CHAPTER II.—Tiberias to Hâsbeyâ.
Tiberias was our last halting place. After a grateful dip in the buoyant lake waters we leave early next day for Safed, the highest inhabited place in Galilee, said to be the “city on a hill that cannot be hid,” for it is situated so high that it is visible far and wide, but the term ‘city on a hill’ might almost equally well apply to Bethlehem, the “city of our Lord.” In the distance the snow-white houses of Safed glisten on the dark mountain side like diamonds set in the breast-plate of a mighty giant. Leaving the Latin Convent of Tiberias, we ride along the shore of the Sea of Galilee for about an hour, until we reach Medjil, or Magdala, the home of the Magdalene, now a collection of wretched mud hovels, then across the fertile but neglected plain of Gennesaret, in the midst of which we see a fine stone circular fountain, evidently once the centre of a great city, considered by some to be Capernaum; it is now overgrown with vegetation and the centre of a wilderness, no other trace of a town near. We pause awhile to think of those great cities which in our Saviour’s time lined the shores of the lake, and see how thoroughly their doom has been fulfilled. Tyre still exists as a place to dry nets on, and Sidon as a habitation for fishermen; but Chorazin, Capernaum, the two Bethsaidas and the other great lake cities—where are they? Their very sites are not a certainty, and on the lake, where the Romans once fought a great naval battle with the Jews, are now only three wretched fishing boats, in one of which we take a voyage. They were “exalted to heaven,” they are indeed “brought down to hell.” We leave the sites of these formerly great cities on our right, and soon after pass along sloping ground where there is much grass (here, in all probability, Christ miraculously fed the multitude). A mountain near by was in the middle ages known as Mensa, alluding perhaps to the place where our Saviour made a table for the multitude in the wilderness. We lunch at Ain-et-Tabighah, a pleasant spring in the mountains, said to be the site of Bethsaida (there are ruins near by), and starting again skirt the Wady-el-Hamân, or Valley of Doves, and soon after find ourselves high up in the mountains of Naphtali, near Safed; we ascend the hill behind the city to the ruins of the old Crusaders’ Castle, whence we obtain one of the finest views of Palestine. To the east we look over the Sea of Galilee, across Basan and the wild Hauran, almost into the Arabian Desert, taking in, in the far south-east, the mountains of Moab and Ammon, with a long stretch of the Jordan Valley—on the south and south-west we see Carmel and Tabor—on the west the sea-coast—on the north the view is bounded by the high mountains of Lebanon. We hire a Moslem house for the night, after, of course, being asked for a month’s rent; we put our horses in the basement and sleep in the upper room, as usual without any kind of furniture or glass window, and the floor a mud one, but the view from it is magnificent. The Jews cook for us, but are so fanatical that they will not taste the food they themselves have prepared for us. Our bed is a stone ledge a few feet from the floor, but better however than we have in many other places; we soon learn the way of making ourselves as comfortable as circumstances will permit, sleeping often sounder on our stony couches than many do on down beds. My dragoman shares my apartment, the others sleep outside in the open. It is 5 a.m. when the Muzeddin, from the summit of the minaret chants out the first hour of prayer, and we set about enjoying our frugal Frühstück, as the Polish Jews here call it, and soon after are in the saddle.
Safed Olim Saphet, one of the four sacred cities of the Jews, is built on terraces one above the other on the side of the mountain, so that the flat roofs of one terrace serve very well as promenades for the houses immediately above, also affording extra facilities for cats and pariah dogs, jackals, &c., to intrude upon our nocturnal privacy. From Safed we travel up and down the mountains, having beautiful views of the plain where Jabin of Hazor gathered together his iron chariots against Joshua; of the waters of Merom (Lake Huleh), and the swamps and jungles of the Jordan, with herds of half wild buffaloes almost hidden in the high rushes. On our left we pass a large khan, built to accommodate the Circassian cut-throats, exiled for committing the Bulgarian atrocities; then on our right is a rock-hewn cistern of vast size, evidently made for some other purpose than to supply a few sheep here in the wilderness.
