BETHLEHEM TO THE DEAD SEA.
BETHLEHEM TO THE DEAD SEA.
IT was a brilliant morning in early spring as we rode along the hill-side over the Wady Urtas from Solomon’s Pools to Bethlehem. The turf was vividly green, gemmed with innumerable flowers. Orchards of peach, apricot, and pomegranate with their white and scarlet blossoms, succeeded one another in an unbroken series along the valley. The conduit, which conducts the water from Solomon’s Pools to Jerusalem, and which in ancient times supplied the Temple, was open in various places, and we could see the crystal stream flash past on its way to “make glad the city of God.”[[57]] The Jebel Fureidis, a steep conical mountain, visible from almost every point in Southern Palestine, formed a striking object in the landscape. “The little hills rejoice on every side; the pastures are clothed with flocks; the valleys also are covered over with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing.”[[58]] Wherever we turn our eyes the words of the Psalmist are suggested as the aptest description of the scenery. It was easy to see where the Shepherd of Bethlehem drew the materials for his poetry.
Soon Bethlehem[[59]] comes into view—a white-walled village of about three thousand inhabitants, all Christians. They are, however, a turbulent, quarrelsome set, ever fighting amongst themselves or with their neighbours. In the disturbances which take place so frequently at Jerusalem, it is said that the ringleaders are commonly found to be Bethlehemites. The women are remarkable for personal beauty. I saw more handsome faces here in a few hours than elsewhere in the East in many days. The dress, which is peculiar, is very becoming. A sort of tiara of some bright metal encircles the head over which is folded a white cloth which hangs down upon the shoulders. The men are strong, lithe, well-built fellows, and I saw several young shepherds, who were models of manly vigour. Here, as elsewhere in the East, the pastoral pipe is in constant use. The shepherd-lad makes it for himself, shaping the mouth-piece out of some hard wood, and using a hollow reed for the pipe. I cannot say much in praise of the music they produce.
GATE OF BETHLEHEM.
Bethlehem stands on the crest of a ridge of Jurassic limestone. As it is surmounted by higher hills, however, the view from it is not very extensive. Jerusalem, though only six miles distant, is hidden by an intervening height. But through the valleys stretching away eastward to the Dead Sea, fine views are gained of the mountains of Moab, and from the flat roof of the Latin Convent part of the Dead Sea itself is visible.
WOMEN OF BETHLEHEM.
Passing over the two disgraceful events connected with Bethlehem, during the period of anarchy described in the concluding chapters of the Book of Judges,[[60]] we come to that exquisite idyll, the beauty of which, apart from its religious bearing, invests the scene with a charm, amounting to fascination. Read the history of Ruth on the spot, and every minutest detail acquires a new interest and meaning. We can trace the journey of Elimelech and his family, as, driven by stress of famine, they make their way toward that long line of purple mountains against the eastern sky—some twenty miles distant. We see the two childless widows return—Naomi, proud and bitter in her poverty and bereavement, rejecting the greetings of the townspeople: “Call me not Naomi (pleasant), call me Mara (bitter): for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me. I went out full, and the Lord hath brought me home again empty: why then call ye me Naomi, seeing the Lord hath testified against me, and the Almighty hath afflicted me?”[[61]] We see the young Moabitess with her strange beauty and gentleness winning all hearts. Amongst the youths and maidens around us, it is easy to believe that her descendants are not wanting.
SHEPHERD OF BETHLEHEM.
EASTERN GLEANERS.
