Difficult as it would be for a stranger to find his way without a guide anywhere in el-Lejâʾ, it would be next to impossible in the district through which we had to pass on leaving Dama. Our host therefore told off one of his retainers, who, armed to the teeth like all his fellows, rode before us. The good sheikh strictly refused all recompense for his kindness; but he asked, and we cheerfully gave, a note making known to all who might read, what hospitable treatment we had received at his hands. No doubt he hoped that in days of stress this might commend him to the favour of our people. He had planted the tree, but, alas, was not destined to see the fruit.
Shuhba, where we hoped to sleep that night, lies beyond the south-eastern border of el-Lejâʾ, on a spur of Jebel ed-Druze. We rode over a great breadth of waʿr—a dry, rocky region, with hardly a green thing to be seen. Then we entered a more open country, with flocks of sheep and goats in search of pasture, following their scantily-clad shepherds. This was soon passed. The path before us darkened again, and we found ourselves in the midst of the most forbidding tract of country we had yet seen. Scorched and blackened by the elemental fires, the volcanic rocks towered high in great irregular masses, or stretched out in stone-strewn levels, rent and torn in every direction into wide chasms, whose horrid, jagged lips seemed yawning to devour us; while black mounds rose here and there, like the remains of long-extinguished huge bonfires. Over wide areas not one blade of grass was seen. This was the scene of Ibrahîm Pasha’s signal defeat. It is a natural fortress, which a few resolute spirits might easily defend. Indeed, until one has seen this part, he cannot realise how fully the district justifies its name, el-Lejâʾ—“the refuge” or “retreat.” Soon after our visit the Druzes had an opportunity of profiting once again by the impracticable character of the land. How their impetuous spirit and wild bravery robbed them of the advantage we shall see in the sequel. One of the first to fall, pierced in the forehead by a rifle bullet, was our generous entertainer of Damet el-ʿAliâ.
The last belt of dark rock safely passed, we came upon flower-strewn patches resembling those whose brilliant beauty had charmed us on the other side of Dama. Riding on under an oppressive sun, with a wide prospect over Haurân to the south, beyond the southern coast of el-Lejâʾ, and a striking view of Jebel ed-Druze in its full length before us, we reached a rocky height overlooking a gently sloping valley, in the bottom of which we were rejoiced to see the inviting gleam of water. Crossing the stream, we left el-Lejâʾ behind us, and rode south-eastward over low-rolling downs of rich soil towards the base of the mountains. The little village Umm ez-Zeytûn stood on an eminence to the right. “Mother of Olives” the name means, but none of her daughters are now visible. A flying visit was paid to the village. The modern houses, or hovels, are built upon the site of an ancient city, large and beautifully cut stones from the old ruins contrasting almost grotesquely with the miserable structures they have been employed to rear. The Druze inhabitants we found most courteous and obliging; they answered all questions, and volunteered information as to the best and shortest roads, apparently out of sheer goodwill.
Burckhardt’s experience on his second visit here was very different. The thought of treasure had inflamed the people’s minds. When first there, he copied some inscriptions; ere his return, it was noised abroad that he had carried off great treasure from Shuhba, and, being unable to take all at once, was coming back for the remainder. His escape from their hands he attributed to threats as to what would happen should he be injured, and to the free use of oaths. The latter was probably more effective than the former, since, inveterate swearers as all are, there are few who would not be daunted by the earnest cursings of an injured man. Of the character and strength of the language then employed some idea may be gathered from such a Psalm as the hundred and ninth, the very reading of which makes one’s blood run cold: what must it be to have such curses hurled at one, red-hot from the flaming heart of a man in wrathful earnest!
Rejoining our companions, we approached the base of a beautifully formed pyramidical hill, Tell Shihân, which rises abruptly from the plain to a height of some six or seven hundred feet. The gracefully rounded outline is interrupted near the top, where there is a slight flattening towards el-Lejâʾ. Doubtless from this crater, in the active volcanic age, the glowing streams flowed westward, to cool into the stern tracts we had seen. The road resembled those often seen at home, made of the refuse from smithy fires, the brittle cinders having withstood exposure to all weathers for millenniums, crunching cheerfully beneath the horses’ feet. The hill was green to the very crest. Here for the first time we found by the wayside a species of iris, from which in our further journeyings we derived no little pleasure. It is a glorious flower, fully two inches in diameter, the lovely velvety petals shading off from a dark blue to a delicate purple. Some were rather lighter in colour. However long the journey, we never thought the time ill spent in pausing to look at these wonderful blooms, spreading in the solitudes with the sweet tendance only of sun and shower, like a veritable “smile of God.”
Tell Shihân fairly rounded, the horses’ feet plashed again in running water; to the left a little waterfall, white and flashing in the light, made music in the still air, and just below it stood one of the mills that haunt the waterfalls like shadows. From this point the path to Shuhba winds up a steep hillside, among great lava blocks, the surroundings for a time almost vying in blackness and wildness with the western parts of el-Lejâʾ. The ascent we accomplished under a heavy thunder-shower, which so thoroughly soaked everything that we were driven to seek more comfortable quarters than would have been found in damp tents pitched on muddy ground.
Very imposing are the walls which still in great part surround the old city; more imposing still is the ancient gateway, by which we entered from the north, although it is now partially blocked with ruins. Immediately within the gate, the iron-shod hoofs clanked merrily on an excellently preserved pavement. This is the great street running from north to south, dividing the city, and the pavement appears to be entire. I do not think a better example of this kind of Roman workmanship is anywhere to be seen. On either hand were the dreary blackened ruins with which we were now so familiar, while before us we could see the forms of tall columns rising into the twilight sky. We saw no trace of inhabitants until we reached the south-western quarter, which alone is occupied.
SHUHBA, BATHS AND ROMAN PAVEMENT
Our guide took us straight to the house of the sheikh, who advanced to meet us with profuse expressions of welcome. Dismounting in the street, we followed him at his invitation. With difficulty we made our way dry-shod over a huge pool of rain-water which had collected in front of the arched doorway, through which we entered a wide courtyard. To the left stood a rickety erection, in the construction of which some of the finest materials from the old buildings had been employed. A broad stairway of large lava blocks led up to it. A roof of branches and brushwood rested upon gracefully hewn marble pillars, which were tied together at the top by a rude architrave. These in turn were supported upon beautiful capitals, turned upside down, and on carved blocks of stone. The back wall was of the usual mud-built character, and the pavement was rough in the extreme. A diwân round three sides doubtless provided sitting accommodation for the sheikh and his friends in fine weather. Nothing could better mark the low level of the present inhabitants than their pride in such a bit of ill-fitting, incongruous patchwork as this, in proximity to the magnificent remains of a past civilisation.