CHAPTER XII
“Time is money”—Rumamain—Priestly hospitality—Fair mountain groves—Es-Salt—The springs—Relation to Arabs—Raisins—Descent to the Jordan—Distant view of Jerusalem—View of the river, the plains of Jordan, the Dead Sea, and the mountains beyond—The bridge—The “publican’s” shed—The men from Kerâk.
Causes for delay are never far to seek among Orientals. “Time is money” is a phrase void of meaning in Arab ears. Money is precisely the thing he lacks most, while of time he has more than abundance. An Eastern in a hurry is one of the rarest sights. We were still on the uplands, far from our destination, when the sun began to throw his evening glories over the western hills. Our cook thought fit to profess that he had lost the way—this doubtless to pay us out for our refusal of a guide. His manner, however, was much too cool and collected, so we were not deceived. But it was annoying, as the whole caravan drew up, to see him comfortably seated among the bushes, on the top of a huge precipice, enjoying a cigarette. We moved rapidly forward, and fortunately found a wandering Bedawy who, for a consideration, agreed to conduct us to es-Salt. He led us by a steep pathway to the bottom of a sweet valley. Then suddenly we plunged into a romantic ravine, down which dashed a brawling stream, sprinkling rock and bush with sparkling diamonds. A stiff climb up the farther bank brought us to the little village of Rumamain, just as the light departed. Our tents were pitched by candle-light. The villagers, who are Christians, were most cordial in their welcome, and hastened to furnish whatever we required, as far as it was in their power. The priest invited our party to take refreshments with him, and those who could be spared from the camp gladly accepted his hospitality. He well maintained the eastern traditions in the entertainment of strangers, although some of his beverages were stronger than the desert law prescribes!
RUMAMAIN
The village stands on the edge of the gorge through which we had passed. The mountains tower aloft on either side. The valley narrows southward, but to the north it opens out into a broad, fertile expanse, bounded by the mountains, torn with water-courses, which form the southern bank of the gorge of the Jabbok.
Before daybreak we were all astir. Waiting only for a supply of beautiful milk, which was brought us by the Arabs in the mountains, we got to horse again. Our guide shouldered his club and marched off towards the thickets that hung, shaggy and dark, on the sides of the valley. Our path wound among these delightful groves almost to the confines of es-Salt. About three hours sufficed to bring us to the city, but the ride was one not soon to be forgotten. It was one of the most enjoyable parts of our whole journey. Thick oaks and thorns gathered in the bottom of the hollows; honeysuckle, entwining their gnarled limbs, shed perfume on the air; the hillsides were clad with trees of richly varied foliage, while tall pines swayed gracefully high over all. The morning was fresh and beautiful. Even the horses seemed to feel the inspiration of surroundings, and footed it merrily along. It seemed all too soon when we reached the edge of the forest, and looked forth on the treeless hills beyond. Many of these are, however, covered with vineyards, whose sprouting green relieved the dull monotony. Tree-clad they too once were, as we can see from the numerous stumps in the fields. A few of the forest patriarchs, left here and there in the cultivated ground, would have done much to beautify the land, and would have yielded grateful shade to the labourers. But it is difficult to restrain the axe when it is once set in motion. Here we found evidences of genuine industry. Wherever it is possible, vines are planted and carefully tended, so that the face of the country assumes quite a cheerful and prosperous aspect.
The city of es-Salt, lying as it does on the steep slope of a valley, is not seen until one is fairly upon it. The name es-Salt is evidently derived from salton hieraticon—“the sacred forest.” The inhabitants may number in all some seven thousand, of whom the great majority are Moslems. With the Christians, however, they continue to dwell together in harmony. There may be about two thousand Christians, taking Greeks, Latins, and Protestants all together. The last belong to the church founded by the Church Missionary Society. It was our good fortune to meet with the Syrian clergyman of this congregation, Kassîs Khalîl Jamal—a gentleman whose praise is in all the churches. With his counsel, we were persuaded to stay here for the day, instead of pushing straight on to Jordan, as we had originally intended. In the valley under the city are olive groves, where the company, dismounting, sat down for lunch, under shadow of the trees, with the sound of running water in their ears. Our tents we pitched on the top of the hill overlooking the town, separated by a narrow valley from that on which the ruins of the old castle stand.
