In a Syrian Saddle

by A. Goodrich-Freer

We longed to linger among so much that was beautiful both in art and nature—the green hill sloping gently to the wooded plain, the hills eight miles away opening towards the west, where the intensely blue waters of the Mediterranean, though distant a score of miles, sparkled gaily in the sunshine. Little wonder that the sun-worshipping peoples should have here erected temples to the great god, whose majesty was shown to them in the smile of the sea and the glory of the sunset! Little wonder that the great Syrian princess, Jezebel, should have rejoiced in the ivory palace looking across to the northern shore she had known in her childhood's home.

One parts so reluctantly from what is beautiful that some of us resented almost angrily a reminder that it was possibly at yonder gateway that the dogs licked up the blood of Ahab; that on this smiling plain Jezebel slew the prophets of Jehovah; and Jehu, with still greater brutality, the priests of Baal and the family of the king; that here also Herod murdered Mariamne, strangled his sons, and, possibly, beheaded John the Baptist.[2]

Our last visit was to the hippodrome, lying in a bay of the hill to the north-east—a fine natural position for such a purpose (480 by 60 yards). Many fragments of columns yet remain, apparently belonging to this noble circus, but which some have alleged to belong to a second colonnade at right angles to the first, such as we saw at Jerash. Finally, as we descended to the bottom of the valley to the north-east, we passed another plateau, strewn with massive columns, but a few of which remain upright, probably the forum of the Herodian city, and noted here and there some fine sarcophagi. A ride of four and a half hours was still before us, some of which was over paths of a nature to be traversed, if possible, by daylight, and we might not linger.

[2] Another tradition, more probable, though with less dramatic fitness, places the scene of the execution at Machærus, east of the Dead Sea.

CHAPTER III
TO TAANAK AND MEGIDDO

"Consider with me that the individual existence is a rope which stretches from the infinite to the infinite, and has no end, and no commencement, neither is it capable of being broken. This rope, passing as it does through all places, suffers strange accidents."

For the first fifty minutes our road lay, for the most part, upward, constantly offering glorious views, especially in retrospect, and then, after crossing a green and wooded plateau, we began once more to descend to the north-east, and at the village of Jeba, after passing through a pleasant district, well covered with fruit gardens, found ourselves, about an hour later, once more on the ordinary highroad from Nablûs to Jenin. We looked with interest at the village of Sânûr, with its ruined fortress, monument to "Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The petty tyrant of his fields withstood," some eighty years ago. The petty tyrant was the Pasha of Acre, who besieged, and with difficulty captured, the fortress manned by the independent villagers, whose courage must have impressed the authorities, for they had the cowardice to destroy the fortification entirely. A little farther on we rode across a low plain which resembled the bed of a large lake, perfect in islands and peninsulas, and which bore the descriptive name of the Meadow of Sinking In—Merj-el-Gharak. Fortunately for us it was fairly dry, and we were able to press forward over its green surface, urged on by "Baedeker," who assured us of two bad descents which would be trying to the nerves and, what mattered more, the riding powers of the Artist, who was somewhat inexperienced in horsemanship, and, on the theory that December was a cold month, so encumbered with clothing that she had no seat whatever, and who having been unwillingly persuaded to emulate the Lady's habit of riding en cavalier courageously faced difficulties by standing in her stirrups and balancing herself upon the pommels. Of course, the stirrup straps broke at frequent intervals, not having adapted themselves to their new uses; but the accident was soon repaired, and the interval of repose was good for the horse, happily as gentle as a sheep, but who suffered also from the unwonted arrangement

Fortunately, nothing more serious occurred to detain us as we resisted the temptation to turn aside to inspect Dôtân, probably the Dothan where poor little Joseph, after passing through Shechem, fell into the hands of the Midianites, who carried him into Egypt. Nablûs, as we have seen, being the only pass through the mountain range of Central Palestine, and Samaria being an open country of good roads, this district must have been the great highway from north to south, from the coast to the Jordan, from Europe and Asia to Africa. It is easy enough to imagine the caravan of Midianites winding southward along yonder ridge, laden with spices for embalming, and visible from far by the sons of Jacob as they sat about the well at the foot of the hill, now crowned with terebinths, and well aware that the travellers would probably turn aside for water. Many ancient, empty, bell-shaped cisterns are to be found in this district such as that into which Joseph was let down.

We surmounted a stony ridge, where the path was in such good condition (not being slippery, as we had feared, after the early rains) as to give us confidence in regard to the worse which was to come, but which, in fact, turned out to be all the better for such dampness as there was, as the horses were less liable to slip on the polished rocks; and, indeed, these creatures are as surefooted as donkeys.