CHAPTER IV
Hidden treasure—The Bedawy’s treasure-trove—The sheikh’s farewell—A savage tract—Jebel ed-Druze—Umm ez-Zeytûn—Tell Shihân—Shuhba—An ancient house—A stingy entertainer—The ruins—Pharaoh’s “grain-heaps”—The house of Shehâb.
The lust for treasure, which almost proved fatal to the priest, is common among all these semi-barbarous people. They are firmly persuaded that among the black ruins everywhere great hoards lie buried. Inscriptions, they think, contain directions how the precious stores are to be found, if they could only be read. But unfortunately they are in some mysterious speech which only the Franj—civilised foreigners—are supposed to understand. Interest in old ruins, in architectural remains, in anything that may shed light on former days, they regard as mere subterfuge. Many travellers have been struck with their unwillingness to show the whereabouts of inscriptions. They have a kind of dim hope that one day they may stumble upon the treasure themselves. Sometimes, however, they become confidential, and offer, for a consideration, say, half of what is found, to show the traveller all they know. They tell many stories, with full circumstantial details, of discoveries of such heaps of gold. The noble metal is usually found by means of magical incantations, and every stranger is suspected of being the happy master of some such charm. At other times a mysterious conjunction of natural circumstances guides the lucky man to fortune.
One day, riding from Derʿat to Gadara, a Bedawy entertained me with such a tale. Between these two towns runs the famous old aqueduct called by the natives Qanâtîr Firʿaun—“the arches of Pharaoh.” A sheikh known to the Bedawy was wont, when a poor boy, to drive the cattle of which he had charge in the direction of a valley crossed by the aqueduct. On several evenings some of his cattle were missing, but in the morning they turned up again. Being sure they had disappeared about the end of the aqueduct, he seated himself early one morning on the building at a point commanding the valley, to see if possible whence his truant cattle should come. Quite near him soon a cow’s nose appeared, followed by a pair of horns, rising, it seemed, from the earth. Rushing thither, he found the mouth of a large cave, hidden by the rough growth of grass and low shrubs. One after another the strayed members of his herd came forth. Then he entered, and almost swooned with amazement at the sight within. Great wealth of yellow gold lay heaped up in a hollow of the rock. He carefully marked the spot and nursed his secret all day. On returning home at evening, he secretly informed his father. They came with a horse, under the cloud of night, and carried off the hurj (saddle-bags) full. Avoiding ostentation to escape the suspicion of wealth, they bought by slow degrees large herds of cattle and fine horses, until they ranked among the richest Arab families. It was believed that the store was not exhausted, but after that first visit all trace of the cave was lost. My informant had seen about the place, but could not find the exact spot. He was not without hope, however, that he might yet get his hands upon that gold. With how many Arabs it is so. They cherish a vague expectation that one day, without industry or thrift, they may find themselves suddenly rich. With their inborn hatred of toil, this idea runs through all their wild improvident life.
Difficult as it would be for a stranger to find his way without a guide anywhere in el-Lejâʾ, it would be next to impossible in the district through which we had to pass on leaving Dama. Our host therefore told off one of his retainers, who, armed to the teeth like all his fellows, rode before us. The good sheikh strictly refused all recompense for his kindness; but he asked, and we cheerfully gave, a note making known to all who might read, what hospitable treatment we had received at his hands. No doubt he hoped that in days of stress this might commend him to the favour of our people. He had planted the tree, but, alas, was not destined to see the fruit.
Shuhba, where we hoped to sleep that night, lies beyond the south-eastern border of el-Lejâʾ, on a spur of Jebel ed-Druze. We rode over a great breadth of waʿr—a dry, rocky region, with hardly a green thing to be seen. Then we entered a more open country, with flocks of sheep and goats in search of pasture, following their scantily-clad shepherds. This was soon passed. The path before us darkened again, and we found ourselves in the midst of the most forbidding tract of country we had yet seen. Scorched and blackened by the elemental fires, the volcanic rocks towered high in great irregular masses, or stretched out in stone-strewn levels, rent and torn in every direction into wide chasms, whose horrid, jagged lips seemed yawning to devour us; while black mounds rose here and there, like the remains of long-extinguished huge bonfires. Over wide areas not one blade of grass was seen. This was the scene of Ibrahîm Pasha’s signal defeat. It is a natural fortress, which a few resolute spirits might easily defend. Indeed, until one has seen this part, he cannot realise how fully the district justifies its name, el-Lejâʾ—“the refuge” or “retreat.” Soon after our visit the Druzes had an opportunity of profiting once again by the impracticable character of the land. How their impetuous spirit and wild bravery robbed them of the advantage we shall see in the sequel. One of the first to fall, pierced in the forehead by a rifle bullet, was our generous entertainer of Damet el-ʿAliâ.
