In a Syrian Saddle

by A. Goodrich-Freer

With thick foliage on either side, and lofty hills before us, we hardly realised that the sun was setting when it was suddenly night. Our cavalcade closed up together, and those in front were constantly calling back to others to beware of stretching branches or other difficulties of the path. The very horses, with the instinct of self-protection, in a country where other protection does not exist, kept close to each other. Our officer hurried to the front at sound of voices and movement, the mukaris brought up the rear, and the Lady's horse was secured by a rope to that of one of the men. An opening in the trees revealed a camp of charcoal-burners, and as we once more began to ascend we could see the lurid flames of others of the same trade, lighting up the surrounding hilltops, and making the darkness around seem all the more substantial. It was a darkness which might be felt. We knew, from occasional contact with the branches, that we were still in thick woodland, and as we began to climb once more, the path was so narrow and so perpendicular that our horses could go only in single file. All but the Professor and the Lady dismounted, rather from humanity than for safety, for the animals' sense of direction was better than ours. As usual on occasions of anxiety, no one spoke. Suddenly a shout arose out of the darkness, and the horses halted; while those on foot pressed on to know the cause, and the Professor, who was in advance, sent back his electric lantern. One of the baggage horses had found his bulk too great for the narrow passage, and the way was blocked by his entanglement. It took some time to set him free and to ascertain that nothing was lost from his various burdens. As we waited in the dense blackness of the wood, the poor animals struggling for foothold on the steep ascent, the smell of the hyænas was almost nauseating, and the cries of troops of jackals, answering each other out of the darkness, lent a weird touch to our surroundings.

Presently the obstacle was removed, and we were able to continue in the direction of our oriflamme—the spark of light which showed that the Professor, with his lantern, had reached a spot where he could safely await our arrival. A fervent Alhamdul-Illah! ("God be thanked!") from one of our mukaris bringing up the rear, showed that the horses at least were safe; and in a few minutes the stragglers on foot had joined the group, one at least having special cause for thankfulness, as he had had a very narrow escape from a fall over an unsuspected precipice. To see each other was still impossible, and a startled wain es-Sitt? ("Where is the Lady?") uttered close beside her, almost gave her pleasure, not from any desire to give trouble to her friends, but rather as assurance that she had not already done so, for there had been moments of which some of us hardly yet felt competent to give an account.

The look backward, from the high ground we had reached, was a spectacle not to be forgotten. Three huge fires flamed high against the great dome of night, which, now that we were out in the open, was perceptible in the clear starlight, and no longer the wall of dense blackness which had seemed to press against our very eyeballs. Moreover, behind us, to the north-east, the moon was rising from behind the Jebel Osha, a mountain 3595 feet high, associated with the prophet Hosea, said to have been born and buried here. The Bedu have a wely containing his grave, about 16 feet long, for all the great men of old were giants, and here they annually sacrifice sheep in his honour. We felt, as we heard the story, that a sacrifice to the rising moon would be less of an anachronism than we were accustomed to suppose, so thankful were we to have some notion of where the next step would lead us.

It seemed as if Es-Salt were extraordinarily remote, and we asked Khalil if we were not near, with a faint hope that a light we could see away down in the valley might represent the windows of the convent upon whose hospitality we counted, and when he replied: "After two hills," we were even inclined to suppose it a façon de parler, equivalent to "by-and-by." However, he was right enough, and we had to descend and climb, and again to descend and climb before, below, up the valley to our left, the town became visible. The light we had counted upon, proved to be again that of charcoal-burners, and a most Satanic spectacle it was, for we came near enough to see a group of figures dancing and leaping against the flaming background.

The last descent was somewhat of a pendant, except that it was on open ground and by moonlight, to our perpendicular ascent in the wood, and a row of telegraph posts at the bottom seemed to add insult to our injuries: the affectation of an effort at civilisation which we felt had been better expended in the clearing of a few rocks and the construction of, let us say, some kind of path. Again, most of the party dismounted, and it was interesting to observe how cleverly the animals picked their way, even the laden baggage animals. When now and then they went, for convenience, a little wide of the ultimate point, we noted with interest how they came at a call from the mukaris—each animal having his own name, to which he readily responded. It may be mentioned in passing that, so willing and intelligent were our friendly quadrupeds, that the only whip in the cavalcade was never used during the whole expedition but to reprove the moral obliquities of the Professor's horse, who took long to recover from his jealousy.

It was some consolation, in riding through the long town of Es-Salt, to find that its inhabitants were still up. They were, in fact, celebrating a festive occasion—the engagement, or, perhaps, more correctly, the sale, of the daughter of some prominent townsman. We could learn no particulars of the transaction, but to judge from the extreme gaiety of the groups gathered about a flaming bonfire in an open space, it would seem to be satisfactory to both parties—meaning, of course, the bridegroom and the nearest male relatives—father, uncle, and brothers—of the bride, for she herself was not likely to be consulted in the matter.

The kindly parish priests of the patriarchate, like those at Madaba, received us with ready hospitality; one of them even vacated his own room for the use of the Lady when it was ascertained that the Sisters of the Rosary, who could more conveniently have accommodated her, had closed their doors for the night.

We had time next morning to make some small acquaintance with Es-Salt. Although it is a town having a large fixed population (10,000, which includes 3000 Christians) we were struck by the anomalous fact that a large number of the people looked like Bedu. The men had the slender build and finer features we had met so universally since crossing the Jordan, and the women had the much-tattooed faces, and even the long, trailing skirts, we had met all over the Belka. Although it is the seat of a kaimmakâm (governor), and has a Turkish telegraph office, it seems to be still in spirit, as until recently it was in fact, in opposition to the Government. Burckhardt, who was here nearly a century ago, speaks warmly of the hospitality of what he calls the "Szaltese," who were then Bedu at heart, and even in dialect. He says their public hospitality may be estimated at about £1000 a year, collected from the people, and adds that were they subject to the Turks more than that would be extorted from them for forced entertainment. They had lately withstood a three months' siege by the Pasha of Damascus. Then, as now, they were engaged in three branches of commerce: the collection and sale for export of sumach leaves, used largely for dyeing purposes; the weaving of carpets from the wool of their own flocks; and above all, the preparation of raisins.

It was quite a useful enlargement of notions to most of us to find that the familiar raisin used in puddings is not, as the grocers spell it, "Sultana," with some vague notion of an Oriental association with the Sultan, but Saltana, and that it comes almost entirely from Es-Salt. The fruit used for the purpose is a small grape without seeds. They are spread out as soon as picked, and then turned over and over, with fingers dipped in olive oil until they are all impregnated in every part. They are then dried on wood ashes,—the wood employed being the oak or terebinth—collected in baskets, and then spread out to dry on a well-trodden earthen floor. Two and a half kilogrammes (a kilogramme is about two pounds and a fifth avoirdupois) cost, on the spot, twelve piasters, or about two shillings, less, in large quantities.

Another article of commerce is a very strong tobacco known as "heesh," from the Arabic word for the forests where it is cultivated. It burns so badly as to have given rise to a proverb applied to a man or a subject which puts a stop to conversation: "It is heesh tobacco; do not speak!"