Deshun, an African colony sent from Algeria when the French conquered that country, is next reached; the people seem to be industrious and prosperous. We observe that their houses are detached and have sloping roofs, seldom seen in this country except in European settlements, and altogether they appear more civilised than the Arab inhabitants around them. About noon we pass the site of Hazor, whose kings we hear of in Holy Writ under the common name of Jabin, which was probably the hereditary title of their kings, as Hazael of Syria, Hiram of Tyre, Pharaoh of Egypt, &c. After a ride of about 11 miles, we halt for tiffin in the olive grove of Kedes, (Kadesh Naphtali) one of the cities of refuge, and the home, it will be remembered, of Barak, as also of Heber the Kenite. It was one of the royal cities of the Canaanites. There are great masses of débris and ruins here, and some fine single and double sarcophagi lying about. The Turkish people are excavating huge trenches and digging out large quantities of ancient worked stones, not however, with any love or regard for archæology, for they are at once utilised to erect modern buildings or burnt for lime. We acquire a very ancient lamp for about three half-pence. Our zeal for antiquities a Turk or Arab does not understand; he will sooner build a bizarre new mosque (as at Cairo) than repair the grand old one next door; if a building goes to ruin, he says resignedly “Mâshâllah” (God wills it), and leaves it to decay.
Lake Huleh (Semachonitis), which lies under Mount Hermon, is between four and five miles long and about four miles broad. Nebu Husha, or the tomb of Joshua, looks down upon it. The views all along the shores (where the hills of Naphtali and Basan close upon the lake) and the vista of the Jordan valley and mountains beyond, especially Hermon, are very fine. We now, as there is a deal of ground to cover before sundown, try a short cut into the valley without going by Hunin, the usual way. We hear of a path from the Bedouin, and after some difficulty find it. It is not known to the travellers’ guides, and it is just as well that it should not be, for it is a difficult dangerous descent, and one of our horses slipping in a bad place, very nearly brings great grief, both to himself, his rider, and the writer, who suddenly finds himself, with a frightened horse in front slipping, falling, and struggling, wedged in a track so narrow and precipitous that it is difficult to find room to dismount; once off, we do not remount until we reach the plain, and no greater damage is done than the loss of a bridle, but a halter is almost as good for an Arab horse. The animal bolted after his fall but we managed to catch him. The path afterwards, when we could find one, being little better than a goat track, we have some trouble to get the horses to face the steep descents. It saves however some hours of time, and is of immense service to us, as otherwise we should have been benighted in the difficult, dangerous, rough and swampy country at the head of the Jordan valley. As it is we are out 11½ hours in an almost tropical country, and do not get into Banias until after sunset, a bad time to enter any Eastern town, and then have to look for a lodging. But to go back a little, we get down into the Jordan valley, near Ain Belat, at the tents of the Ghawarineh Arabs. “Rob Roy” gives them a bad character, and says they attacked him, but they give us water and behave civilly. However we should not trust them too far, nor after dark. We are so glad to get down to level ground, so severe is the descent, that we think little of any danger from the wild denizens we drop down on. The scene here is remarkable, the black Bedouin tents, the dusky herds of buffaloes roaming among the marshes, the impenetrable jungles, the almost naked swarthy barbarians, together with the intense heat, make us imagine ourselves to be in the midst of the dark continent. Our advice to travellers going from Safed by Kedes to Banias, is to make a two day’s trip of it, and not one as we did, and then to keep up on the mountain, and descend by Hunin to the plain.
Hunin, which we pass under, was the Beth-rehob of Joshua, the limit of the land searched by the spies, for here Syria may be said to begin on the slopes of the Anti-lebanon. We now cross the Hasbâny, the most northerly source of the Jordan, by an old ruined Roman bridge, Jisl-el-Ghugar, where my men dismount again, but I have more confidence in my horses hoofs than my own boots, and stop in the saddle, and the surefooted sagacious animal carries me over the holes and boulders safely, whereat I score a point against the dragoman, and now after another rough ride for about three miles over stones and swamps, at length we reach Tell-el-Kadi, the (fertile) hill of the Judge or Dan, which in the Hebrew also signifies Judge.
Dan, it will be remembered, was the extreme northern limit of the promised Land, as Beersheba was the most southern. Its Canaanitish name was Laish, it was a colony of Sidon, and dated back to the days of Abraham. The Danites took it easily by surprise, as the inhabitants were a peaceable people devoted to commerce and the manufacture of pottery. It was always a “high place” or sacred city with the Phœnicians, who called it Balinas, or the city of Baal, as later on with Jeroboam, whose Calf was a venerated idol with the local heathen of that day, as it is still curiously with the native ignorant Druse peasants at the present day. When cursed by a Mahommedan they are often called “Sons of a Calf,” as we ourselves heard: so Jeroboam did not necessarily take his idea from the golden calf of Mosaic times, but may have simply adopted the indigenous idolatry; yet “Calfolatry” may have originally come from Egypt, as Dan, being a city of palm trees and water, was a favourite trysting place for the Egyptian as well as the Assyrian, being on the road to Damascus, which was the objective point of every invader, whether warrior or merchant.
