It is a panorama wonderful not only in extent but in the amount of detail, which, in the cloudless air of the East, we are enabled to distinguish, and we would willingly pause longer, but the sun is high in the heavens, we have been six hours in the saddle, and, leaving our horses to follow, we find a pleasant relief from the glare in descending an almost perpendicular path into the Wady Kelt, the deep gorge of the brook Cherith, where a monastery marks the site of the alleged hiding-place of the prophet Elijah. It is perched on a narrow shelf, high up on the perpendicular rock wall of the ravine, and can only have acquired its present resemblance to domestic architecture by slow and painful labour. The lower storey, of rough massive stones, apparently designed for a fortress, is all that remains of an ancient monastery, founded in 535, possibly upon the site of an earlier habitation of the Essenes, an esoteric sect of Jews, whose life somewhat resembled that of the religious Orders among Christians. The cave, high up in the face of the rock, alleged to have been occupied by Elijah, is now an oratory for the Greek monks, who, in 1880, returned to an old foundation of Koziba, and built an upper storey, with projecting balconies, from which one has a wonderful view of the gorge below.
We left our horses upon a little bridge, which spans the bed of the brook—where they found welcome shelter, after their giddy descent, under a vine-covered pergola—and then, following a zigzag path, we made our way within the doors of one of the many hospitable monasteries which, all over the Holy Land, are ready to offer at least shade and water, the two great boons of a hot country, to the weary and thirsty traveller. No question was made as to creed, even as to that of our officer, a Moslem, and we were allowed to spread the meal we had with us, with kindly additions of water for drink and ablution, coffee, liqueur, and fresh green lemons.
Ignoring all question as to whether the prophet were fed by Arabs or by orabs (ravens) it is at least a pleasing sight to watch the relations of the wild birds of the gorge with his modern representatives. The old superior of the convent, silent, calm, with an expression of infinite resignation to the poverty, in every sense, of his ascetic life, seemed to recover some faint and passing interest in the beautiful world about him as, bidding us be silent within the window, he stepped out on to the balcony, and produced from his pocket some dried figs. Scarcely raising his voice, he called gently, Idoo sudar! Idoo sudar!—or such his cry sounded—Russian, as we understood, for "Come along, sir!" The blue air was flecked with gold, a morsel of the fruit was seized as it was thrown into the air, there was another flash of golden wings, and on the head, shoulders, and the extended arms of the old man there perched the exquisite blackbirds of the district—the "Tristram's grakle" of the Dead Sea. The sheen of the deep purple wing, with its orange lining, was wonderfully rich, and the creatures themselves were, in every movement, graceful as swallows. The dainties finished, there was an instant flutter, and not a sign remained in all the clear, blue heaven of our visitors of a moment ago; only a shimmer of silver on the opposite cliff showed where a cloud of rock pigeons had descended to inquire into the cause of excitement among their neighbours.
After a couple of hours' rest we went on our way, following the narrow path which crept along the precipice, and looking with equal wonderment at the rocky hermitages above our heads and at those beneath our feet; some which seemed to be accessible only to birds, while others were so deep down in the narrow gorge that the necessaries of life have to be lowered to them from a roughly-formed crane upon a narrow shelf of level ground above.
It was interesting to notice that, even among men of similar religious impulses, and identical occupations and opportunities, individual character nevertheless finds occasion for expression. While some dwelt in holes in the rock, accessible only by a ladder, sometimes of rope, and in one case, by a voluntary asceticism, only by a pole, others showed a tendency to make the best of the situation—two or three had constructed gardens, verandahs, or porticos; one dwelling at least would have been described by an auctioneer as a cottage orné, and some had even shown an æsthetic realisation of what was befitting the situation, and had sought after effects of colour and form as well as of convenience. Not a human being was to be seen, but we wondered how many pairs of eyes were watching our movements; whether it were possible that the sound of our cheery voices, and the sight of our enjoyment, may not have touched some heart to sense of loss, have sounded some chord of regret, or even of remorse, have recalled memories of other days, when friendship and anticipation and sympathy and glad companionship were theirs, and life was other than the awaiting of death, and the setting sun brought a sense of something added to the days that were gone as well as of something subtracted from such as might—in God's providence—remain.
Our horses followed slowly down the glen, and the afterglow was beautifying even the desolate village of Jericho as we finally remounted and rode in among the groves of orange and banana.
CHAPTER II
STEPPING EASTWARD
"The dewy ground was dark and cold;
Behind all gloomy to behold;