Having crossed this bridge, we were now in constant expectation of getting sight of Jerusalem; and as we approached the summit of a long hill, our caterer, Lieutenant S——, made the officers in the van fall back, so that Mrs. Patterson might be the first to advance and catch a view of the sacred city. But we were to be disappointed; it was not in sight, and these disappointments occurred so often, that at length we grew less earnest in our look out ahead. Evening was fast approaching, and just as distant objects were beginning to grow indistinct, a sudden rise on the road brought to view some white buildings far off, and a little to our left. A sudden cry of “Jerusalem” burst from the foremost, and all hurried forward to enjoy the welcome sight; again, however, we were mistaken. But, a few minutes after this, while we were gazing at the objects just described, and debating whether they were the sacred city or not, a long white wall, with battlements and towers, presented itself suddenly right before us; and then arose a general cry of joyful surprise—for this we knew to be Jerusalem. I believe there was not one of us who was not affected with powerful emotions; and among these feelings was generally a sensation of pleasing surprise at the imposing appearance of the city; for whether it was owing to its contrast to the small group of houses we had been looking at, or to the manner in which it bursts upon us in a dreary desert, or whether there was sufficient cause for this in the city itself, I cannot say; but the first impression was certainly a very favorable one.
The city, as viewed from the west, presents a stretch of wall about two thirds of a mile in length, battlemented and strengthened with numerous towers, and, at the Jaffa gate, which is midway along, fortified with heavy castles. South of this gate, the walls stand on the edge of a ravine or valley sixty feet in depth and two hundred feet wide, and at this part, particularly, the effect is very bold and striking. As we approached, battlement and turret were here thrown out into strong relief against the clear evening sky.
This was our first view and first impression of Jerusalem. To myself, however, little time was given for observation. The Commodore called for me; and telling me that as this was a city in the line of my profession, they must look to me to provide quarters for the company—said he wished me to ride forward rapidly, and see where we could find accommodations. So I changed my humble donkey for a spirited steed, and taking for interpreter a young Arab officer who had accompanied us from Jaffa, set forward at a pace that made us look more like crusading knights at a tilt than peaceable pilgrims. The gates, which are usually closed at sunset, we found were kept open in expectation of the arrival of our party, and a large number of citizens were standing in groups without. On our drawing up and inquiring the way to the house of Mr. Nicholayson, the missionary from England, he himself stept forward and gave us a hearty welcome. His house he immediately placed at our disposal, but on his inquiring how many there might be in the party, and receiving my answer, “I think about seventy,” he stood aghast. A company of seven or a dozen, the number as he had supposed our company, he could readily accommodate, and his house was cordially at our service for as many as it would hold; but where to find accommodations for seventy he could not tell, some of the monasteries, the usual resort of pilgrims, being now, he said, in quarantine on account of the plague. We turned into the city, however, to make an effort; and crossing an irregular open area, and then winding down some dark narrow streets, stopped at length at a low gate in the face of a high massy wall. It admitted us into the chief Latin convent; but the Prior, on our being presented, said that nearly all the building was in quarantine, some of the monks having recently died of the plague, and that an adjacent establishment belonging to his order was in a similar situation. Foiled here, we proceeded on a little further, and on applying, though with reluctance, at the Greek convent, were successful; their large building, forming a hollow square with a court in the centre, being given up to us. We returned forthwith, and found that our company had already entered the city, and in attempting to follow us, had got jammed up in one of the narrow streets, where a scene of vexatious and yet amusing confusion was just commencing; the baggage mules with their broad panniers and projecting loads sticking fast between the opposite houses, and, in their efforts to extricate themselves, taking little note of rank or office; while torches glancing here and there upon pistol and cutlass, and the dusty, and jaded, and sometimes disconsolate looking features of our companions, mixed up with the wild and curious gaze of the natives, assisted in making up a singular scene. They had just learned the result of our application at the Latin convent; and to a wearied man, the idea of passing the night in such rough and odoriferous streets as