The last belt of dark rock safely passed, we came upon flower-strewn patches resembling those whose brilliant beauty had charmed us on the other side of Dama. Riding on under an oppressive sun, with a wide prospect over Haurân to the south, beyond the southern coast of el-Lejâʾ, and a striking view of Jebel ed-Druze in its full length before us, we reached a rocky height overlooking a gently sloping valley, in the bottom of which we were rejoiced to see the inviting gleam of water. Crossing the stream, we left el-Lejâʾ behind us, and rode south-eastward over low-rolling downs of rich soil towards the base of the mountains. The little village Umm ez-Zeytûn stood on an eminence to the right. “Mother of Olives” the name means, but none of her daughters are now visible. A flying visit was paid to the village. The modern houses, or hovels, are built upon the site of an ancient city, large and beautifully cut stones from the old ruins contrasting almost grotesquely with the miserable structures they have been employed to rear. The Druze inhabitants we found most courteous and obliging; they answered all questions, and volunteered information as to the best and shortest roads, apparently out of sheer goodwill.
Burckhardt’s experience on his second visit here was very different. The thought of treasure had inflamed the people’s minds. When first there, he copied some inscriptions; ere his return, it was noised abroad that he had carried off great treasure from Shuhba, and, being unable to take all at once, was coming back for the remainder. His escape from their hands he attributed to threats as to what would happen should he be injured, and to the free use of oaths. The latter was probably more effective than the former, since, inveterate swearers as all are, there are few who would not be daunted by the earnest cursings of an injured man. Of the character and strength of the language then employed some idea may be gathered from such a Psalm as the hundred and ninth, the very reading of which makes one’s blood run cold: what must it be to have such curses hurled at one, red-hot from the flaming heart of a man in wrathful earnest!
Rejoining our companions, we approached the base of a beautifully formed pyramidical hill, Tell Shihân, which rises abruptly from the plain to a height of some six or seven hundred feet. The gracefully rounded outline is interrupted near the top, where there is a slight flattening towards el-Lejâʾ. Doubtless from this crater, in the active volcanic age, the glowing streams flowed westward, to cool into the stern tracts we had seen. The road resembled those often seen at home, made of the refuse from smithy fires, the brittle cinders having withstood exposure to all weathers for millenniums, crunching cheerfully beneath the horses’ feet. The hill was green to the very crest. Here for the first time we found by the wayside a species of iris, from which in our further journeyings we derived no little pleasure. It is a glorious flower, fully two inches in diameter, the lovely velvety petals shading off from a dark blue to a delicate purple. Some were rather lighter in colour. However long the journey, we never thought the time ill spent in pausing to look at these wonderful blooms, spreading in the solitudes with the sweet tendance only of sun and shower, like a veritable “smile of God.”
Tell Shihân fairly rounded, the horses’ feet plashed again in running water; to the left a little waterfall, white and flashing in the light, made music in the still air, and just below it stood one of the mills that haunt the waterfalls like shadows. From this point the path to Shuhba winds up a steep hillside, among great lava blocks, the surroundings for a time almost vying in blackness and wildness with the western parts of el-Lejâʾ. The ascent we accomplished under a heavy thunder-shower, which so thoroughly soaked everything that we were driven to seek more comfortable quarters than would have been found in damp tents pitched on muddy ground.
Very imposing are the walls which still in great part surround the old city; more imposing still is the ancient gateway, by which we entered from the north, although it is now partially blocked with ruins. Immediately within the gate, the iron-shod hoofs clanked merrily on an excellently preserved pavement. This is the great street running from north to south, dividing the city, and the pavement appears to be entire. I do not think a better example of this kind of Roman workmanship is anywhere to be seen. On either hand were the dreary blackened ruins with which we were now so familiar, while before us we could see the forms of tall columns rising into the twilight sky. We saw no trace of inhabitants until we reached the south-western quarter, which alone is occupied.
