‘I undertook to examine him in Persian and Hindustani, as I felt that my knowledge of Arabic was too slight to justify my venturing to examine him in that language. I well remember my delight and surprise in this examination. I had never had any intercourse with Palmer before, as I had been previously living in India; and I had no idea that he was such an Oriental scholar. I remember well that I set him for translation into Persian prose a florid description from Gibbon’s chapter on Mohammed. Palmer translated it in a masterly way, in the true style of Persian rhetoric, every important substantive having its rhyming doublet, just as in the best models of Persian literature. In fact, his vocabulary seemed exhaustless. I also set him difficult pieces for translation from the Masnaví, Khondemir, and I think Saudá; but he could explain them all without hesitation. I sent a full report to the Master, and the college elected him at once to the vacant fellowship[[92]].’
It has now become an understood thing at Cambridge that a man who is really distinguished in any branch of study has a good chance of a fellowship; but twenty years ago this was not the case, and we believe that Palmer was the first, at least in the present century, to obtain that blue ribbon of Cambridge life for proficiency in other languages than those of Greece and Rome. Such a distinction meant more to him than it would have meant to most men. No further anxieties on the score of money need trouble him for the future; he need no longer be dependent on the generosity of relations who were not themselves overburdened with the goods of this world. He might study Oriental languages to his heart’s content without let or hindrance from anybody; and it was more than probable that one piece of good fortune would be the parent of another—a distinction so signal would bring him into notice, and obtain for him the offer of something which would be worth accepting. He had not long to wait. In less than a year a post was offered to him which presented, in delightful combination, study, travel, some emolument, and a reasonable prospect of fame and fortune if he worked hard and was successful. At the suggestion of the Rev. George Williams, then a resident Fellow of King’s College, he was asked to take part in the exploration of the Holy Land, and to accompany an expedition then about to start for the survey of Sinai and the neighbourhood. He was to investigate the names and traditions of the country, and to copy and decipher the inscriptions with which the rocks in the so-called ‘Written Valley’ and in other places are covered. He accepted without hesitation, and left England in November 1868.
The results of this expedition will be found in The Desert of the Exodus[[93]], a delightful book, in which Palmer has narrated in a pleasing style the daily doings of the surveyors, and the conclusions at which they arrived. His own proceedings are kept modestly in the background; but a careful reader will soon discover that, in addition to his appointed task as collector of folk-lore, he did his full share of topographical investigation, in which he evidently took a keen and growing interest, all the more remarkable as he could have had but little previous preparation for it. A detailed analysis of the results achieved would occupy far more space than we have at our disposal. We will only mention that the investigations of the expedition ‘materially confirmed and elucidated the history of the Exodus’; that objections founded on the supposed incapacity of the peninsula to accommodate so large a host as that of Israel were disposed of by pointing out abundant traces of ancient fertility; that the claims of Jebel Musa to be the true Sinai were vindicated by a comparison of its natural features with the Bible narrative, and by the collection of Arab and Mohammedan traditions; and, lastly, that the site of Kibroth Hattaavah was determined, partly on geographical grounds, partly on the traditions still current among the Towarah Bedouin, whose language Palmer mastered, and of whose manners and customs he has drawn up a very full and interesting account. The intimate acquaintance which he thus formed with one of these tribes stood him in good stead in the following year, when he took a far more responsible journey. The ease with which he spoke the Arab language was, however, one of the least of his many gifts: he thoroughly understood Arab character, and was generally successful, not merely in making the natives do what he wanted, but, what is far more wonderful, in making them speak the truth to him. He thus sums up his method of dealing with them:
‘An Arab is a bad actor, and with but a very little practice you may infallibly detect him in a lie; when directly accused of it, he is astonished at your, to him, incomprehensible sagacity, and at once gives up the game. By keeping this fact constantly in view, and at the same time endeavouring to win their confidence and respect, I have every reason to believe that the Bedawín gave us throughout a correct account of their country and its nomenclature.
‘When once an Arab has ceased to regard you with suspicion, you may surprise a piece of information out of him at any moment; and if you repeat it to him a short time afterwards, he forgets in nine cases out of ten that he has himself been your authority, and should the information be incorrect will flatly contradict you and set you right, while if it be authentic he is puzzled at your possessing a knowledge of the facts, and deems it useless to withhold from you anything further[[94]].’
