CHAPTER XIII
The banks and thickets of the Jordan—Bathing-place—The Greek convent—A night of adventures in the plains of Jericho—The modern village—Ancient fertility—Possible restoration—Elisha’s fountain—Wady Kelt—The Mountain of Temptation—The path to Zion.
The Jordan, in the lower reaches, is shaded by overhanging willows, and the path along the bank is lined with tall oleanders. In the brushwood, which grows thickly over the little peninsulas formed by the circlings of the river, we were assured that the nimr (small leopard) found a lurking-place; and, further, that he and his grim neighbour, the hyena, haunted the bushy hollows between the sand-dunes which stretch away towards the sea.
We shouldered our guns, and, armed with ball cartridge, set out to beat the brushwood in the hope of starting game of this class. Perhaps it was as well for ourselves that we were disappointed; but a gun in a man’s hand adds marvellously to his powers of endurance in walking, so we were able to explore the shady banks of the river, and attain a fuller knowledge of its windings. The bridge was photographed with a group in front as a souvenir of our visit; then, sending the muleteers straight to Jericho with tents and baggage, we prepared to ride towards the sea, with the intention of returning to Jericho for the night. Our road wound among the sand-dunes for some distance. Here we were charged to keep close together. The advice was necessary. Had one lingered behind, and by any mischance lost the way, he might have wandered long enough in the labyrinth formed by these little sand-hills, which resemble each other so closely as to be distinguished only by the trained eye. They are the haunts of robbers too, who, in the multitudinous winding hollows, may easily escape pursuit.
We did not go so far down as the fords and famous bathing-place; but on a subsequent occasion I saw something of the extraordinary scenes enacted there—a great company of Russian pilgrims, men, women, and children, plunging promiscuously into the sacred river. Most wore a thin linen garment as they went down into the water. This is afterwards carefully preserved, and is worn again only as a shroud. Certain men standing in the stream saw that each one went at least three times over the head.
FORDS OF JORDAN. PILGRIMS BATHING
Leaving the labyrinth, we emerged on a wide sterile plain, over which grew only a few stunted desert bushes. Here and there we could see the shimmer of the sunlight on a thin crust of salt. The Greek convent, standing in the midst of the waste, served as a landmark, and thither we directed our course, leaving the winding road. This cross-country riding in these parts has its dangers. The horses are apt to sink through the soft surface, into holes burrowed by the rodents; and deep ruts, worn by winter torrents, are often difficult to pass. At length we stood before the gate of the convent, and the hospitable monks regaled us with refreshing draughts of pure, cool well-water. It seemed only a short distance farther to the sea; but some of our company were growing fatigued, and, at our rate of riding, it would take almost till sunset to reach our camp by the “City of Palms”; so, reluctantly, we turned our horses’ heads northward, comforting ourselves with the hope that in a more convenient season we should stand on the shores of the Dead Sea and plunge in its sullen waters.
On arriving, we found the mukaries busy with the tents, which soon were ready for our reception. But we were disturbed somewhat to hear that one of our attendants was missing. He ought to have come with us toward the sea; but when we found he had not come, we concluded that he had accompanied the muleteers to Jericho. Now, however, he was nowhere to be found, and the mukaries assured us he had started immediately behind us. The evil reputation of the district made us rather anxious; but the reckless character of the man, and his habit of starting off on the wildest projects without a moment’s warning, led us to believe that Saʿid would turn up again, as he had often done before. We set up lights, however, on the most conspicuous points, when darkness fell, so as to guide him, if possible, over the plain. As the night advanced, and we still had no news of him, our anxiety increased, our main hope being that, as he followed us, he had arrived late at the convent and taken shelter for the night, or that haply he had found his way back to the bridge. Even with fifty men it would have been futile to search that wilderness in the dark. A hunt after a number of wild swine that came to the neighbourhood of the camp served only as a temporary diversion from the graver subject occupying our thoughts. The “garrison” of the town consisted of one soldier, whose services we secured without much difficulty. He was despatched, with the breaking light, to go towards Jordan bridge, and southwards to the convent, while some of our party prepared to scour the plain, the rest getting in order for the ascent to Jerusalem.
