Returning to Magdala en route for Nazareth, we entered “The Valley of the Pigeons,” one of the wildest glens in Northern Palestine. Bearing the Arabic name of Wady el-Hamân, it leads up from the Plain of Gennesaret to the Mount of Beatitudes. Its mouth is a mile to the west from the home of Mary of Magdala. At its entrance the ravine is broad, but contracts to a narrow mountain defile. The cliffs on either side are naked and broken, and rise to the height of a thousand feet. The one on the north is not as high as it is massive; the one on the south is bolder and more precipitous. Far up the gorge, and directly in front of the path, is a perpendicular bluff, terminating in a triangular point, and not unlike in appearance a venerable castle. Near its ancient base is a small but pretty spring, sending forth a soft murmur on the quiet air of Hamân. In the face of the rocks are immense natural and artificial caverns, the resort of pigeons, from which the vale takes its name. During the reign of Herod the Great these caves were filled with robbers, who were the scourges of the whole surrounding country. After the battle of Sepphoris Herod besieged this strong-hold. Failing in his attempt to scale the cliffs, he let boxes filled with soldiers down the face of the precipice, and landed them at the entrance of the caverns.Attacking the bandits with fire and sword, he succeeded in dislodging them, killing some, and dragging others out with long hooks, and then dashing them down on the rocks below.[622]
“VALLEY OF THE PIGEONS.”
At the western end of this wild glen is the green plateau of Hattîn. Of irregular form, it is a mile in its greatest breadth.Every where well cultivated, it is bounded on the east, north, and south by low hills, and on the west by the Mount of Beatitudes. Ascending the “Mount,” I found it to consist of two low summits, which suggested its present name, Kurûn Hattîn, “The Horns of Hattîn,” from a fancied resemblance to the two horns of a camel’s saddle. Being a quarter of a mile long, the adjacent ground rises gradually to its base, and the hill forms a crest less than 100 feet high. Relying upon an earlier tradition, the Crusaders revered Kurûn Hattîn as one of the sacred mountains, and, so far as they furnish any proof on the subject, the evangelists confirm the earlier and later traditions. Their simple story is that “Jesus went about all Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people. And there followed him great multitudes of people from Galilee, and from Decapolis, and from Jerusalem, and from Judea, and from beyond Jordan.And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain; and when he was set, his disciples came unto him; and he opened his mouth and taught them.”[623] The region of country, the distance from the sea, the magnificence of the surrounding scenery, the city of Safed “set upon a hill,” the sloping sides of the mountain, and the lovely Plain of Hattîn at its base, combine to render this a befitting place for the delivery of our Lord’s “Sermon on the Mount.” Around it are the Hills of Galilee, to the east is seen the sea, and beyond it are Bashan and Bozrah; while to the north, surmounting one of the highest and grandest of the Galilean mountains, is the old Jewish city of Safed, to which, no doubt, the Savior pointed when he compared his Church on earth to “a city that is set upon a hill, that can not be hid.” Only those who have seen Safed can appreciate the beauty and appropriateness of our Lord’s allusion. From its moss-grown castle is not only obtained a view of the most glorious panorama in Palestine, stretching from the “Mountains of Samaria” to the Arabian Desert, but the allusion amounts to almost absolute truth that the “city can not be hid.” Through all my journeyings for a week it followed me, and the “city set upon a hill” was ever suggesting the sublime lessons of the “Beatitudes.” Whether on the shores of Tiberias, or on the Plains of Hattîn, or on the Hills of Nazareth, or by the Fountain of Seffurieh, or on thegreen fields of El-Buttauf, the city of Safed was before me, rising up from earth like a beacon-light, at once the confirmation of the Savior’s words, and the impressive symbol of a living Church.
But Kurûn Hattîn has a history other than that of having been the scene of the mild and life-giving teachings of Christ. It has a record of blood. On its heights and around its base was fought one of the saddest and most bloody battles in mediæval times, and the one which sealed the fate of the Crusaders in Palestine, and opened the gates of the Holy City to the profane and tyrannical rule of the Turks. Here, on the fifth of July, 1187, the flower of the Christian army, under Guy of Lusignan, met the barbarous hordes of Mohammedans, led on by Saladin, the mighty prince.