these, could not be a pleasing one. They were highly gratified to find that we had at length been able to procure quarters. The Commodore and his family were invited to the house of Mr. Nicholayson, where, among the kind and agreeable members of his family, they soon found themselves in a pleasant home; while the rest of us, passing through the low strong portal of the convent, and emerging by and by from the dark narrow passage, into the enclosed court, turned to see what species of accommodation we were to have. The prospect seemed melancholy enough. Around the court was a range of buildings, three fourths of which were given up to us, the remaining fourth being occupied by the Prior’s rooms and offices of the church, and by the church itself. The lower part of our portion of the edifice was occupied as stables, kitchen, granary, &c.; and gave also accommodation to some of our party. Ascending from this by a large stairway, we entered on a platform passing around three sides of the court, with a parapet along its interior edge, while on its opposite border was a range of cells, which we found on inquiry were to be our dormitories. Tired as we were, we recoiled from the sight of them. They were usually about eight or nine feet square, and so low that a person could scarcely stand upright in them; a broken door, a hole for a window, a stone or mortar floor, and a thin reed mat, and dust in the greatest abundance—this was the sight that presented itself as we came to examine our domicils. Some joked, some took it all in quiet, and some said “it was really too bad.” But uncomfortable as these abodes appeared to us, other creatures did not seem to think them so, for they were really well tenanted; and when our lights were extinguished, and we had wrapped ourselves each in his blanket, and had stretched ourselves on the stone floor, we soon discovered how far from solitary was the life of our friends the monks. Our chambers were alive with lilliputians, which immediately commenced an attack on us. As D., and S., and myself, were lying in our little room, we first heard some notes of distress on the outside, and occasionally an exclamation of “Hollo, are you out here too?” and then there was a general cry—“I can’t bear this any longer;” and we rushed out to the platform to which we found every cell ejecting its inmates. We did not get asleep until nature, towards morning, was absolutely worn out, when the fleas, having worried us into utter exhaustion, were allowed to gorge themselves at their leisure. The reader may perhaps think that I might have spared him this scene, which is not a pleasant one, and must jar on the feelings of one who would come with other sensations, and be occupied with other thoughts, in this city of solemn and touching associations; but my impression is, that he would like to see the modern city as it is, and I wish also, as far as possible, to make him also a traveller, and carry him along with us; this is no exaggerated picture of our first night, and may be taken as a sample of the rest. Jerusalem, however, is not alone in this; but the whole of this region, from the cataracts of the Nile to Constantinople, is teeming with fleas. We thought, however, that this city was peculiarly infested with them, and were informed that in the most cleanly houses, no care could keep any part of the building free from them.
The night passed away at length, and ushered in a brilliant dawn, such as is not often seen except in these eastern countries, where the thin and scanty exhalations are just sufficient, without obscuring any portions of the landscape, to tinge all with roseate and purple hues.
CHAPTER XIII.
Morning view of the city. Glance at the localities. Question with regard to the place of the Crucifixion. Its practical nature. Scene usually sketched in the mind. The event probably more humiliating in its attendant circumstances. Traditions forced upon the visitor to Jerusalem. Their effect on the mind. Danger of such visits to those who will not separate truth from error. “El Devoto Peregrino.” Dr. Clarke.
I arose early on the morning of the 16th; the sun was shining bright, and the atmosphere had a freshness and a balminess quite exhilarating. Having made a hasty toilet, I placed a ladder against our range of cells, and climbing to the flat roof, by which they were covered, gazed around; and now, for the first time, felt that I was really in Jerusalem.
Immediately east of the city, and separated from it by a narrow valley or ravine, was a mountain large enough to command our respect by its vastness, and yet not too large for gracefulness and beauty. I knew it at once to be the Mount of Olives. It has three summits, one in the centre and one at each extremity; they are of nearly equal height, and when viewed from the city present for their outline a gentle and beautiful curve. A large part of it is covered with olive trees, particularly the central and northern summits and declivities; and they still form so striking a feature, that if the mountain were now to be named, we should be apt to call it the Mount of Olives.