Hermon, being isolated from the Anti-Lebanon, and the three peaks rising abruptly some 3,000 feet above the lower ridges, has an apparent altitude much greater than many higher mountains. The grandeur of the Matterhorn, for instance, although a monarch of mountains, is diminished by the magnitude of its mighty neighbours, Monte Rosa and the Breithorn (which latter we ascended a few years since, so can judge from experience). The Matterhorn is a giant among giants, a king of kings; but Hermon stands alone in its glory—is, as it were, a sturgeon amongst minnows, and owes its prestige, not to its height, which is under 10,000 feet, but to its isolated position and abrupt elevation; and the same may be said of Carmel, which Swiss travellers would scarcely dignify with the name of a mountain at all.
Hermon, the Sirion of the Sidonians, and Shenir of the Amorites, is called by the Arabs, Jebel el Sheikh, the Monarch of Mountains; it was once encircled by shrines to the Sun God, Baal, all facing the great central temple on the summit of the southern peak; there is only one of these remaining now, between Banias and Hasbêya, which we have already described.
Baal, literally interpreted Lord, was probably applied first to the greatest hero, then to the favourite deity of the day. We hear of it as Bel applied to Nimrod; and we trace it in many other names, such as Bel Shazzar, which means King under the Lord Baal, a sort of divine right we suppose. The Phœnicians generally patronised the Sun, the Israelites probably called their golden calf Baal. After the Greek conquest, Baal and the other Gods were very much mixed up, and the Romans later on, to appease the conquered Syrians, identified their Jupiter with Baal, and their Venus with Astarte, or Ashtaroth. It may be interesting to note here that a memorial of Sun worship survives in Scotland in the Bel tane (Bel’s fire) fair still held at Peebles. It is commemorated on May-day morning. Our actual ascent of the mountain is without much interest, except that on the way we pass a very well-preserved wine press, hewn out of the solid rock. The horses are at the door at four a.m., but not until six can we venture out, for Hermon is veiled in dark cloud, and over the Rashêyan Valley bursts a terrific thunderstorm, the thunder reverberating grandly among the mountains. A continuous bombardment by the biggest guns ever launched from Woolwich would have been infants’ rattles compared to it. At six a.m. a ray of sunshine breaks through the black firmament above, and we set out briskly, and in about four hours scramble up to the southern—the highest peak—where we find extensive and massive remains of two temples, dedicated to Baal, also a large cave in which we tiffin. Time and space would fail to describe the grand panoramic picture displayed from this sacred summit, no high peaks near to intercept the view. During the ascent, to the summit, which is some 5,000 feet above Rashêya, we have a fine sight of the coast from Carmel to Tyre, but on the summit, the greater part of Palestine and Syria are opened out as a map—to the west, the Mediterranean coast; to the north, the ranges of the Lebanon stand boldly out; the plain of Damascus, bounded by the six day’s desert, flanked by Abana and Pharpar, is in the extreme north-west; Dan, Cæsarea Philippi, Kadesh Naphtali, Safed, &c., nestle beneath on the near south-east; further south the broad waters of Merom, and the silver streak of the Jordan glisten in the noon-day sun, and in the far east the lofty plains of Basan and the Mountains of Moab bound the distant horizon; on the south, Mount Tabor raises its beautifully wooded crest over Nazareth; Gilboa near by seems lost in the plains of Esdraelon; and further west, in the dim distance on the coast, Carmel slopes away to the sea. We enjoy the view only a short time, as a blinding hailstorm comes down and causes us to beat a very precipitate retreat; but as the black thunder clouds gather above and beneath us, and the sun at intervals shines through and upon them, the mélange of earth and sky, sunshine and cloud, gold and colour, is grand in the extreme. Mountain and meadow bathed in black and gold, here and there mellowed with the most delicate tinges of purple green and orange, form an effect, which if fixed on the canvas, would be called an impossible picture, and we could now well understand and feel that enthusiastic praise so often in the Bible bestowed on Hermon, “that Tower of Lebanon which looketh towards Damascus.” The ascent is neither difficult nor dangerous to a careful and vigorous climber, but extremely laborious, being a steady steep and continuous scramble over loose stones, on which it is difficult to retain a footing; there is no defined path to the summit, and it should not be attempted without a local guide, as the clouds gather round and envelope Hermon very quickly, and sleet or snow may come on suddenly, in which case there would be but little chance for any but the most experienced guides. Hermon is thought by some to have been the scene of the transfiguration as Banias, where our Saviour started from, is near by. On our way up we try to track a bear, but fortunately fail to find him. If our curiosity had been gratified, we probably should not have written this account.
Tiberias.
CHAPTER IV.—Damascus.
Rasheya is again our resting place after our descent from Hermon, and next morning we make an early start for Damascus. In about 40 minutes we arrive at Rûkleh where there are ruins of temples, and a mountain ride of another two hours brings us to Deir-el-Ashair, where again, on a small elevated plateau, we see extensive and massive remains of ancient temples with fragments of Ionic columns. After a short ride we now reach the French diligence road, the only decent bit of road in Syria, over this the French have a monopoly of wheeled traffic and transport for nearly 99 years, riding horses pass free, but all pack animals and caravans have to pay, which however the native caravans evade by still using the old track up and down the mountains which runs almost parallel. The ride through the Abana, or Barada Valley, for the last three hours is very pleasant, being well watered, wooded, and sheltered from the sun—a most agreeable contrast to the dreary desert of Sahira, through which we have to ride some two hours to reach it. We may here remark that Sahira in the Koran is the Arabic term used for Hell, and anyone who has been in the burning desert at noontide (the hot dry wind making the skin like parchment and drying up all moisture in the lips and body) will have an idea that any kind of Hell must be a most uncomfortably hot place, life being in the burning desert a burden almost unbearable. The first sight of Damascus, unlike that of Jerusalem, realises all we have heard of it, it is indeed magnificently situated in the midst of an extensive plain, intersected in all directions by the rills of the rivers Pharpar and Abana, which mæander through and round the whole city, and finally lose themselves in the meadow lakes beyond.