The Christians had succeeded to the full occupation of the Holy Land from ancient Gaza to the venerable city of Antioch. The weak-minded Guy of Lusignan had been elevated to the throne of Jerusalem as the successor of Baldwin V.; and as the powerful vassals of the king, Raynald of Chatillon was Lord of Kerak, and Count Raymond was Lord of Tiberias and Galilee. The Christians were enjoying a period of repose, under a truce which had been concluded with Saladin, the nephew of Nourreddin, and the new Sultan of Egypt. But Raynald of Chatillon, proving faithless to the compact, had plundered a caravan of merchants passing from Damascus to Arabia, and had even threatened the distant cities of Mecca and Medina. Saladin condescended to remonstrate, and demanded the release of the prisoners whom the Lord of Kerak held in chains. His demand rejected, the sultan swore to dispatch the perfidious Raynald with his own hand should he ever fall into his power. To revenge this breach of faith, Saladin lost no time in marshaling a mighty army. Damascus was the appointed rendezvous, and the warriors of the Crescent assembled in thousands, not only from the Assyrian provinces, but also from Egypt, Arabia, and Mesopotamia.
Alarmed by such stupendous preparations, the Crusaders in turn prepared to resist the foe and defend the sacred soil. Five miles to the southwest from Hattîn is the large fountain of Seffurieh, which was the gathering-place of the Christian army. As if impressed with the finality of the struggle, the defenders of the Cross came from their mountain castles andtheir most distant fortresses to conquer or to die. From the banks of the Kadîsha and of the Orontes, and from the shores of Tiberias, Raymond came with his faithful followers; from the fortresses of Kerak and Shobêk, Raynald led his well-trained knights; lesser barons advanced from Ascalon, Cæsarea, and Sidon, while the King of Jerusalem led in person a numerous army of Templars and hired troops. To add significance to the hour, the venerable bishops of Ptolemais and Lydda brought the Holy Cross which St. Helena had recovered, and elevated it amid the embattled host as the symbol of their faith and the inspiration of their courage.
More than a month had elapsed before the Moslems appeared. At length Saladin, with 80,000 horse and foot, swept around the head of the Lake of Tiberias, and took possession of the heights above the town. Encamped upon the Plains of Hattîn, and hoping to bring on a speedy and general engagement on his well-chosen field, the sultan sent out light detachments to lay waste the country from Jezreel to Tabor, and thence to Nazareth, within four miles of the enemy’s camp. Unsuccessful in this attempt, he then seized Tiberias, and compelled the wife of Count Raymond to retire with her children to the castle of the city.
The intelligence of the capture of the capital of Galilee, and of the imminent danger of the wife and children of the Count of Tripolis, reached the camp of the Christians on the 3d of July. That night a council of war was held to decide upon the action of the coming day. Inspired by the misfortunes of a woman and confident of success, the king and his barons resolved to march in close array for the deliverance of Tiberias. Though unquestionably the most interested party, yet, from motives which have never been explained, Count Raymond opposed the decision of the council, and, having shown the folly of offensive movements in the heat of midsummer, in a region destitute of water and far from the base of their supplies, his policy was unanimously approved of by the king and the other members of the council. But, regarding the decision as unworthy the army of the Cross, the Grand Master of the Templars repaired to the royal tent, and overwhelmed the king with reproaches for having listened to the advice of a traitor, and conjured him not to suffer such a stain of cowardice to rest upon the Christian name. Overpersuaded, theking gave orders to arm, and at midnight the trumpet sounded, while heralds flew throughout the startled camp proclaiming the royal decree.
At dawn on the 4th of July the Christian army was in motion. His scouts had brought Saladin intelligence of the movement, and immediately he dispatched his light troops to harass the Crusaders on their march, while with consummate skill he posted his main army on the plain and along the crest of Hattîn. His ardent wishes were about to be gratified, and his long-maturing plans were on the point of consummation. Late in the afternoon of the same day the King of Jerusalem reached the field of El-Lubieh, two miles to the southwest from the “Horns of Hattîn,” where a desperate battle occurred. Night closed around the belligerent armies without decisive result. That was a dreadful night. The wisdom of Raymond’s advice now became apparent. The heat was intense; and, besides being harassed by the fierce Arabs, the Christians were dying for the want of water. Too weak-minded to take advantage of the darkness and order a midnight attack, and at least gain the shores of the lake, the feeble Guy determined to defer the conflict till the morrow. Whether to revenge the insult offered to his prudent counsels, or conscious of the impossibility of success in attempting to force the ranks of the foe, Raymond of Tripolis advised the course pursued. But it was the fatal step.