We may still see the fields of wheat and barley in the valley below us from which “Boaz went up to the gate.”[[62]] We may still hear the very same greeting as when “Boaz said unto the reapers, The Lord be with you, and they answered him, The Lord bless thee.”[[63]] We may see the reapers resting at noonday, sheltered from the fierce heat of the sun by some spreading tree, dipping their morsel of bread into the vinegar or eating their parched corn from the ears,[[64]] the gleaners bearing home the wheat and barley they have gathered in the coarse cloth which serves the peasant women for a veil, or beating it out by the roadside that they may carry it more easily.[[65]] Yonder are the threshing-floors in the field where the master will spend the nights of harvest to protect his produce from robbers.[[66]] And here is the gate of the city where Boaz sat with the elders to redeem the possession that was Elimelech’s and take the beautiful young widow to wife.[[67]] Well was the nuptial benediction fulfilled, “The Lord make the woman that is come into thine house like Rachel and like Leah, which two did build the house of Israel: and do thou worthily in Ephratah, and be famous in Bethlehem.”[[68]]
Nearly a hundred years must have elapsed before we hear again of Bethlehem, for the grandson of Boaz and Ruth is now an old man.[[69]] He is the father of eight stalwart sons, the youngest of whom keeps his father’s sheep upon the mountain-side. Though treated as of no account by the elders of the family,[[70]] he is yet called David (the darling), is described as “ruddy, blue-eyed, and beautiful;”[[71]] he is already famous as a musician, and has distinguished himself for strength, courage, wit, and piety.[[72]] These qualities commend him to the servants of Saul, and he is chosen to play before the moody king and charm away his gloom.[[73]]
The life of a Bethlehemite shepherd was one of no common toil and danger, and it remains so down to the present day. Hordes of wandering Bedouin are waiting to swoop down upon the flocks and herds of the peaceful inhabitants, and need to be watched against with ceaseless vigilance and repelled with fearless courage. Bears descend from the neighbouring mountains. Lions have disappeared, but in the days of David they came up from their lairs in the valley of the Dead Sea, driven forth by the swelling of the Jordan. The prowess of the shepherd lad had been tried against these, familiar perils.[[74]] Yet, modest and pious, as he was strong and bold, he ascribes his success to the Lord, who taught his hands to war and his fingers to fight.[[75]] No wonder that He who “seeth not as man seeth, for the man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart,”[[76]] should have rejected the elder sons of Jesse and directed his prophet to anoint the youngest as the future king.
ENTRANCE TO CAVE OF ADULLAM.
His chequered fortunes now lead him away from Bethlehem and we hear of him no more in his actual birth-place. But the cave of Adullam was not far distant. The limestone rocks of the district abound in caves, many of them of great size. The one which is said by tradition to have been the retreat of David and his followers is about five miles from Bethlehem, near the base of Jebel Fureidis or the Frank Mountain already spoken of as so striking an object in the landscape. It is approached by a savage ravine, after which a steep ascent leads upward by a path so narrow that a handful of brave men might keep a whole army at bay. The entrance to the cave is by a small opening through which only a single person can pass at a time. This leads to a series of chambers, some large enough to hold several hundred men. A perfect labyrinth of galleries and passages, never fully explored, stretch in every direction, and are said by the Arabs to go as far as Tekoa. In one of them is a large cistern, supplied, probably, by filtration through the rock above. The largest chamber has an arched roof with numerous recesses in the sides, reminding visitors of a gothic cathedral. Here David, living in the midst of his own clan, would be promptly warned of the approach of danger, and could easily receive supplies of food. The summit of the hill above commands a view of the whole surrounding district, so that the movements of his enemies could be watched in every direction. His familiarity with the wild glens and strongholds of the district, gained whilst keeping his father’s sheep, would prove an immense advantage in flying from his pursuers. And the proximity to Moab secured for him a safe retreat if hard pressed. In Moab, too, he found friends and relatives, in virtue of his descent from “Ruth the Moabitess,” to whom he committed his parents when they were exposed to danger from the vindictive fury of Saul.[[77]] The phrase that “his brethren and all his father’s house went down thither unto him,”[[78]] which at first suggests a difficulty, from the fact that the cave is high up on the mountain-side, finds an easy explanation as we observe that from Bethlehem they must first descend into the Wady Urtas and wind along down the ravine. In the references to this cave, as everywhere in Scripture, the narrative is in such exact and minute agreement with the topography of the district that it could only have been written by an eye-witness.
CAVE OF ADULLAM.