All were very early astir. Just before mounting, the plain was swept with the telescope, and in the distance a coming horseman was descried, who seemed to resemble the lost man. His appearance caused no little excitement in camp; for, on a nearer view, there was no doubt of his identity. Both man and horse were utterly wearied, and Saʿid’s garments were covered with blood. The tale he told of his experiences was terrible enough. On our departure, he lingered a moment to see the muleteers ready and on the road; then, as he thought, he followed us, but missing the way, he pushed straight southward, guided in part by the river, arriving on the Dead Sea shore just as the sun set. As he had ridden rapidly, he thought he might have passed us on the way; but, after waiting and careful search along the lonely beach, he despaired of finding us. He turned away in the twilight, hoping by instinct to hit upon some way leading to Jericho. Soon the night was filled with the horrid howlings of the jackals, all over that weary waste, and here and there the shrill laugh of the hyena fell on his ear. Pushing forward, he was speedily entangled among the sand-dunes. Climbing one after another, he sought to hit upon some landmark to guide him; but ever, on descending, his bearings were lost, and he wandered almost hopelessly. As the night closed in, he could see shadowy forms moving around, and the howlings came nearer and nearer. Suddenly, in the track before him, he saw a hyena glaring upon him. The natives believe that the hyena will not attack a man save when famishing or grievously provoked. But in such moments one does not reflect much on these things.
Fortunately, Saʿid had my gun and ball cartridge with him. With nerves steadied by something like despair, he aimed at the brute’s head, and, the ball crashing through the brain, he rolled over with a groan. A momentary silence followed the report, and then the dismal noises broke out again. Riding onward he saw, and not a moment too soon, a leopard crouching for a spring. Aiming swiftly, he fired, and the ball took effect in the leopard’s neck; but, withal, the brute was able to spring, and almost to reach his mark. “Then,” said Saʿid, his lip quivering and an unaccustomed tear trembling in his eye—“then I must have had strength given me from heaven; for, as the brute sprang, I reached forward, caught him by the neck, and hurled him back violently to the ground, where he lay stunned, and a second ball finished him.” He attempted to carry the leopard on the pommel of his saddle, and this accounted for the blood-stains on his garments. But weariness and anxiety soon overcame his purpose, and the leopard was left to decay among its native wilds.
Finally, baffled by the darkness and the intricacies of the labyrinthine windings, he climbed a little knoll, and tying the horse’s halter to his arm, stretched himself on the ground to sleep; but ever and anon, as the denizens of the desert drew near, the trembling creature tugged at the halter to awaken his master, and seemed to long for waking fellowship. At last he was overcome with sleep, and was only aroused when the horse had apparently come close up and whinnied in his ear. Then, rising bolt upright, it seemed to him as if the gloomy waste were all alive with moving shades, and vocal with dismal howlings. How he came out of that pandemonium he never could say; but ere long the dawn stole into the sky, and the wild beasts crept away into their dens. He found a poor shepherd, walking out with his flocks, who, seeing his forlorn condition, sustained the best traditions of desert hospitality by offering what he had for his day’s food to the weary traveller. Then he was able to make out the direction of Jericho, and, before the morning was well born, he was again with his companions, uttering perhaps the most sincere hamdulillahs of his life. After hearing this tale from the lips of that worn-out man, on the borders of the desert plain of Jericho, one could better realise what it meant for the Son of Man when, driven of the Spirit into the neighbouring wilderness, through the long nights He was “with the wild beasts.”
JERICHO. ELISHA’S FOUNTAIN
Poor Saʿid has now “joined the majority.” He escaped the beasts of the Dead Sea plains to fall a victim to a more subtle and deadly foe. While at work on the new railway near the Hummeh, the hot springs in Wady Yarmuk, he and many others were mortally stricken with typhoid. A heavy toll in human lives these valleys have exacted on the passage of that road of iron. Saʿid was a typical light-hearted Syrian, prone to err, who yet through years of service proved faithful according to his light, with a larger infusion of courage in him than is common among his countrymen. In steadfast loyalty at his master’s side, neither fatigue nor peril daunted him.
A burden was lifted from all our minds, and, moving forward that morning, even higher spirits than usual prevailed. We rode into the village, and stopped a little at the hotel, where souvenirs of the Dead Sea plain, staffs made from the oaks of Bashan, Bedawy clubs, and such-like articles, are exposed for sale to travellers. Then we rode along lanes bounded by hedges of prickly pear and thorns towards the spring of Elisha, called now ʿAin es-Sultan—“Fountain of the Sultan,” where man and beast drank from the cool stream and were refreshed.
The modern Erîha is a miserable representative of the famous cities that rose one after another in the neighbourhood of this copious spring. The land immediately around is a marvel of fertility, bearing, when under cultivation, with tropical luxuriance. Near by the spring stood the ancient city which was attacked and overthrown by the Israelites—the first stronghold gained on this side of the Jordan. Near the same spot rose the city of Heil, who dared the curse and endured it—the curse pronounced by Joshua—in order to restore the crown of splendour which his ancestors had crushed so ruthlessly. This latter was the city known to Elijah and Elisha, not yet ancient in their time, for the inhabitants of which the waters of this lovely spring were miraculously healed. One of the “schools of the prophets” existed here; and here Elijah had his last interview with the youth, the hope of Israel, ere he went forth to yonder lonely tracts eastward, to be parted from the faithful Elisha by the chariot of fire, and caught away to heaven in the whirlwind. The fertility of the plains of Jericho was almost proverbial in later days, when its rich revenues were farmed by Herod from Cleopatra.
