for the plague of flies, and this gave rise to the ancient deprecatory worship of Baal-zebub, “the lord of flies,” by that people; there is still a village upon the plain named Dair ed Dubân, “the convent (or temple) of flies.” Later in the summer this plague is said to be so intolerable to horses and animals of burden that travelling is only attempted there by night-time.
At length came a rustling noise along the fields and rain fell slowly in drops large as good teaspoonfuls, yet the heat was so great that my coat of nearly white linen did not for some time show marks of wetness; a black cloud from which the water fell accompanied us along the line of route, and the rain from it increased.
Over the plain going eastwards we had for a long time in view a rocky hill with a Weli crowning its summit; on our right, i.e. southwards, a conspicuous object, and called ’Arâk Munshîyah (the rock of Munshîyah.) This is not to be confounded with the similar cliff cropping out of the plain, but upon our left, and called Tell es Sâfieh.
We noticed several deserted villages with small breastworks and turrets of loose construction remaining where the peasantry had of late resisted the raids of the southern Bedaween, but unsuccessfully. We were told by a solitary foot-passenger of such incursions having taken place only a day or two before, whereupon our muleteers took fright and hurried on apace. We all examined the state
of our firearms, while the storm was driving furiously in our faces.
The rain was over as we reached Bait Jibreen, just after 3 p.m. This important place was our station for the day. We pitched in an eligible situation under a line of olive-trees at some distance from the houses, in view of the principal antique buildings. The principal people came out to welcome us, especially ’Abdu’l ’Azeez, the brother of the Nâzir Shaikh Muslehh, for whom I had brought a letter of recommendation from the governor of Gaza.
We were fatigued as much as anything from the effect of the shirocco wind. Then dark clouds from a distance with thunder surrounded us. As the time of sunset approached, the preparations for dinner were interrupted by the driving of a heavy shirocco, low, near the ground, which soon became so strong that the tents began to tumble over, and we took refuge in the house of ’Abdu’l ’Azeez; there was, however, no rain.
Here then I was lodged in a house of sun-baked bricks plastered inside with mud, but as clean as such a house could possibly be. There were cupboard recesses in the walls, a fireplace and chimney, wooden nails driven into “sure places” in the walls, (see Isa. xxii. 23,) strange scratches of blue and red painting in fancy scrolls, etc.; a raised Mastabah or dais, and a lower part of course near the door, for guests to leave their shoes there; the
whole being roofed by a few strong beams wattled between with faggot-wood. A piece of ancient marble lay across the doorway.
The very rudely fabricated lamp was lighted from a huge clump of wood taken burning from the hearth. Dinner as uncivilised but as hospitable as could be expected at half-past nine. I should have had my own long before but for the tempest outside.