It was whilst hiding here with his wild and outlawed followers that the touching incident occurred of his longing for the “water of the well of Bethlehem, that is at the gate.”[[79]] The worn and weary fugitive who compares himself to “a partridge hunted upon the mountains,”[[80]] goes back to the peaceful happy days of his shepherd life. He remembers the time when, leading his flocks homeward in the evening after a day of sultry heat on the mountain-side, he had quenched his thirst at the familiar well, just as we had seen the shepherds doing on the same spot. Were ever days so happy! Was ever water so sweet! The “three mighty ones,” eager to gratify the faintest wish of their beloved chief, break through the beleaguering host of the Philistines, draw the water from the well, and return. The hero, reproaching himself for his selfish wish, that had “put in jeopardy the lives of these men,” refuses to drink thereof, and pours it out for “a drink-offering to the Lord.”
Only once again does the name of Bethlehem occur in Old Testament history. The reference, though slight and incidental, has an important bearing on the site of the Nativity. When David was flying from his rebellious son Absalom into the region beyond the Jordan, amongst those who showed kindness to the “dim discrowned king” was Barzillai the Gileadite.[[81]] When the rebellion had been crushed, and the king was about to return to his own land, Barzillai accompanied him across the Jordan. The grateful monarch invited the old man to go up with him to Jerusalem as his guest. Barzillai declined the honour, pleading his advanced age, his growing weakness, his failing sight, saying, “How long have I to live, that I should go up with the king unto Jerusalem? I am this day fourscore years old: and can I discern between good and evil? Can thy servant taste what I eat or what I drink? Can I hear any more the voice of singing men and singing women? Wherefore then should thy servant be yet a burden unto my lord the king? Thy servant will go a little way over Jordan with the king: and why should the king recompense it me with such a reward? Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back again, that I may die in mine own city, and be buried by the grave of my father and of my mother.”
BETHLEHEM FROM THE SHEPHERDS’ FIELD.
But the honour which he declines for himself he solicits on behalf of his son Chimham, who accompanied David on his return to Jerusalem.[[82]] Chimham seems to have been treated with peculiar favour, and adopted into the family of the king; for David, on his death-bed, specially commended him to the care of Solomon, and requested that he be of “those that eat at his table.”[[83]] We find further that he came into possession of property in or near Bethlehem,[[84]] which he transmitted to his descendants, for in the prophecies of Jeremiah “the habitation of Chimham which is by Bethlehem” is spoken of as a place familiarly known. That this formed part of the patrimony of David, given to him as an adopted son, is highly probable, for in no other way can we understand a Gileadite permanently owning land at Bethlehem.
INTERIOR OF KHAN.
But the word, translated “house” in Jeremiah, where the Jews assembled on their way down into Egypt, means a khan or caravanserai. Elsewhere, it is translated “inn.” What then are we to understand by the khan of Chimham? It is, and always has been, the custom throughout the East for places to be provided for travellers—one in each village—where they might halt for the night. They are generally at distances of six or seven miles, so as to allow of an easy day’s march from one to another. Bethlehem thus formed the first stage from Jerusalem, on the way to Egypt. The duty and honour of providing and maintaining these khans devolved upon the sheikh or head man of the village, who was empowered to levy a tax upon the villagers for their support. Sometimes only a space of ground was staked out and fenced with thorns, so as to furnish protection against thieves and wild beasts. But often a wealthy sheikh would erect a substantial edifice, either defraying the cost himself or seeking aid in the work from the inhabitants. It seems almost certain, therefore, that Chimham either became Sheikh of Bethlehem, or else that, out of gratitude to his benefactor, he built a khan on a portion of the land he received from the king. Of these, the former is the more probable, and more in accordance with the custom of the country. One thing, however, seems clear, that long after the time of David, “the inn” at Bethlehem was well known as the khan of Chimham, and that it stood on land which had descended by inheritance from Boaz to Jesse, to David, and to David’s adopted son.[[85]] Here was to be fulfilled the prophecy of Micah, “But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto Me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.”[[86]]
We thus come to that event, the glory of which transcends every other which has yet passed under our review. Here the Eternal God veiled yet manifested Himself in human form. The King of Glory is found “as a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” Omnipotence slumbered within an infant’s arm. Omniscience lay concealed beneath an infant’s brow. In the plain below us, the shepherds were keeping their flocks by night, when they heard the angelic anthem, “Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, good will to men.” Up that steep rocky path they came to see this great sight. Over that mountain-side the Wise Men brought their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh to pay homage to “the Desire of all nations.” As we stand in the rock-hewn Chapel of the Nativity gazing upon the silver star on the floor, and read the words Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est, even the most cold and apathetic can scarcely refrain from tears.
