We are on the great route of the caravans, between Egypt and Damascus, and the first objects of interest are the ruins of “The Merchants’ Caravansary,” or—in the language of the country—Khan-et-Tujar; one of the pashas of Damascus built it about three hundred years ago, for the protection of the caravans which were often troubled by robbers in those days, but the buildings long ago ceased to be of any use, and have been allowed to go to decay.
They are worth an examination, as specimens of modern Saracenic architecture, and this is all.
We press forward toward Mount Tabor, and in an hour or more are at its base.
We ascend by a difficult path that winds among oaks and thickets of thorn bushes, and are brought to occasional halts by the slipping of saddles and other slight mishaps.
The “Doubter” while passing under an oak from which he has attempted to pluck a stick to serve as a whip. His hand has caught in the branches, his horse does not stop to ask what is the matter, and the next instant horse and rider have parted company. The horse goes on as if nothing had happened, and the “Doubter,” after hanging an instant, and reminding the person next behind him of the misfortune of Absalom, drops into the path below. The horse is caught by some one in advance; the “Doubter” is picked up and put together and after swallowing a dose of brandy is lifted into his saddle and enjoined to let the oak limbs alone in future. He bends so low for the rest of the ride, that his nose almost touches the mane of his steed. He is determined not to get into trouble again.
We reach the summit—fourteen hundred feet above the sea—and dismount from our panting horses. Lunch is served under one of the oak trees that invites us to rest beneath its foliage, and we endeavor to make ourselves comfortable. After lunch we devote a couple of hours to a ramble around the spot; we might camp here, but we prefer to pass the night at Nazareth, whither our camp was moved when we started from Tiberias.
We now find that Tabor is not circular in shape, but oval, the greatest measurement being from East to West. The summit is slightly rounded and is about a thousand yards long by half that in width. There are many ruins on the summit, or rather masses of ruins; the principal thing to attract the attention is a massive wall, or the remains of one, which enclose the most of the space. It was evidently a stronghold in its time, and was defended by bastions and towers, and gateways, one of which is still standing. There are the foundations of houses, some of them of considerable size, and we have no hesitation in accepting the statement that a strong and important town once stood here. There are cisterns hewn in the solid rock, and they have continued their uses down to the present time. We are permitted to slake our thirst with water, drawn from one of these cisterns—cisterns from which men have drank in all ages, from the days of Moses to the present time. Barak drank here when he assembled the hosts of Napthali to attack Sisera, the captain of Jabin’s army; Joshua and Gideon may have stood by this very well; here stood the Crusaders when they advanced upon Jerusalem, and here a few years later Saladin may have rested, as he exulted over the victory that expelled the hated Christian from the land. If we are imaginative, we can picture a kaleidoscope of warriors, who fill the pages of sacred and profane history and stalk before us like the line of Banquo’s Kings, which the witches revealed to Macbeth, and if, like the “Doubter,” we are unimaginative and do not believe, or care for anything, we will eat our cold chicken and boiled eggs, and say nothing.