SHUHBA, BATHS AND ROMAN PAVEMENT
Our guide took us straight to the house of the sheikh, who advanced to meet us with profuse expressions of welcome. Dismounting in the street, we followed him at his invitation. With difficulty we made our way dry-shod over a huge pool of rain-water which had collected in front of the arched doorway, through which we entered a wide courtyard. To the left stood a rickety erection, in the construction of which some of the finest materials from the old buildings had been employed. A broad stairway of large lava blocks led up to it. A roof of branches and brushwood rested upon gracefully hewn marble pillars, which were tied together at the top by a rude architrave. These in turn were supported upon beautiful capitals, turned upside down, and on carved blocks of stone. The back wall was of the usual mud-built character, and the pavement was rough in the extreme. A diwân round three sides doubtless provided sitting accommodation for the sheikh and his friends in fine weather. Nothing could better mark the low level of the present inhabitants than their pride in such a bit of ill-fitting, incongruous patchwork as this, in proximity to the magnificent remains of a past civilisation.
A strange, rambling old house it was into which we entered by a narrow winding passage from the left corner of the courtyard. First we found ourselves in a series of great gloomy apartments communicating with each other in a line east and west; then, turning to the right, we scrambled through a doorway, the broken threshold of which was some feet above the level of the floor; and, pushing forward, we entered a second courtyard, much smaller than the first, with rooms all round, on one side two stories high. Some remains of ancient ornamentation were still visible on the walls, and the pavement of the yard was evidently from of old. Here were our quarters for the night, the gentlemen having two little rooms, one of which served as dining-room, on one side, and the ladies a larger room on the other. The stair leading up to the gentlemen’s apartments had been failing for centuries, and now was nigh unto falling; but, observing great caution, we all escaped without accident.
Our host for this night formed a contrast in every respect to the dignified and magnanimous chief of Damet el-ʿAliâ. A short, thick-set man, with stubbly white beard, very red nose, and puffy cheeks, he bustled about with the air of a man who does a very great favour indeed. With evident pride he displayed his rooms, and fished for compliments, suggesting that they were beautiful and clean, mithl lokanda—“like a hotel.” Ideas of cleanliness differ, but we avoided controversy by gently turning the conversation to the subject of our entertainment This we were allowed to provide for ourselves, even to the coffee, of which he seemed glad to drink a share. He was one of the less noble sort; and, his people taking their cue doubtless from their chief, our servants found it difficult to secure all necessaries at reasonable prices. But as the night closed darkly around us, and the mountains were alternately lit up by sheets of blinding lightning and filled with loud rolling thunder, while the rain fell in torrents, and the wind whistled eerily among the ruins, we were thankful, even with all its drawbacks, to be under such substantial shelter. If, for reasons which need not be specified, we slept but little, we could all the more realise our good fortune, in that, on these high, open uplands, we were not exposed to the full fury of the tempest.
The morning broke clear and beautiful, and we were out betimes to make a rapid survey of the old remains. A few paces north of the chief’s house we struck the main street running east and west. It seems just possible, from the remains of bases here and there, that this may once have been a pillared street like that at Jerash, so striking even in its desolation; or that at Gadara, where the columns lie prone and broken along the whole length. Following this street eastward, it sinks rapidly, and passes under a long archway, which might almost be called a tunnel, strongly built of dressed basalt. This doubtless formed the substruction of some important public building. A blacksmith has his workshop in one of the deep cellars in the side of the archway, and his blazing fire sends cheerful gleams through the gloom. Beyond this archway eastward lie all the ruins possessing special interest for the visitor. To the south of the road stands the great amphitheatre. Carefully built of massive stones, the walls and tiers of seats are still almost entire. It is the best preserved of all such structures to be seen east of the Jordan, and it appears to have been one of the largest. Several poor Druze families were in possession of the lower parts of the building when we visited it, and very comfortable houses they made—superior certainly to any of the modern erections around.
We visited in succession a great sunk octagonal building, as to the use of which we could make no satisfactory guess; the ruins of several temples, one of which must have been of no ordinary splendour; and the remains of the tetrapylon which once graced the crossing of the two main streets. Now only three of the original four massive bases are to be seen, and the arches have entirely disappeared. We scrambled over rickety walls and scattered stones, and crawled into noisome crypts in search of sculpture and inscription. We saw enough to persuade us that a rich harvest may be gathered here by the patient explorer. Of the ancient baths which stood in the south-eastern quarter not far from this crossing, very large portions are still in a good state of preservation, and form, perhaps, the most interesting part of all the ruins.