But is this the actual spot? Do we really stand on the very place where the Virgin “brought forth her first-born son and called His name Jesus”? There is everything in the surroundings of the place to awaken scepticism. This series of tawdrily decked chapels in which all the great events which have happened in Bethlehem are huddled together within one building almost compel incredulity. Here, for instance, is the altar of the Holy Innocents, and we are asked to believe that the remains of twenty thousand infants, slain by Herod, lie buried close by the place of the nativity, and we are shown the preserved tongue of one of them! However willing we may be to accept the tradition, as to the site, we find it difficult to do so when it is mixed up with such preposterous legends as these.
And yet the evidence for its authenticity is strong, though not quite conclusive. The church stands upon a spot, just outside the village, which the inn or khan is very likely to have occupied. The “house of Chimham by Bethlehem” was well known to the Jews, as we have seen, and when the khan of a village has been once established it is seldom that its site is changed. It continues to occupy the same spot from age to age. We know that so early as the second century, Justin described our Lord’s birth-place as “a cave near Bethlehem.” And Jerome himself, a native of Syria and familiar with the customs and traditions of the country, took up his abode in an adjacent cave, that he might be near his Lord’s birth-place. The fact that the Chapel of the Nativity is a grotto, though calculated to excite suspicion, is not of itself fatal. It is by no means improbable that a cave contiguous to the inn might have served the purpose of a stable. It should further be remembered that the church may stand upon the site of the inn even though the Chapel of the Nativity has been placed in a cave in accordance with an erroneous and misleading superstition. Dean Stanley, summing up the evidence for and against the authenticity of the site, concludes with the remark, “There remains the remarkable fact that the spot was reverenced by Christians as the birth-place of Christ two centuries before the conversion of the empire—before that burst of local religion which is commonly ascribed to the visit of Helena.”
INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH OF THE NATIVITY.
Whilst feeling that the balance of probability is in favour of the authenticity of the site, there was one consideration which made me wish to come to a different conclusion. The degrading superstition and the disgraceful discord which prevail here are a scandal to the birth-place of Christianity. Anything more alien to the spirit of the Prince of Peace can scarcely be conceived than the bitter hostility which rages amongst the three confessions—Latin, Greek, and Armenian—which share the sacred shrine. The church—a noble edifice, with stately columns, probably brought from the Temple at Jerusalem—is no longer used for worship. It is held by a garrison of Turkish soldiers stationed to prevent bloodshed amongst the monks and the pilgrims. Passing along the subterranean gallery, through the long series of gaudy chapels, acts of idolatry are witnessed the grossness of which recalls the fetish worship of Africa. Even a coldly scientific geographer like Ritter cannot refrain from exclaiming, “Bethlehem has thus become a sacred name and a sacred place, although it is so poor and mean and unimportant; but unfortunately, to many who visit it, its higher significance is lost: they kiss the wood of the manger, but it is mere dry wood to them—they miss the living spirit which once began that earthly career there which had been prepared for it from before the foundation of the world.”[[87]]
THE CHURCH OF THE NATIVITY.
