Proceeded southwards, and passed the broken bridge before mentioned. Harvest everywhere in progress, and the produce being carried home on asses to the village of ’Abadîyeh, adjoining to the houses of which were square and flat tents made of palm-leaf matting as residences of the Ghawârineh Arabs.
Came to the ruins of a wretched little village called Belhhamîyeh, formerly under the patronage of the ’Adwân; and thence appeared in full view upon the hill above the great castle of the Crusaders called Belvoir, but now named Cocab, or Cocab el Hawa. Upon the plain by the river side was the encampment scattered about, and several European tents among the others denoted the presence of Turkish soldiers.
We could see the Jis’r el Mejâma’a, the bridge leading across to the land of Gilead.
Rode up to ’Akeeli’s tent, and found with him the formidable Shaikh Fendi el Faiz of the Beni Sukh’r, and a musician with his rebâbeh. A slave was making coffee on a fire of dried camel’s dung, although it was in the fast of Ramadân. We conversed guardedly about Dëâb and the rest of the ’Adwân, and the camp at Dahair el Hhumâr. ’Akeeli then had brought in for his amusement a wild beast called a fahh’d, differing from a panther in being larger and in having black stripes down the face; it seemed wild enough, but was confined by a rope, the pulling of which, and alternately
patting the creature was the amusement or occupation of the Aga. They brought me some coffee and water to drink, whereupon ’Akeeli called for some too, and said to me—“These fools of Mohammedans are keeping Ramadân, but I am a Frenchman,” he then drank off the water. This man, whom Lynch, the American commander, styles a “magnificent savage,” was savage enough in manners, and dirty, and half-naked. He has since, however, made his influence felt, and may perhaps do so again.
Altogether, my reception was not one in accordance with my notions of Arab hospitality. Perhaps he did not wish me to espy what was going on about him in company with Shaikh Fendi el Faiz, so I took my leave, riding towards Cocab. At an Arab encampment we got some Leben Sheneeni, (soured fresh milk, most delicious in hot weather,) and drank almost a pailful of it between myself, the kawwâs, and the muleteer. The heat was prodigious. In the camp were only women and children at home: the former employed in weaving and dyeing woollen trappings for horses,—serving to keep off the plague of flies,—of which articles we bought two.
’Akeeli had sent an escort to accompany us as far us the castle. One of the men was a care-worn old fellow from the far north, wearing a very heavy sheepskin coat with wide sleeves, to keep out the scorching heat of the sun, and his face covered
with a mandeel or cotton handkerchief, to protect him from reflection from the ground; his venerable musket terminated in a rusty bayonet.
We went southwards until opposite the bridge, then turned westward to the hills, and forded the water of Wadi Berreh. The ascent was difficult and long, during which our escort carried on a conversation in the Arnaout language.
At the summit I sent on the servants and baggage to Jeneen, there to pitch the tents for us—the sheepskin man, the kawwâs, and I turned aside to survey the old castle at Cocab el Hawa. It has been a large and noble erection in a strong natural position; the trench and sloping walls are pretty perfect, the stone-work being still sharp-edged; the portion of the defences looking towards the Jordan consists of large stones rabbeted, equal to any work in Jerusalem or elsewhere, which must be an indication of a fortress long before the time of the Crusaders—though the stones are not of dimensions equal to those of the Jerusalem Temple wall.