We took the more easterly of two possible roads—the longer, but also the easier for the animals. The greater variety and beauty of the scenery repay the extra travel. The descent into the Jabbok valley winds down a narrow ravine, turning sharply round jutting crags, and, in parts, almost precipitous. Oaks and thorns clung to the steeps; luxuriant vegetation covered the ground. The fertile soil of the valley supported a fine crop of wheat. The line of the river could be traced by a winding glory of oleander bloom, overtopped by tall, gracefully-bending papyrus reeds, whose heavy heads swayed in the breeze. Reaching the “brook,” we found the bed more than half dry, but even thus the water took the horses above the saddle-girths. With a short struggle, we all landed safely on the other side. During the winter months this must be a perfectly impassable torrent.
On the farther bank we sat to rest and lunch. The horses too refreshed themselves before facing the steep mountain in front. We gathered bunches of papyrus heads—an operation requiring both care and skill, as we found the undergrowth bound together with trailing brambles, furnished with the sharpest of prickles. Two square towers stand one at each end of the meadow in which we halted. They have not the appearance of great antiquity. There is no entrance to their interior, and their use we were unable to discover.
Climbing the mountains south of the Jabbok, or Zerka—“the blue” river, as it is now called—was the hardest work our horses had to face. The track was narrow, and the foothold often extremely precarious, especially over rocky parts where a slip would have meant a fall of hundreds of feet. What a tremendous gorge that Jabbok is! It literally cleaves the country in twain.
GORGE OF THE JABBOK
Now we were within the borders of the modern province of el-Belkâ, of which es-Salt is the principal—indeed, the only—city. This lies in the land of the ancient Ammonites. These cool, breezy uplands, beautifully diversified with wooded knoll and pleasant vale, in which may be heard the murmur of flowing water most of the year, offer a rich return to the hand of the enterprising and diligent cultivator. But whence is he to come? Numerous are the flocks and herds that browse on the grassy slopes, find shelter in the shady woods, and drink from the oleander-fringed streams in the vales. But no one who sees it can for a moment suppose that this rich soil is designed simply for the support of sheep and oxen. Those who hope for the return of Israel to the land of their fathers should turn their eyes rather to this rich and empty land than to the more populous and less kindly country west of Jordan.
CHAPTER XII
“Time is money”—Rumamain—Priestly hospitality—Fair mountain groves—Es-Salt—The springs—Relation to Arabs—Raisins—Descent to the Jordan—Distant view of Jerusalem—View of the river, the plains of Jordan, the Dead Sea, and the mountains beyond—The bridge—The “publican’s” shed—The men from Kerâk.
Causes for delay are never far to seek among Orientals. “Time is money” is a phrase void of meaning in Arab ears. Money is precisely the thing he lacks most, while of time he has more than abundance. An Eastern in a hurry is one of the rarest sights. We were still on the uplands, far from our destination, when the sun began to throw his evening glories over the western hills. Our cook thought fit to profess that he had lost the way—this doubtless to pay us out for our refusal of a guide. His manner, however, was much too cool and collected, so we were not deceived. But it was annoying, as the whole caravan drew up, to see him comfortably seated among the bushes, on the top of a huge precipice, enjoying a cigarette. We moved rapidly forward, and fortunately found a wandering Bedawy who, for a consideration, agreed to conduct us to es-Salt. He led us by a steep pathway to the bottom of a sweet valley. Then suddenly we plunged into a romantic ravine, down which dashed a brawling stream, sprinkling rock and bush with sparkling diamonds. A stiff climb up the farther bank brought us to the little village of Rumamain, just as the light departed. Our tents were pitched by candle-light. The villagers, who are Christians, were most cordial in their welcome, and hastened to furnish whatever we required, as far as it was in their power. The priest invited our party to take refreshments with him, and those who could be spared from the camp gladly accepted his hospitality. He well maintained the eastern traditions in the entertainment of strangers, although some of his beverages were stronger than the desert law prescribes!