Leaving Bethlehem on the east, the road winds down a rocky slope, past fields of wheat and barley and terraced vineyards. Innumerable sheep and goats are seen on the hills around as in the days of Boaz and David. At the foot a level plain is reached, affording good pasturage, and dotted over with clumps of olive trees. This is called the Shepherds’ Field, from the tradition that here they were keeping their flocks by night when the angels appeared to them. Soon the scenery becomes wild and desolate. In no part of the world have I seen anything with which to compare it. If the chalk-downs of the South of England were denuded of grass, were heaved up and tossed about in the throes of an earthquake, and the sides of the hills thus formed were cut into ravines by the fury of winter torrents, it would afford some illustration of the weird desolation of this Wilderness of Judea. The gorge of the Kedron runs steeply down from Jerusalem to the Dead Sea, a descent of nearly four thousand feet. The wadies which seam the mountain-sides are dry in the summer, but in the winter form the beds of roaring torrents. Now and then a glimpse of the Dead Sea is gained—the deep blue of its waters gaining an additional intensity from the red or purple of the mountains of Moab, which form the background of the landscape. The black tents of the Bedouin, their flocks and herds feeding on the mountain-sides, an Arab horseman, or a string of camels with their noiseless tread, are the only signs of life in this region of sterility.
In about three hours from Bethlehem, the Convent of Mar Saba is reached. It stands on the edge of the gorge of the Kedron, here from a thousand to twelve hundred feet deep, the rocky sides of which are almost precipitous, and at the bottom of the ravine are only a few yards apart. Looked at from beneath, parts of the building are seen to be literally clamped to the perpendicular walls of rock, and hang perilously over the abyss. Other portions of the edifice are constructed in chambers cut out of the mountain-side. The labyrinth of caves, chambers, and passages is most bewildering. Only an inmate of the convent can find his way from one part to another. What may be called the land side of the monastery is enclosed by a high wall of great thickness. The only entrance is by a massive gate, through which no one is admitted unless vouched for by the Greek patriarch at Jerusalem. Bedouin and women are not admitted at all. The former for the obvious reason that on several occasions, having forced their way in, they massacred all the inmates. Ladies are excluded, because, as Miss Martineau bitterly expresses it, “the monks are too holy to be hospitable.” The rule of the monastery is very rigid. The monks never eat meat, and subject themselves to severe austerities. Though there is a valuable library, it seems to be entirely unused; indeed, a majority of the ascetics are unable to read, and their only recreation consists in drinking raki, and in feeding the birds and Jackals, which are very numerous.
CONVENT OF MAR SABA.
Only once, when I crossed the Mer de Glace at midnight, have I seen anything to compare with the wild, unearthly impressiveness of one view of this famous monastery. We had encamped at nightfall about a couple of miles above Mar Saba. The stars were shining with extraordinary brilliancy in a cloudless sky, and the moon was just coming above the horizon. I suggested an excursion along the bottom of the ravine, so as to see the convent from beneath. On proposing this to the Sheikh, he of course declared that it was impossible, no one had ever done it—there was no road—he would not answer for our heads if we attempted it, with much more to the same purpose. But finding us determined to make a start, and that there was a prospect of backshish, he withdrew his objections and despatched a party of Bedouin as guides and escort. The bottom of the gorge was in almost total darkness, but we could see the jagged peaks overhead, silvered with the moonlight. Stumbling along the bed of the Kedron, now perfectly dry, winding in and out amongst huge boulders, scrambling over masses of rock which blocked up the narrow passage, we made our way down the valley. No sound was heard, save our own footsteps and the howling of jackals. Every now and then, emerging silently as a ghost from behind a projecting crag or from the mouth of a cave, a Bedouin, armed with his long gun, would step forward, speak a few words to our escort, and then silently disappear. At length we reached a point immediately beneath the convent. The moon had now risen high enough to pour a flood of intense white light upon it whilst we were still wrapped in gloom. It seemed to be detached from earth, and to hang suspended in the heavens. The solitary palm tree, said to have been planted by St. Saba himself, stood out clear and distinct, every frond relieved against the deep blue of the sky behind it. Even our Bedouin escort, usually so insensible to natural scenery, seemed awed and impressed by the wild weird grandeur of the view.
