The ancient city was located on one of the most imposing and picturesque hills in Palestine. Situated in a basin-like plain six miles in diameter, it rises in an oval shape to the height of 300 feet. Connected with the mountains on the east by a gentle swell of land, it has the appearance of a noble promontory. Midway its sides is a broad, irregular terrace,the site of the modern town, while its summit is a long, level plateau. On the north and south are valleys, converging on the west into the Valley of Nablous and running to the sea, bounded on either side by higher mountains, dotted with villages, and fertile in groves of fruit-trees and fields of grain. Nothing evinces the refinement and elegance of Omri’s taste more than the selection of this hill to be the site of his imperial city; but, under the degenerating influences of Mohammedanism, the beautiful in nature and the grand in art sink into insignificance. The footfalls of the Prophet are the pitfalls of civilization. Here, as every where else in the East where he sways his sceptre and lifts his sword, shame succeeds glory. Filth and rags, indolence and turbulence, crime and misery, are the chief features of the 400 inhabitants of the modern town. Their sixty wretched huts are constructed of mud, in which are imbedded the polished but now broken columns of costlier edifices. In a region where plenty waits on ordinary industry, they are but little above the condition of common beggars. In such a land indolence is a crime and poverty a dishonor.
Grand amid its ruins and conspicuous in its desolation is the Church of John the Baptist, reared to the memory of that great man some time during the reign of the Crusaders. Standing on the very brow of the broad terrace on the east, its broken arches and crumbling walls recall the beautiful ruins of Melrose and Dryburg Abbeys. In form it resembles a Greek cross. The finish of the interior is of the Corinthian order, and exceedingly beautiful. Measuring 153 feet in length and 75 in width, the interior consists of a nave and two grand aisles, formed by rows of clustered columns ornamented with Corinthian capitals. In the eastern end is the chancel, with pointed arches elegantly adorned, resembling the segment of a circle. But the Gothic roof is gone, and in the aisles grass grows where once cowled monks and mail-clad knights knelt in prayer. On white marble tablets set in the wall are sculptured crosses of the Order of the Knights of St. John, now mutilated by the hand of Moslem ignorance.
The southern half of the interior has been inclosed for a mosque, and under a wely in this inclosure is the reputed tomb of St. John, called by the Arabs “Neby Yahya.” It is a small chamber excavated in the solid rock, reached by the descentof 21 steps. Here pious tradition points to the final resting-place of his headless body, brought hither by his friends from the castle of Machaerus, on the east of the Jordan, where it was originally interred. When the brave Crusaders took possession of the Holy Land, they guarded with affection and veneration the sepulchre of their patron saint, and reared over his ashes this church as his funeral pile. Though impossible to determine the correctness of the tradition that here urns the dust of the greatest of prophets, it is no less a tribute to his memory, and a dishonor to the memory of his royal murderer, that the name of John and that of Herod are the only two conspicuous names perpetuated by the ruins of Samaria.
Plucking a memorial leaf from the tomb, we followed the broad, level belt of land to the southwest side of the hill, where are the remains of Herod’s colonnade. It is impossible to speak with accuracy of its vastness and magnificence. According to Josephus, Herod enlarged the city, surrounded it with a wall 20 furlongs in circumference, in the midst of which he left an open area a furlong and a half in circumference,where he erected a temple to Augustus, remarkable alike for the vastness of its dimensions and the exquisite beauty of its finish.[504] To rival the renowned city of Palmyra, he constructed a colonnade 50 feet wide and 3000 long, consisting of two rows of polished limestone columns 16 feet high and two feet in diameter, ornamented with Corinthian capitals. Through this imposing colonnade the royalty, the beauty, and military of Sebaste passed up to the temple of Augustus, which crowned the hill of Omri; but, like the grim skeleton of departed beauty, it is now a ruin. For more than 200 feet this avenue is marked by prostrate columns and broken bases. A hundred shafts still stand erect as when reared eighteen centuries ago, but now marred by the rude plowshare of the equally rude Arab. Ascending to the site of the temple, 200 feet above the colonnade, we found 17 columns without capitals, two of which were lying prostrate, overgrown with the ripening grain. Half a mile distant to the right were 15 columns, which are all that remain of that famous quadrangle composed of 170 columns. Where marble walks once ran and exquisite statuary stood, venerable Nature, outliving the monuments of human greatness, has resumed her ancient sway, bearing on herfertile bosom clustering vines and ripening grains. From the summit the prospect is no less extensive than captivating. Unrivaled by any other hill as a site for a capital, the position of Samaria is strong and central, its environs are fertile, and its summit is fanned with breezes from the distant sea. The vineyards, the cotton-fields, the circlet of mountains green with corn, and the rich Plain of Sharon beyond, bounded by the blue waters of the Mediterranean, form a picture of more than ordinary beauty, and one which Elisha and Herod, Philip, and Peter, and John must have contemplated with delight.
As we descended from the ruins of Sebaste, whose citizens were great in crime as they were great in wealth and power, the prophetic denunciations against the city and their fulfillment were recalled to mind:“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.”[505]“Samaria shall become desolate, for she hath rebelled against her God.”[506]
It was two P.M. when we mounted our horses for Cæsarea. Reapers were thrusting the sickle into the ripe barley, and maidens were gleaning after them, as we rode over the Plain of Sebaste. Soon we turned westward and again entered the Valley of Nablous, here known as Wady Sh’aîr, “The Valley of Barley.” Through its centre flows a brook, which increases in width and rapidity as it approaches the sea. Following the northern bank of the stream, we passed, at intervals of several hundred yards, Roman aqueducts, near which are mills driven by water power. Reaching the small hamlet of ’Anebta, the road to Cæsarea branches, one continuing down the valley to the Plain of Sharon, while the other, striking across the barren ridges of Wady Mussîn, enters the plain by the village of Bâkah. Choosing the latter, we traversed a barren and cheerless region. Night came on apace as we neared the large and flourishing town of Shuweikeh, situated on a lofty hill. Passing the village of Kakôn, we mistook Zeita for the town of Bâkah. Riding through its silent streets, we learned from a peasant that the place of our night’s encampment was still to the westward. Regaining the road, we lingered for a moment to examine the remarkable Hill of Zît, marking the eastern border of the Plain of Sharon. Its sides are scarped and regular, andits summit is level; around its base are hewn stones and fragments of columns belonging to some unknown city. It was here we had a despicable instance of the military tyranny of the Turks. One of our soldiers rode into a field and cut down grain enough to feed his horse that night, while the owner, who was a poor man, besought him, in the most respectful manner, to spare his grain, as it was all his property. But neither age, prayers, nor poverty touched the heart of that military ruffian.
Anxious, hungry, and weary, we pitched our tents, at eight P.M., in the environs of Bâkah, a small straggling town on one of the richest plains in the world. The mules unloaded, the horses tethered, supper over, prayers offered, my companions asleep, I walked out upon the magnificent Plain of Sharon. A dreamy haze, like gossamer gauze, veiled the skies of night, through which moon and stars softly peered. A scene so lovely recalled the tender strain of one of our finest poets:
“Oh! sweet and beautiful night,
When the silver moon is high,
And countless stars, like clustering gems,