Having seen all right about the camp, some of us set out, gun in hand, tempted by the numerous partridges, and enjoyed an excellent opportunity to see the surroundings of es-Salt. There are few remains of antiquity, and these not of great interest. Traces of old graves, found along the hill-faces, and the bare ruins of the old castle are the chief. The springs, to which the town owes so much of its life, are, of course, highly prized. The town itself is interesting as being the chief mercantile centre in all the district east of Jordan through which we travelled. The market is frequented by the Beduw from far and near, and everything necessary for their poor life is found exposed for sale in the streets. Hither the “housewives” bring their samn, jibn (clarified butter and cheese), skins, and other products of the wilds, and carry off in return the cloth of which their scanty clothing is made, coffee, tobacco, etc. Es-Salt thus forms an excellent basis from which to reach the Arab tribes in these parts. The advantages it offers are utilised, as far as possible, by the missionaries there, and, with the help of the medical department of the mission, they have found considerable entrance; but, in order to overtake the work in a manner at all satisfactory, men would have to be set apart to devote all their time to evangelising the Arabs. With a well-manned station here and another at Bozrah, nearly all, if indeed not all, the tribes that touch the eastern borders of Palestine might be reached; and in due time evangelists from among themselves would go forth with the glad tidings into the inhospitable wastes beyond.
We were assured that the grapes grown in the district are unsuitable for the making of wine. However that may be, wine is not made, but a great business is carried on in raisins, those of es-Salt being famed throughout the whole country. The Jewish merchants of Tiberias buy large quantities of them and use them to produce ’arak—a distilled spirit which is working havoc among the youth of western Palestine, Moslems as well as others falling a prey to its seductive influences, although all use of intoxicants is for them under religious ban.
ES-SALT, THE FOUNTAIN
Our stores were replenished from the market, two days’ provision only being required, as in that time we hoped to reach Jerusalem. Early next morning all was packed up and ready for the descent to Jericho. Several of our party were already in the saddle, when the horse of one who had been assisting the ladies to mount thought fit to bolt, and, in their wild efforts to catch him, the European horsemen may have given the Arabs some new ideas in horsemanship. In any case, we gained a more intimate acquaintance with the nearer surroundings of the city than would have been possible otherwise. When at last the runaway was captured, the main part of our caravan had already disappeared some distance in front; and it may give some idea of the crookedness and irregularity of the road to say that we did not catch a glimpse of them again until we were almost upon them, on reaching the plain to the north of the Dead Sea. It is a descent of over four thousand feet in about fifteen miles. The road turns abruptly now to one hand, now to the other, adapting itself to the possibilities of the rough, rocky surface, plunging into ravines, and anon emerging on grassy tracts; but downward, ever downward, is its course. The wild birds here are evidently little used to be disturbed by man. Even the timid partridge sat quite close, or nimbly ran along the rocks on either side of the path. We had not left es-Salt half-an-hour when, from an eminence commanding a wide prospect, we saw the high tower that crowns the Mount of Olives in the far distance, and thus caught the first glimpse of the environs of Jerusalem. This is one of the most tantalising sights. It seems so near, and yet hours of toil in the hot sun seem to bring the traveller no nearer. And when, as the sun sinks, he descends into the valley, and it is lost to view, it seems as if he had been following some strange kind of “Will o’ the wisp.” Ere long, too, we obtained a view of the Dead Sea, lying under a blue haze away below us to the left; and soon we could trace the course of Jordan through the sandy plain by the winding breadth of deep green that fills the valley within the valley in which the river is confined.
JORDAN, SHOWING TERRACES
In that clear, dry atmosphere distances are most deceptive. Seen through the openings in the hills, one would think that on touching the plain we should immediately reach the river, but there are miles of flat, sandy ground to cover ere we pass under the shadow of the embowering foliage and hear the rush of the waters of Jordan. Leaving behind us the mountains of Ammon, which form the eastern boundary of these deep plains, their scarred sides stretching away into the beetling heights that rise darkly over the Salt Sea, the prospect before us was one of enchanting interest. We were already on the borders of the “circle” of Sodom, which charmed the worldly eye and heart of Abraham’s nephew, when viewed from yonder mountains to the west, and which was so generously given up by the aged uncle to the youthful Lot. How strikingly these barren plains enforce the lessons of that old-world history! How vain the choice of beauteous pastures, one day ere long to be o’erwhelmed in desert sand! How infinitely wise the choice of Abraham, the portion of whose inheritance was the unchanging God Himself! There, stretching away southward until lost in a blue haze between her guardian mountains, are the waters of the great sea, which still, in name, is associated with the unhappy Lot; for the natives call it only Bahr Lût—“the sea of Lot.” Before us flowed the river whose tide rolled backward, and over which, while the ark of the covenant stood in the midst, the great “congregation” of Israel crossed dry-shod. Yonder lies the site of Gilgal, whence the conquering hosts went forth under the gallant Joshua. Towards the western border of the plain we saw great patches of green, over which rose a curl of blue smoke, marking the position of Erîha, the village which now represents the city of Jericho, whose walls fell down at the shout of the armies of Israel. Beyond rose the dark, frowning crags of Karantal, by tradition identified with the wild scenes of our Lord’s Temptation.
