I charged the boatman to take the Sisters to Capernaum, where I told them to call on Father Vendelene, who I knew would give them a warm welcome.
Having seen the boat safely started on the way, and with strict injunctions to the sailors to return for me in good time, I mounted my pony and started my exploration of the Upper Jordan.
My escort (who were also supposed to be guides) often got completely lost in the dense oleander jungle that here abounds, but after many trials and tribulations, in the course of which I came upon a submerged herd of buffalo sleeping peacefully in a marshy backwater, I emerged torn and bleeding at the entrance of the black rocky gorge down which the Jordan rushes. Riding here became impossible, so I went on foot until the westering sun warned me it was time to return.
On the way back, which was by another and much easier route, we came across a stalwart Bedouin hunter who, only five days before, had shot a splendid leopard on the hillside.
I asked him if there was any chance of my being able to do likewise. He replied that it was possible, but I might have to wait a month before I got a shot; I could, however, have other good hunting any day I liked, for the thickets were alive with wild boar. This man knew every track round about, and, as we were still shut in by dense thickets, he volunteered to come with me as a guide to the Lake. On parting he refused all offers of money, but later I sent him some tobacco, which I hope he received safely. My escort, when we reached open level country, raced and chased each other on their ponies, pulling up suddenly, or darting to the right or left in wild career. Both rode thoroughbred Arab mares and were immensely proud of their steeds, and their own prowess thereon.
On reaching the Lake, I espied the boat coming along, and as the water was shallow I urged my mount into it and rode out to meet the little vessel. The Arab boatmen, singing some quaint chorus, came alongside and I slipped off the saddle on to the gunwale, waved good-bye to my friends of the gendarmerie, and headed the boat for Capernaum to pick up the Sisters. Here I found that they had had a great time. Just as they were in the midst of a mild flirtation with Father Vendelene, who was showing them round his demesne, who should walk in but the Papal Legate, Cardinal Filippo Giustini, just arrived from Rome on a tour of inspection! The good cardinal was not horrified, however, for he insisted on the ladies coming into the Refectory, where he himself poured them out a cup of tea.
On the way back from Capernaum we hugged the west coast of the Lake and made a call at Migdal, an up-to-date Jewish fruit farm on the site of the ancient Magdala, the birthplace of that romantic figure in the New Testament, Mary Magdalene. Unfortunately, the manager, Mr. Glickin, was away, but his representative gave us a delightful tea in the open, under the shade of an enormous fig tree. Here fruits and flowers of all kinds were showered upon us, oranges, pomegranates, bananas, nuts, almonds, etc., all of the most delicious flavour. Our boatmen had much ado in carrying all our gifts down to the shore.
