The second day we found the hills and glens less rugged, the country improving in general appearance, the soil more fertile and better cultivated. We passed through many winding valleys with landscape beautiful and picturesque, the hills terraced from base to summit, supporting vines, fig and olive trees, the scenery enlivened by wild flowers, bright and gay, springing up from the green, luxuriant herbage. The Arab is seen with his primitive plow and diminutive oxen, breaking up his ground; a Bedouin on his fleet steed, with his brass-bound gun suspended over his shoulder, galloping over the hills; the Mussulman, with his wives and children, scantily dressed, plucking the weeds from his patch of grain; peasants passing in their gay dresses of red and green; long strings of mules, donkeys and camels, winding along the tortuous path; the shepherd preceding his flock of sheep and goals, leading them along the mountain slopes or standing with them clustered around a favorite fountain.
We are now approaching Nablous, a modern town on the site of the ancient Shechem, a name familiar to the Biblical reader. Clambering up a steep, rocky path, we arrive at the crest of a lofty ridge, where we enjoy a lovely, romantic scene—the finest and most pleasing since leaving Jerusalem. Before us lies an undulating plain, stretching far away northward, encircled by picturesque hills, no object on its surface to break the view; around its borders are small groves of orange trees, and here and there clumps and rows of olives, giving it the appearance of a European park. The villages here as elsewhere, instead of being located on the plain, are, for security, built on the crest of steep hills, or high up on the acclivities.
The people we now meet appear different in character, manners and dress from those occupying the country we have passed. They look daring and ferocious, ready to commence hostilities on the slightest provocation. Armed cap-a-pie with a flintlock shot-gun, a huge dagger sticking in front of their girdle, pistols and a large knobheaded club, they seem pleased in displaying these arms, and, judging from their sturdy, athletic appearance, I have no doubt they could employ them to great advantage. We frequently met these fellows armed in this manner, driving along a miserable looking, half-starved donkey, loaded probably with all they possessed, except arms and shabby clothing. There is, however, a cause for this oddity. A bloody feud, most likely, exists between one family and some other family, which was commenced hundreds of years ago by their ancestors. Some person was killed, and one of that person's family killed another in return; then another was killed in revenge, and thus it has continued until the present. Every member of the family is in danger, and lives in dread—any moment the avenger of blood may pounce upon him. Therefore he is armed at all hours and in all places—when leading his flocks on the mountain, his donkey on the road, or when plowing in the field, ofttimes having to flee from house and home, and abide with strangers. This fearful state of things arises from the following law of the Koran: "O, true believers, the law of retaliation is ordained to you for the slain—the free shall die for the free." I suppose Mahomet drew this from the Old Testament, but failed to make the corresponding merciful arrangements—"cities of refuge."
The second night we camped in a lovely spot, in the suburbs of Nablous. This city, known in Bible history as Shechem, possesses the most charming and picturesque scenery of any site in Palestine. It is situated along the base of Mount Gerizim, on the south side of a verdant valley, sparkling with streams and fountains, and decorated with olive trees, gardens and fruit orchards. The cliffs, hills and mountain slopes, supporting terraces, rising one above another in regular gradation, growing narrow strips of waving grain, together with fig, olive and orange trees. The valley is clothed in the richest foliage and vegetation. Viewed from different points, the city, with its white-domed buildings, and its mosques and towering minarets, presents a charming picture. Nablous contains eight thousand inhabitants, only five hundred of whom are Christians. The buildings are constructed chiefly of stone; in style and general appearance they are similar to those in Jerusalem. The streets, as in all other towns in Palestine, are narrow, crooked and extremely filthy. The houses project over and cover them, being supported on arches. The inhabitants have the reputation of mistreating strangers, especially ladies. Prompted by curiosity, no doubt, they visited our tents by multitudes. In turn, we perambulated their filthy city, experiencing no illtreatment.
In Shechem, as we learn from sacred history, Simeon and Levi avenged the dishonor of their sister Dinah, by murdering the whole population of the city, having first decoyed them into complete disability of defending themselves. It was the first spot where Abraham pitched his tent in Canaan—"Place of Shechem at the oak of Moreh." Jacob, also, on his return from Mesopotamia, pitched his tent in this then pastoral region. This is the place where Jacob sent his favorite son, Joseph, to look after his brethren. "A certain man found him wandering in the field," and directed him to Dothan, about twelve miles north, where they had removed. Here Rehoboam was proclaimed king over all Israel; and not long afterwards the ten tribes revolted, and made Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, king, and established Shechem as the capital.
Soap, cotton and oil are the chief productions at Nablous. The olive is extensively cultivated, and is seen around every village and hamlet Clothed in midwinter, with their soft, gray foliage, they always impart beauty and add an air of cheerfulness to the landscape. The olive is slow in its growth, requiring from twelve to fifteen years before it begins to pay the expense of cultivation. It is long-lived—one thousand years and upwards. The older ones have a remarkably venerable appearance, with their great gnarled and furrowed stems, especially when representing the last stages of life's decline. Usually the fruit ripens in November and December, and is beaten off with long sticks, and gathered by women and children, who carry it away in baskets on their heads to the press, where the oil is extracted by an apparatus quite rude and primitive. The berries are placed in a round cavity excavated in a rock, when a huge stone is rolled over them by oxen or manual force. The pulp is bound up in mats, placed under the press, which is forced down by a screw or heavy beam. The liquor is partially heated, the oil is then skimmed and put into skins or earthen jars.
From Nablous (Shechem) to Samaria, our next principal point, we pass through a lovely country—over terraced hills, and winding through partially cultivated valleys, with fields of grain two-thirds grown and orchards of figs and apricots. Small villages are seen crowning summits of distant hills or perched high up their rocky sides, seldom appearing in the rich vales below.
Samaria contains about sixty buildings, with four hundred inhabitants. It occupies a narrow, rocky plateau, midway up the side of the steep, lofty hill. In the midst of a gentle shower, we rode up to the village through a narrow, winding path, climbing over large boulders and forked, sloping, conical, shelving and slippery rocks. Halting a few minutes, we then ascended to the summit, on which is an open area, formerly surrounded by columns, only a few of which are now standing. In descending the mountain, we reached a place on its slope, covered with magnificent ruins—a quantity of columns, some standing, others broken and lying in fragments over the ground. Sixty or more of these pillars, two feet in diameter, eighteen in height, are standing without their capitals, deeply sunk in the ground. It is supposed that these columns were designed to decorate the principal street of the ancient city. Large quantities of hewn stone are strewed around over the plowed fields and orchards in the valley below, and piled into the terraces which partially encircle the hill.
In viewing these immense ruins, I was reminded of the fearful prediction of Micah: "I will make Samaria as an heap of the field, and as plantings of a vineyard, and I will pour down the stones thereof into the valley, and I will discover the foundations thereof."
Lorenzo Snow.