The Valley of Kidron begins its course on the east side of the Temple at Jerusalem, and runs down to the Dead Sea, through a barren, arid, waterless waste. It is thus the probable scene of the prophetic vision in which Ezekiel beholds the glory of “the latter days,” when waters, issuing from beneath the altar, shall flow eastward in an ever deepening stream, bringing with them fertility and beauty wherever they come. “Very many trees” are seen to spring up along its banks on either side. Reaching the bitter, stagnant, poisonous waters of the Dead Sea, its desolate solitudes become the haunts of busy life. Fishers spread their nets from En-Eglaim to En-Engedi, for the fish have become as “the fish of the great sea, exceeding many.” “And by the river upon the bank thereof, on this side and on that side, shall grow all trees for meat, whose leaf shall not fade, neither shall the fruit thereof be consumed: it shall bring forth new fruit according to his months, because their waters they issued out of the sanctuary: and the fruit thereof shall be for meat, and the leaf thereof for medicine.”[[88]] Reading such promises of future blessings amid these desolate and sterile regions, we are impressively reminded that when “the spirit be poured upon us from on high, the wilderness shall be a fruitful field, and the fruitful field be accounted for a forest, ... and the work of righteousness shall be peace, and the effect of righteousness quietness and assurance for ever.”[[89]]
THE WILDERNESS OF JUDÆA.
The strange unique conformation of the country which we noticed as we approached Mar Saba becomes even more extraordinary as we continue our journey eastward. The soil consists of a soft chalk or white marl, furrowed in every direction by a labyrinth of valleys and pits from fifty to a hundred feet deep, cut, ages ago, by torrents long since dried up, leaving fantastic flat-topped mounds of every conceivable shape, which Maundrell aptly compares to gigantic lime kilns.
NORTHERN SHORE OF THE DEAD SEA.
In a little more than three hours we find ourselves descending into the Valley of the Jordan and the Dead Sea. Reaching the plain, we ride through an extensive cane brake where the reeds are higher than our heads, and which is the haunt of wild boars, wolves, jackals, and leopards, and from which lions were driven out “from the swelling of Jordan.”[[90]]
From this point all vegetation ceases, for the bitter, acrid waters are fatal alike to animal and vegetable life. Even sea-fish turned into the lake die immediately.[[91]] The beach is strewn with trunks of trees, bones of animals, and shells of fish brought down by the Jordan or by the winter torrents which come from the mountain-sides. After tossing, perhaps for centuries, in the bitter brine, they are cast ashore so saturated with salt that the wood will scarcely ignite, and if it burn at all, only gives a feeble blue flame. Those gaunt skeletons of ancient trees are all the more ghastly from the fact that they are covered by a saline deposit of which the fine glittering crystals are found efflorescing all along the beach. It is caused by the evaporation either of the receding waters after the winter floods, or of the spray which is flung ashore by the winds, which rush with extraordinary violence between the rocky walls which hem in the valley.
SOUTHERN SHORE OF THE DEAD SEA. EXPLORING PARTY OF LIEUT. LYNCH.
Whilst the northern shore is thus a flat desolate waste, the view down the sea, looking southward, is not wanting in a solemn grandeur and beauty. The water, clear as crystal, is of a deep blue, almost purple; its waves are crested with foam of a dazzling whiteness. Along the eastern shore the mountains of Moab stand like a mighty wall, the ridges and precipices of which slope down “in wild confusion to the shore, terminating in a series of perpendicular cliffs, from twelve hundred to two thousand feet above the water.” Though their outline is somewhat monotonous and unbroken, their marvellous colouring, which varies from a delicate pink to a rich crimson, invests them with a magical beauty. Seen, especially in the morning or the evening light, their tints are quite unearthly. The mountains of the western side, though lower than those of the eastern, seldom rising above fifteen hundred feet, are more irregular and broken, at least as seen from the northern end, and assume forms of striking grandeur. The most characteristic feature of the southern shore is a vast ridge of fossil salt, called Jebel Usdum, which is cut into ravines and hollows by the action of winter torrents. Canon Tristram describes many of these in terms which recall the glacier caves of the Alps. The light gleaming through the roof produces an exquisite play of colour—green and blue and white of various shades. Columns of rock salt are constantly left standing, detached from the general mass. Travellers—forgetful of the fact that these isolated fragments are but of short duration, and are, in the course of a few years, washed away by the same agency which produced them—have often identified one or another with the pillar of salt referred to in Genesis xix. 26. Sulphur and bitumen, which are found throughout the whole region, are very abundant, and traces of ancient igneous action are more obvious here than elsewhere.
