I passed almost the whole evening with the sheikh of the village, Jûsef Hanna Dâhir, a full-grown young man with a serious, gentle countenance, which invited confidence. His father had been killed in battle under Ibrahim Pasha, who will be considered yet as a saint here, if the present detestation of the Turk continues much longer. Sheikh Jûsef was the eldest son of this numerous and old family, in which the office of sheikh is hereditary. He related to me with full openness, tranquillity, and judgment, everything that was passing among them; how they had determined to deliver up their arms, which were demanded, but had altered this determination when they had heard of the shameful acts which had been perpetrated by the Turkish soldiery in the southern districts. Now they had the number of thirty-four villages united, and all sworn in their churches, not to give up their arms, but to use them against the dogs of Turks. When I asked him if, since the death of their common leader, Emir Beshir, they had any prospect of being able to defend themselves against a disciplined army, he reckoned up in Bsherreh alone 3,000, and in the whole united district 13,000 combatants, as much as the whole Turkish military force in the country; besides these, they had their mountains, their snow, and rain, their defiles, and hiding-places, which would render all the cavalry and cannon of the Turks useless. Added to this, said I, a friendly consul in Berut, who will mediate to prevent the worst. This has, as I learned afterwards, happened; the French General-Consul, Bourré, has negotiated in their favour with the Pasha.
But I fear that all has been too late, and that over my good host in Bsherreh the storm of war has already burst, and they will not be more merciful to them and their children, than they were to their less powerful neighbours.
I rejoiced much on that evening to be able to render a service to the young Sheikh, whose quiet dignity had so much prepossessed me, in dressing and binding up a wound, better than was possible with the means they had, and I supplied him with linen and lint. He told me that we could not go the next day, as he must prepare a feast for us, roast a sheep, and show us that he was our friend; I however refused the kindly-meant invitation.
The next morning, we took a servant of the Sheikh with us to the next village, Ehden, which we found in great commotion, but not inimically disposed toward us. Sentinels had been posted at different places, and the gay population, in their dazzling red and yellow costume, who were stationed on the hills around the village, appeared from a distance like a flowery meadow among the green trees; they surrounded us, asked us questions, and appeared to have different opinions about us. A young Amazon ran from some distance to me, raised her finger in a threatening manner, and reproached us that we Franks did not openly and efficiently assist them.
We here took leave of our companion from Bsherreh; instead of him, a man upon a noble spirited horse attached himself to us, unasked; he saluted us politely, and at a certain distance kept us in sight. In about two hours, on an even slope of the hill, we perceived a troop of armed people in a field, who had planted the blood-red flag, as a signal to proclaim revolt and war far and wide over the plain. The patrol came up to us, and positively refused to let us proceed. Not till after a long negotiation, through a golden bribe, and by the mediation of our companion, who proved to be the Sheikh of a neighbouring village, did we obtain a free passage; but the whole troop accompanied us to the foot of the mountain. When we passed the next village, Zehêra, our companion the Sheikh was obliged to use serious threats in order to pass us safely over the frontier of the armed district; he then accompanied us along another valley, to a turn in the rock, saluted us shortly, and rode quickly back into the mountains. We had now only a few hours’ journey to Tripolis, where we arrived soon after sunset, and passed the grave-looking Turkish guards, who might have been somewhat roused from their stupid carelessness by the prospect of a desperate battle with the brave mountaineers.
We remained in Tripolis, now called Tarablûs, in a Latin convent, now only inhabited and protected by two monks. They told us that a short time before, the Christians of Libanon came to them, to desire their spiritual intercession, whereupon they did not hesitate to exhibit the holy sacrament for three days, on their account. Unfortunately the Maronites have less scarcity of these spiritual prayers and good wishes than of the more material provisions of bread and gunpowder, of which the Turks cut off their supplies.
The next day we visited the Prussian-American Consul, who lives in a pleasant house, of the oriental style, and then went to the bazaar. Passing over a beautiful old bridge in the middle of the town, we met a division of Turkish cavalry on their way to Libanon, in their gay, tawdry, dirty costumes, with their lances, ten feet long, ornamented with black ostrich feathers, and the little war-drums in full work going before. About noon we left this place just at the same time that the new Turkish general from Berut was passing the same gate, out of which we rode. On our road we met the division of troops which had been ordered from Zachleh here. We now travelled along the sea-shore, and almost the whole day we heard the thunder of the cannon in the mountains.
We passed the night in a Khân on this side the mountain Râs e’ Shekâb, named by the ancients Θεοῦ πρόσωπον, doubtless because to those who come from the north, the Black Mountain, which here projects into the sea, takes quite the form of a bust. The following day we came to the ancient Byblus (Gebêl), and then crossed the river Adonis, which still at times, after violent rains, weeping over the wounded darling of Aphrodite, becomes blood-red. Beyond Gûneh, almost at the sea, partly indeed in it, we reached Nahr el Kelb, the ancient Lycus, on whose southern side upon the rock which projects into the sea, are sculptured the famous bas-reliefs of Ramses-Sesostris, and of a later Assyrian king.[156] Notwithstanding our sharp riding we did not arrive at the table-rock till a little after sunset, and we passed the night at a Khân at the further side.
The next morning I examined the sculpture more closely, (by which passes the ancient, artificially constructed road, now broken up,) and I rejoiced over some essential discoveries, as I found it would be possible to decypher a date in the hieroglyphical inscriptions. Among the three Egyptian representations, which all bear the cartouches of Ramses II., the middle one is dedicated to the highest god of the Egyptians, to Ra, (Helios), the southernmost to the Theban or Upper-Egyptian Ammon, and the northern one to the Memphite, or Lower-Egyptian Phtha. To the same gods, this Ramses had also dedicated the three celebrated rock-temples in Nubia, Gerf Hussên, Sebûa and Derr; no doubt because he believed them to be the three principal representers of Egypt. On the middle stele the inscription begins under the representation with the date of the 2nd Choiak, of the fourth year of the reign of King Ramses. The Ammon’s stele, on the contrary, was of the second, or (if the two marks were bound together at the top) of the tenth year’s date; under any circumstances, of some other date than the middle stele,—whence it might be concluded that all three representations referred to different campaigns.
We also did not leave unvisited the tomb of St. George, and the church dedicated to him, near Nahr el Kelb; and as we were going to Berut in the evening, we turned our steps towards the well where the dragon which he killed used to drink. Thus on the 26th of November we concluded our excursion to, and over Libanon, this justly celebrated mountain, on account of its rich mass of historical reminiscences and rare natural beauties, of which the poet says, that “it bears winter on its head, spring on its shoulders, autumn in its lap, but that summer slumbers at its feet by the Mediterranean.”