors are simply gaps in the wall. Windows and
chimneys are unknown, and indeed unnecessary—air-holes are abundant,
and the smoke can escape anywhere. The rude houses are separated from
each other, and the whole village is surrounded, by a low, rough hedge
of dry, thorny bushes. This is a fair representation of the present
architecture of Jericho. And the inhabitants are as lazy and trifling,
as filthy and ignorant, as the huts they live in would naturally
suggest. The children dress in sunshine, while the parents hide their
nakedness with rags and loose wraps of cloth.
The Plain of Jericho, seven by ten miles in extent, was at one time,
according to Josephus, “a divine region, covered with beautiful
gardens, and groves of palms of all kinds, the whole splendidly
watered.” The water supply, no doubt, came then, as it comes now, from
the Sultan’s Spring, or, as it is sometimes called, the Spring of
Elisha. This bold and beautiful fountain bursts forth from the foot of
the Judean hills some two miles from Jericho, and, flowing across the
plain in a southwesterly direction, empties into the Jordan. From the
main channel, a large number of small streams flow out in different
directions into the valley, and thus fructify a considerable portion
of the plain. The half cultivated patches we find here now, though
only partially irrigated, are exceedingly rich and productive. The
climate in this valley is suitable to the growth of almost any tropical
or warm-natured plant. But the meagre crops are confined to wheat,
millet, tobacco, cucumbers, and beans. On this plain, near the Wady
Kelt, through which we entered the valley, is a large stone reservoir,
471 feet by 564 feet, called the Pool of Moses. Going across the plain
to this mammoth pool, is an old aqueduct which evidently supplied it,
at one time, with water. Then smaller aqueducts carried the water to
all parts of the valley. This pool, and these aqueducts, were probably
built by Mark Antony just before he gave this region of country to
Cleopatra, or by Herod the Great, whose base life was ended at Jericho
in a fit of agony. By this means of irrigation the valley became what
it might be made again—“the glory of the Jordan.”