THE DEAD SEA.
APPROACH TO ENGEDI.
Whilst the general character of the scenery is one of sterility and desolation, some of the wadies which run down to the sea are oases of the utmost fertility and beauty. Chief among these is that of Engedi or the Kid’s fountain. It runs out on the western side of the sea in the direction of Hebron. Fertilised by a rill of pure water, and having an almost tropical temperature, it forms a perfect garden. Even the Arabs, who are usually so insensible to natural beauty, speak of it with enthusiasm. My servant Mohammed, on one occasion gathered twenty-five different varieties of flowers in a few minutes. Solomon sums up his description of the charms of the Shunammitess by saying, “My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire on the vineyards of Engedi.”[[92]] The vineyards, the palms and the balsam trees, which once abounded here, have disappeared, but traces of ancient cultivation remain to show what once it was and might be yet again.
Under its original name of Hazezon-Tamar (the pruning of the palm trees), it was the scene of the first pitched battle in an organized campaign which history records.[[93]] Here, and in the adjoining Vale of Siddim, Chedorlaomer defeated his rebellous tributaries, the kings of Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, Zeboim, and Zoar, carrying away Lot and his family amongst the captives.
Here amongst cliffs and precipices dwelt the Kenites when Balaam, looking across the valley from a height on the opposite side, uttered his impassioned prophecy, and said:
“Strong is thy dwellingplace
And thou puttest thy nest in a rock.
Nevertheless the Kenite shall be wasted,
Until Asshur shall carry thee away captive.”[[94]]
Here, too, David retired when hard pressed by Saul. He had to leave the neighbourhood of Ziph and Maon, just as many an Arab sheikh is accustomed to do at the present day, to escape from the tyranny, or the justice, of the government. In these inaccessible fastnesses he was safe from pursuit, almost from discovery. Behind him was the wilderness of Judea. Before him were the mountains of Moab in case further retreat should seem expedient. And here it was that heroic chief mercifully spared the life of his pitiless foe when the “Lord had delivered him into his hand.”[[95]]
In more modern times the shores of the Dead Sea have been associated with two tragic events which add to the gloomy memories which enshroud it. Among the mountains on the eastern side, looking down upon the gorge of the Callirhoe, is Makaur, the ancient Machærus, in which John the Baptist took his place among “the noble army of martyrs.” Dr. Tristram, the first European known to have visited it since the time of the Romans, says that he found amongst the ruins “two dungeons, one of them very deep, and its sides scarcely broken in. That these were dungeons, not cisterns, is evident from there being no traces of cement, which never perishes from the walls of ancient reservoirs, and from the small holes, still visible in the masonry, where staples of wood and iron had once been fixed. One of these must surely have been the prison-house of John the Baptist.” On the western shore stood Masada, the palace-fortress of Herod, in which was enacted the last awful tragedy in the Jewish war of independence. Jerusalem had fallen. One fortress after another had surrendered to the Romans. This impregnable stronghold alone remained, held by a band of men who, with the courage of despair, determined to die rather than to yield. The fatal moment at length arrived at which further resistance was impossible. Eleazar, son of Judas the Galilean, called the garrison together and urged upon them that death was to be preferred to dishonour. Each man thereupon stabbed his wife and children to the heart, and lying down beside those whom he loved, bared his neck to the ten who were chosen by lot to consummate the slaughter. One of these last survivors then slew the other nine and, having set fire to the building, stabbed himself. When the Romans entered the breach on the morning of Easter Day A.D. 73, they found nothing but corpses and smouldering ruins. Two women and five children, who had hidden themselves in the vaults, alone survived to tell the tale, nearly a thousand persons having perished.