The Jordan Valley stretched away northward between its mountain walls almost as far as the eye could reach; the high cone of Karn Sartabeh rising full two thousand feet above the plain. This last has been by some identified with the great altar raised by the Eastern tribes on their return from the conquest of the West. It is in reality an “altar” of Nature’s raising, and is interesting as one of the signal stations from which, by means of great fires, intelligence was flashed over the land when the new moon had been seen in Jerusalem. The wooden bridge by which we crossed the Jordan was entirely concealed by the groves around until we were almost upon it. A substantial structure it looked, made of strong beams, supported by great posts, all securely fastened together; it seemed as if it would outlive any ordinary flood, and so, doubtless, it would. But the floods of the winter 1890-91 were not ordinary. For some months the rains were excessive. The river rose far above its usual level, submerging large tracts, and carrying off much that was valuable—among the rest the bridge, which had done us and others such good service. The river here is deep and strong, sweeping with great rapidity round its swift curves. The water is of a thick, brown colour, charged with the soil over which it passes. Care must be taken in approaching the treacherous banks of sand and clay. Toll was collected by an enterprising Syrian, who had erected a wooden shed at the Jericho end of the bridge. One or two native huts also stood on the little level, almost surrounded by a bend of the river, and protected to westward by high sand bluffs.
It was already past mid-day when we arrived, and, as the heat was terrible, we were thankful to take refuge in the “publican’s” shed. We were received with every token of welcome by the owner, who at once busied himself to provide for our refreshment. We found it an excellent plan to carry with us a supply of tea. It is often easy to get boiling water when it is hard to get other things. Tea is swiftly made, and, on a hot journey, is most refreshing. Leban, also, there was in plenty. After our meal, the more weary of the party, stretched in the shade, enjoyed a delightful nap,—only for a little, however; for this being the chief thoroughfare between east and west of Jordan, quiet could not be secured for long at a time. Shepherds passed over with their flocks, and guided them down to the water’s edge to drink. Negotiating with some of the more tractable of these half-wild men, we secured draughts of delicious milk. Then came Arabs from the uplands of Moab; strong, stalwart, sallow-featured men; some armed with the spear, others carrying rifles, with belts stuck full of battered cartridges. They sat down sociably around the shed, and conversed freely. They were greatly impressed with the strength of the men of Kerâk, the ancient Kir Moab. The district was not even nominally subject to the Ottoman Government. The spirit of wild independence was abroad among them. While yielding ready obedience to their own sheyûkh, they resent and battle to the death against any interference with their tribal liberty. Holding themselves absolute masters of the soil, they consider themselves entitled to levy blackmail on all who pass through their territory. This varies in amount, according to the prudence or the want of it displayed by the traveller. One who goes with tents, a large retinue of servants, and luxurious appointments may have to pay some hundreds of pounds before he escapes their hands; another may shoulder his camera, ride in on a mule, and with a few rotls of coffee and a judicious distribution of a few pounds of tobacco and snuff, may march about with freedom, photograph all of interest in the district, and carry off his work in safety. In these regions one must avoid every appearance of wealth. The Turkish Government claims a supremacy which for long it was unable to assert. Often we heard that the Hajj guard, returning from Mecca, was to attack and subdue the Kerâkers. The report that there were four thousand trained men, armed with repeating rifles and no lack of ammunition, no doubt restrained the valour of the gallant guard. At length the Turk has established a certain shadowy authority in the town of Kerâk itself; but over the Arabs, who occupy the town only a few months in the year, it is difficult, if not impossible, to exercise any effective control.
The stronghold, the thought of attacking which gave cold shivers to the Turkish soldiery, could not daunt the high-hearted soldiers of the Cross. With admirable courage, in the true spirit of Christian heroism, a missionary and his wife braved all the dangers in the way, and made for themselves a home in the midst of these people. That they had dangers not a few to face, and many privations to endure, needs hardly to be said. But these “things did not move them”; and the bold warrior Arab learned to love the man of peace, and prize him as a friend. Who knows whether the Cross may not soon triumph where the crescent so long struggled for supremacy in vain!