Then the magnificent balsam gardens and the groves of stately palms lent added beauty to a scene in the midst of which the luxury-loving Herod had his winter quarters. In the days of our Saviour the sycamore tree was not wanting, as we learn from the story of Zaccheus. The remains of old sugar-mills testify to the ancient culture of the sugar-cane; and the ruins of ancient aqueducts, dating from high antiquity, which brought the contributions of distant springs to the grounds around the city, show with what care the paradise of Jericho was watered. The balsam has now utterly disappeared; and the stranger, coming unprepared upon the scene, might well-exclaim, “How could Jericho ever be called ‘the city of palm trees’?” But great fruitful vines may yet be seen, in the badly-kept gardens, yielding with prodigality in spite of indifferent husbandry; and heavily-laden bananas, bending over the hedges, offer of their sweetness to the hand of the passer-by. The modern village boasts a hotel, a Greek hospice for the accommodation of Russian pilgrims, and the ruins of an old castle, which frown out upon the wilderness to eastward. Those who are willing to be pleasantly deceived by monkish tradition may also have the house of Zaccheus pointed out to them. There are some three hundred inhabitants in the village, creatures of a miserable physique, and with a most undesirable reputation for laziness and thievishness.
That the plains of Jericho might be once again what they were of old—a very garden of delights, wherein is enough and to spare for all—needs hardly to be said. Were proof required, it would be found in the surroundings of Elisha’s fountain. Wherever the waters of the fountain come, the desert sands are transformed into fruitful fields, and all its banks are clothed with emerald. No small supply of water would serve to waken life over all the plains; but is not the vast volume of the Jordan only waiting to be caught in the higher reaches, and taught to run in fertilising streams all over the broad lands? For long generations it has flowed idly past, only a few yards on either side of the rushing flood tasting its refreshing power. What untold wealth is rolling there, in these rich brown waves! What hand shall arrest the flow, and turn its powers to noblest uses, so that all the valley may be filled with the music of rustling grain and with the beauty of ripening fruit?—that the wilderness may rejoice and blossom as the rose. Ere this is possible, the reins of government must be held by stronger and more righteous hands, the husbandman must be secured in the enjoyment of the fruit of his toil. But surely now the appointed season for favour cannot be long delayed. Happy the eyes that shall behold the awaking of all the land to fresh life after its death-like slumber! In those sweet days of reviving, no fairer scenes will greet the eye than these broad stretches, proudly in the midst of which will rise once more the beautiful palm-girt city.
MOUTH OF WADY KELT
We could have lingered long beside that delightful spring, pouring its sparkling waters forth in blessing over the plain; but the sun rose higher in the heavens, and we had a hard ascent before us. We rode along the base of the overhanging hills, crossed the mouth of Wady Kelt, and struck the carriage road leading from Jericho to Jerusalem. Deep, dark, and forbidding is the great cleft in the hills which, since the days of the learned and acute Robinson, has been by many identified with the brook Cherith, where Elijah hid from Jezebel’s wrath, and was miraculously supplied with food. The probabilities are, however, that the old Gileadite turned not southward, but eastward. In the ravines of his own native highlands there must have been many retired spots known to him in youth, where he might foil the most earnest search by strangers. The great grim mountain Karantal, whether the scene of Christ’s Temptation or not, has yet a Christian history of deep interest. The caverns in his frowning sides have been the haunts of Christian hermits from early days. Even yet, at times, a devotee takes refuge there from the vain world. On Mount Tabor, at a Feast of the Transfiguration, I met an Austrian monk who told me he had spent six years in solitary meditation and prayer in a cave in the Jordan Valley.
Now, as we ascend the winding path along the steep mountain sides, we pause for one last look over the plain and the sea and the dark heights beyond, whence came Israel’s hosts of old to possess the land. There, beneath us, where the plain is lost in green, stood the ancient Jericho, where the worshippers from the east of Jordan were wont to assemble ere going up in company to the great feasts. Doubtless these very hills have echoed to the voice of psalms, as the pilgrims marched up the steep ascents. So was it our privilege to turn our faces towards Zion, planting our feet in their footsteps—the footsteps of the tribes of God who went up thither. Very heartily could we wake the echoes again with their old song, “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem,” as we pressed upward to realise a long-cherished dream in the vision of the Holy City.
Thus may we all press up the steeps of life, Zion’s love in our hearts, her songs upon our lips, until with joy the pilgrims’ eyes behold, amid the light and splendour of the Eternal City, the face of the great King!
THE END
Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] For inscriptions copied here and in other places on a later journey, see Palestine Exploration Fund Quarterly for 1895.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.