The survey of Sinai had been completed but a few months when Palmer left England again, for a second journey of exploration. It is evident that he must have taken a more prominent part in the management of the first expedition than the precise terms of his engagement with the explorers would have led us to expect, and that he had thoroughly satisfied those responsible for it, for this second expedition was practically entrusted to him to arrange as he pleased. He was instructed in general terms to clear up, first, certain disputed points in the topography of Sinai; next, to examine the country between the Sinaitic Peninsula and the Promised Land—the ‘Desert of the Wanderings’; and, lastly, to search for inscriptions in Moab. He determined to take with him a single companion only, Mr Charles Tyrwhitt-Drake, of Trinity College, Cambridge, who had had already some experience of the East, and who proved himself in every way to be the man of men for rough journeys in unknown lands; to travel on foot, without dragoman, servant, or escort; and to take no more baggage than four camels could carry. The two friends started from Suez on December 16, 1869, and reached Jerusalem in excellent health and spirits on February 26, 1870. They had performed a feat of which anybody might well be proud. They had traversed ‘the great and terrible desert,’ the Desert of El Tih, and the Negeb, or ‘south country’ of Palestine, exactly as they had proposed to do—on foot, with no attendants except the owners of the baggage-camels. They had walked nearly 600 miles; but this fact, though it says much for their endurance, gives but little idea of the real fatigues of such a journey. The mental strain must have been far more exhausting than the physical fatigue. They were not tourists, but explorers, whose duty it was to observe carefully, to record their observations on the spot, to make plans and sketches, and to collect such information as could be extracted from the inhabitants. These various pursuits—in addition to their domestic arrangements—had to be carried on in the midst of an Arab population always suspicious, and sometimes openly hostile, who worried them from daybreak until far into the night, and against whom their only weapons were incessant watchfulness, tact, and good humour. Readers of Palmer’s narrative will not be surprised to find him hinting, not obscurely, that the only way to solve the ‘Bedouin question’ is to adopt what was called a few years afterwards, with reference to another not wholly dissimilar race, ‘the bag and baggage policy.’ This deliberate opinion, expressed by one who knew the Arabs well, and who had obtained singular influence over them, is worthy of careful attention, as, indeed, are all the chapters in the second part of The Desert of the Exodus, where this journey is fully described and illustrated. After reading that narrative no one can be surprised that the mission which ended so triumphantly and so fatally twelve years afterwards should have been entrusted to Palmer.
After a brief repose in Jerusalem they started afresh, and, passing again through the South Country by a different route, travelled eastward of the Dead Sea through the unknown lands of Edom and Moab. They made numerous observations of great value to Biblical students; but they failed to find what they had come to seek—inscriptions—though they succeeded in inspecting every known ‘written stone’ in the country; and the conclusion at last forced itself upon them, ‘that, above ground at least, there does not exist another Moabite stone[[95]].’ It will be remembered that the famous inscription of King Mesha was found built into a wall of late Roman work, the ancient Moabite city being buried some feet below the present surface of the ground. This fact induced Palmer to adopt the following opinion:
‘If a few intelligent and competent men, such as those employed in the Jerusalem excavations, could be taken out to Moab, and certain of the ruins be excavated, further interesting discoveries might be made. Such researches might be made without difficulty if the Arabs were well managed and the expedition possessed large resources; but it must be remembered that the country is only nominally subject to the Turkish Government, and is filled with lawless tribes, jealous of each other and of the intrusion of strangers, and all greedily claiming a property in every stone, written or unwritten, which they think might interest a Frank.
‘That many treasures do lie buried among the ruins of Moab there can be but little doubt; the Arabs, indeed, narrated to us several instances of gold coins and figures having been found by them while ploughing in the neighbourhood of the ancient cities, and sold to jewellers at Nablous, by whom they were probably melted up[[95]].’
But, though there was no inscription to bring home as visible evidence of what had been done, the expedition was not barren of results. In the first place, the possibility of exploring the little-known parts of Palestine at a comparatively trifling cost had been demonstrated; and, secondly, numerous sites had been discovered where further research would probably yield information of the greatest value. It is a misfortune that Palmer was not able in after years to give undivided attention to these interesting problems of Biblical topography. Unless we are much mistaken, he would have made a revolution in many of them, and notably in the architectural history of the city of Jerusalem, upon which he did throw new light from an unexpected quarter—the Arab historians. He would, in fact, have pursued for the Temple area at Jerusalem the method which Professor Willis pursued so successfully for some of our own cathedrals; he would have marshalled in chronological order the notices of the Arab works there; and then, by comparing the historical evidence with the existing structures, have assigned their respective dates with certainty to each of them.