The material employed in their construction, like that of all the buildings in the city, is basalt, and in parts the appearance is very fine; but no adequate idea of their original splendour can now be formed. The rows of gaping holes in the walls tell of the lining of marble with which they were once adorned. The destruction of this was doubtless dictated by the desire to possess the iron fastenings by which the marble slabs were held in position, and the lead by which these were fixed into the walls—a temptation which the cupidity of the Arabs would make it extremely difficult for them to resist The water channels are skilfully built into the walls, and from the points at which they project we may guess where the baths were placed; but the floors are now entirely heaped over with ruins. The walls are still over thirty feet in height, and of great strength. Most interesting of all, in connection with the baths, is the old aqueduct, by which the water was conducted across the low valley to the eastward from the hills beyond. Several of the substantial arches are still standing, and the line can be traced away towards the eastern uplands. Eleven or twelve miles was the water brought to minister to the comfort of the splendid, luxury-loving Roman.
These and other similarly great structures we owe to the ancients’ ignorance of the principles of hydrostatics. Only when we gaze upon such vast undertakings, where the channel was raised by artificial means, so that the water might flow along a regularly inclined plane, do we fully realise what an immense saving of labour the discovery of these simple principles has proved to the modern world.
The ancients appear to have spent their strength in the erection of public buildings. The houses of the common people seem to have had nothing special about them. Built of the ordinary black basaltic stone which abounds in the neighbourhood, they have long since gone to ruin, probably in the shocks of earthquakes. West of the town stand two beautifully formed conical hills. Some of our party who ascended them found them to be extinct volcanoes—one having a circular, cup-like crater in the top. Seen from a distance, these hills bear a striking resemblance to heaps of grain on a great threshing-floor. This resemblance has not escaped the sharp eyes of the imaginative Arabs, who call them “the grain-heaps of Pharaoh.” Local tradition associates them with the name of a notable oppressor of the people, the builder of the Qanâtîr Firʿaun (“the arches of Pharaoh”), the great aqueduct which stretches from the neighbourhood of Nowa past Derʿat to Gadara. Having exhausted the people with taxes for the completion of this work, he finally seized all the grain in the land and stored it here, ready for his own purposes. He sent a gigantic camel to fetch it, and just as the unwieldy animal drew near, the wrath of God was kindled against Pharaoh, and a bolt from the clouds blasted grain and camel together, leaving two blackened heaps as monuments of the impotence of all earthly tyrants before the King of heaven.
This town is believed by many to represent the ancient Philippopolis. True it is that “Philip the Arabian,” a native of this region, having been elected emperor by the army in Syria about the middle of the third century—244-249 A.D.—founded a city in his native country, and adorned it in Roman fashion. But so little is known with certainty on the subject, that almost any considerable site in Haurân may claim the honour, if honour it be. The modern name of Shuhba is said to be derived from the noble Moslem family of Shehâb, who in the early years of the Mohammedan era came northward from Arabia Felix, and in their wanderings, before settling in Mount Lebanon, made this city a temporary home. Relatives of the prophet of Arabia, they received distinguished honour, and assumed a leading part in the affairs of the Lebanon. The name of Emîr Beshîr Shehâb was well known in Europe in the earlier half of the nineteenth century. This prince of all the Lebanon fell in the year 1840; and the family, already shorn of much of its glory, went finally down amid the bloody revolutions of 1860.
There is a prevailing belief among the uninstructed in all parts of the country that the Franj—the name given to all Westerns—are literally loaded with gold. To this belief we owed a somewhat unpleasant experience. The avaricious old sheikh took counsel with a faithless one among our attendants, who evidently wished to smooth the road for his own return by satisfying the cupidity of the natives at our expense. He advised the sheikh to demand a most outrageous sum for our entertainment, in which demand the said faithless one should support him. The arrangement was at once agreed upon. Meantime a second attendant, who bore no love to the former, having overheard the plot, revealed the whole. We decided the amount and manner of payment, taking care that there should be no reasonable ground of complaint. Finding himself detected, the sheikh’s accomplice ignobly forsook him. When the money was put into his hand, with expressions of thanks for shelter afforded, the old man could not conceal his surprise, and it was some time ere he recovered sufficiently to hint that the sum was small. Just before we started, a few piastres extra were added, to save what little of dignity he possessed. He, as well as we, wished everything done in secret, knowing well that a report of his mean conduct spreading among his brother sheikhs in Jebel ed-Druze would prove fatal to his reputation, especially as Englîze were in the question. This was the only display of meanness or stinginess we met with east of Jordan; and for even this our own servant was chiefly to blame.