MAKAUR, THE SITE OF ANCIENT MACHÆRUS.
But all other historical associations with this district shrink into insignificance in comparison with that fearful catastrophe, when the Lord overwhelmed and destroyed the guilty cities with fire from heaven. When “Lot lifted up his eyes, and beheld all the plain of Jordan, that it was well watered everywhere, even as the garden of the Lord,”[[96]] he not only failed to take account of the licentiousness and “filthy conversation of the wicked,”[[97]] choosing temporal wealth at the peril of his soul’s welfare; but he knew not or cared not that the soil was one vast arsenal filled with instruments of destruction. The cities rested upon a bed of sulphur and bitumen. They were built and cemented from “the slime-pits of Siddim.”[[98]] When the longsuffering of God was exhausted and “the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah was very great and their sin very grievous,” the hour of judgment came. The destruction may have been altogether miraculous. Or it may have been brought about by miracle working through natural agencies. The whole region is volcanic. Lightnings flashing from heaven, and the bursting forth of the subterranean fires, may have turned the whole plain into “a burning fiery furnace,” in which not the cities only but the very soil on which they stood were turned into one vast sea of flame. Imagination shudders at the awful spectacle when “the smoke of the country went up like the smoke of a furnace.”
THE DEAD SEA NEAR MASADA.
The exact site of the cities thus destroyed cannot be decided with certainty. It has been commonly supposed that the Dead Sea covers the spot upon which they stood. Of this, however, we have no evidence in Scripture, and an examination of the geology of the district shows that it is impossible. Those who would locate them on the plain to the south of the Sea, urge in proof of their view an early and continuous tradition to this effect, the presence of a vast mountain of rock-salt which breaks up into isolated columns, the most remarkable of which has been called Lot’s wife, and the similarity of names, Usdum being identified with Sodom, Amrah with Gomorrah, and Zuweirah with Zoar. But the biblical narrative rather points to the conclusion that they stood on or near the northern shore where the “well-watered plain” of the Jordan, even to this day, attracts by its extraordinary fertility.[[99]]
MAP OF THE DEAD SEA. SOUNDINGS IN FATHOMS.
It is only within the present generation that the physical conditions of the Dead Sea have been subjected to scientific investigation. Dean Stanley truly says, “Viewed merely in a scientific point of view, it is one of the most remarkable spots of the world.” At some remote period beyond the range of history or tradition, the Jordan seems to have flowed onward over what is now the elevated valley of Arabah into the Red Sea. By geological action, the nature of which cannot as yet be ascertained, the whole Jordan valley has sunk, so that the Sea of Galilee is probably six hundred feet, and the Dead Sea about thirteen hundred feet, below the level of the Mediterranean—a phenomenon without parallel on the earth’s surface. The sea itself is divided into two unequal parts by a projecting tongue of land, called by the Arabs El Lisan (the tongue). The northern portion is very deep; the greatest depth being given by Lieutenant Lynch at thirteen hundred and eight feet. Its bed, therefore, at this point would be twenty-six hundred feet below the level of the sea. The southern portion is much shallower, nowhere exceeding two fathoms. The depth, however, varies with the seasons. The total superficial area is about two hundred and fifty miles, which is nearly that of the Lake of Geneva. Its excessive density and saltness have been already referred to. Analysis gives the following results:
| Chloride of Magnesium | 145·8971 |
| „ Calcium | 31·0746 |
| „ Sodium (common salt) | 78·5537 |
| „ Potassium | 6·5860 |
| Bromide of Potassium | 1·3741 |
| Sulphate of Lime | 0·7012 |
| 264·1867 | |
| Water | 735·8133 |
| 1000 |
It will thus be seen that one fourth part of the waters of the Dead Sea consists of various salts.[[100]] Hence its nauseous, bitter taste and its extraordinary density. My own experience was that I could not sink, however much I tried, and after bathing I found an acrid slime left upon the skin from which I could not rid myself for two or three days.
THE WELL OF BETHLEHEM.