Dan is now a mound some 500 feet or so long, and 40 feet high, visible for a long distance over the low plain; here, under a fine oak tree, near a grotto sacred to Pan, is another most copious source of the Jordan, forming a large stream immediately it springs from the ground, said to be the largest source of any river in the world, as it forms a good flowing river at once. It is called by Josephus the Little Jordan, and is considered by many the chief source, but it is not the most northerly. We get a grand view here of the great Jordan Valley, looking down upon a sea of waving corn, spread out in one vast field, almost as far as the eye can reach. A long ride through lanes and pleasant wooded country, the road often paved with ruined pillars and old Phœnician worked stones, brings us at last to Banias, the site of ancient Cæsarea Philippi, so called Cæsarea by Philip the Tetrarch, in honour of Tiberius Cæsar, the agnomen Philippi being added by the same gentleman in honour of himself, and to distinguish it from Cæsarea on the coast near Jaffa. Agrippa II. called it Neronias in honour of Nero, but in later times it regained its original name Paneas (which it took from the Temple of Pan then there), and that was easily corrupted to its present name Banias. It was once at least visited by Christ (Matt. xvi.).
Banias is beautifully situated on a spur of Hermon, on the direct road to Damascus, which we do not intend to take, preferring to go two days longer journey round to visit the less frequented parts of Syria. We are received into a Mahommedan house, and have, as usual, the upper chamber allotted to us; and have, what is not usual, the daughter of the house to attend upon us. Veils are dispensed with in this establishment, except by the mother, who after a while thinks it proper to drape up the lower part of her face which somewhat improves her appearance. The accommodation is the same old story, four bare walls. It is quite an Oriental scene at night. The moon shines brightly on the one-storeyed flat mud-roofed huts. On the top of each are the members of the various families sleeping al fresco. Some more fastidious or important personages rig themselves up a leafy bower on four supports about three or four feet from the roof—a cool retreat undoubtedly, forming little tents such as might have been seen in ancient Jerusalem during the feast of Tabernacles. A cat or two of course come in through the paneless windows during the night in search of our saddle bags, but a heavy boot well shot at an Oriental cat helps him out quite as quickly as it would one of our own domestic favourites. One time, however it misses the mark and alights on our sleeping dragoman. It was at Banias, by-the-bye, that Titus celebrated with gladiatorial games the capture of Jerusalem, and many thousand prisoners perished in the “Sports.”
Early next morning we visit the massive ruins of the old gate, the grotto of Pan, which gave the name to the city, and the Banias fountains of the Jordan. The rocks just above the latter are sculptured with shrines and niches in which statues once stood; there are also Greek inscriptions which are not very legible.
We now leave Banias by the old western gate, and riding over a slope of Hermon enter Syria proper. The whole country including Palestine is often described as Syria, and was all under one Pashalic so called until lately—Palestine originally included only the country of the Philistines. We breakfast in a poplar grove in the prosperous Christian village of Rasheyat el Fûkhar, celebrated for its pottery, which it supplies to the whole of the northern part of Palestine and Syria, as far as Damascus. It is refreshing to come across an industrious manufacturing population, so rare in Palestine except at Gaza and Ramleh in the south, where jars and lamps are made, and at Nablous (ancient Shechem), where a coarse native soap is made of olive oil, and exported as far as Egypt. The Germans at Caifa (under Mount Carmel) are cultivating this industry also, and turn out a much finer article, which finds a sale in America, but has not yet made a market in Palestine, which prefers its native make to that of the Feringhee. We next descend the mountains by a precipitous path, a new one not tried before by our guide, down which we with great difficulty drag our horses to Hibberiyeh, prettily situated in one of the western gorges of Hermon: here we visit a very ancient well-preserved temple built of Phœnician bevelled stones principally, but curiously with pilasters and columns having Ionic capitals—an old Sidonian shrine to Baal probably (as it faced his temple on the summit of Mount Hermon) altered by the Greeks to accommodate one of their own deities. The valley is remarkably a Valley of Rocks; some isolated ones seem to have been formerly sculptured to imitate the human form divine. The ascent up the other side of the valley we find very laborious, having again to lead or rather drag our horses, until at length we arrive at Hâsbeyâ, our quarters for the night, of which more in our next. The shortest way to Damascus is that through the wilderness of Damascus by which St. Paul travelled; but the most beautiful road is that we select, which leads round the slopes of Hermon.
