JORDAN, SHOWING TERRACES
In that clear, dry atmosphere distances are most deceptive. Seen through the openings in the hills, one would think that on touching the plain we should immediately reach the river, but there are miles of flat, sandy ground to cover ere we pass under the shadow of the embowering foliage and hear the rush of the waters of Jordan. Leaving behind us the mountains of Ammon, which form the eastern boundary of these deep plains, their scarred sides stretching away into the beetling heights that rise darkly over the Salt Sea, the prospect before us was one of enchanting interest. We were already on the borders of the “circle” of Sodom, which charmed the worldly eye and heart of Abraham’s nephew, when viewed from yonder mountains to the west, and which was so generously given up by the aged uncle to the youthful Lot. How strikingly these barren plains enforce the lessons of that old-world history! How vain the choice of beauteous pastures, one day ere long to be o’erwhelmed in desert sand! How infinitely wise the choice of Abraham, the portion of whose inheritance was the unchanging God Himself! There, stretching away southward until lost in a blue haze between her guardian mountains, are the waters of the great sea, which still, in name, is associated with the unhappy Lot; for the natives call it only Bahr Lût—“the sea of Lot.” Before us flowed the river whose tide rolled backward, and over which, while the ark of the covenant stood in the midst, the great “congregation” of Israel crossed dry-shod. Yonder lies the site of Gilgal, whence the conquering hosts went forth under the gallant Joshua. Towards the western border of the plain we saw great patches of green, over which rose a curl of blue smoke, marking the position of Erîha, the village which now represents the city of Jericho, whose walls fell down at the shout of the armies of Israel. Beyond rose the dark, frowning crags of Karantal, by tradition identified with the wild scenes of our Lord’s Temptation.
The Jordan Valley stretched away northward between its mountain walls almost as far as the eye could reach; the high cone of Karn Sartabeh rising full two thousand feet above the plain. This last has been by some identified with the great altar raised by the Eastern tribes on their return from the conquest of the West. It is in reality an “altar” of Nature’s raising, and is interesting as one of the signal stations from which, by means of great fires, intelligence was flashed over the land when the new moon had been seen in Jerusalem. The wooden bridge by which we crossed the Jordan was entirely concealed by the groves around until we were almost upon it. A substantial structure it looked, made of strong beams, supported by great posts, all securely fastened together; it seemed as if it would outlive any ordinary flood, and so, doubtless, it would. But the floods of the winter 1890-91 were not ordinary. For some months the rains were excessive. The river rose far above its usual level, submerging large tracts, and carrying off much that was valuable—among the rest the bridge, which had done us and others such good service. The river here is deep and strong, sweeping with great rapidity round its swift curves. The water is of a thick, brown colour, charged with the soil over which it passes. Care must be taken in approaching the treacherous banks of sand and clay. Toll was collected by an enterprising Syrian, who had erected a wooden shed at the Jericho end of the bridge. One or two native huts also stood on the little level, almost surrounded by a bend of the river, and protected to westward by high sand bluffs.
It was already past mid-day when we arrived, and, as the heat was terrible, we were thankful to take refuge in the “publican’s” shed. We were received with every token of welcome by the owner, who at once busied himself to provide for our refreshment. We found it an excellent plan to carry with us a supply of tea. It is often easy to get boiling water when it is hard to get other things. Tea is swiftly made, and, on a hot journey, is most refreshing. Leban, also, there was in plenty. After our meal, the more weary of the party, stretched in the shade, enjoyed a delightful nap,—only for a little, however; for this being the chief thoroughfare between east and west of Jordan, quiet could not be secured for long at a time. Shepherds passed over with their flocks, and guided them down to the water’s edge to drink. Negotiating with some of the more tractable of these half-wild men, we secured draughts of delicious milk. Then came Arabs from the uplands of Moab; strong, stalwart, sallow-featured men; some armed with the spear, others carrying rifles, with belts stuck full of battered cartridges. They sat down sociably around the shed, and conversed freely. They were greatly impressed with the strength of the men of Kerâk, the ancient Kir Moab. The district was not even nominally subject to the Ottoman Government. The spirit of wild independence was abroad among them. While yielding ready obedience to their own sheyûkh, they resent and battle to the death against any interference with their tribal liberty. Holding themselves absolute masters of the soil, they consider themselves entitled to levy blackmail on all who pass through their territory. This varies in amount, according to the prudence or the want of it displayed by the traveller. One who goes with tents, a large retinue of servants, and luxurious appointments may have to pay some hundreds of pounds before he escapes their hands; another may shoulder his camera, ride in on a mule, and with a few rotls of coffee and a judicious distribution of a few pounds of tobacco and snuff, may march about with freedom, photograph all of interest in the district, and carry off his work in safety. In these regions one must avoid every appearance of wealth. The Turkish Government claims a supremacy which for long it was unable to assert. Often we heard that the Hajj guard, returning from Mecca, was to attack and subdue the Kerâkers. The report that there were four thousand trained men, armed with repeating rifles and no lack of ammunition, no doubt restrained the valour of the gallant guard. At length the Turk has established a certain shadowy authority in the town of Kerâk itself; but over the Arabs, who occupy the town only a few months in the year, it is difficult, if not impossible, to exercise any effective control.
The stronghold, the thought of attacking which gave cold shivers to the Turkish soldiery, could not daunt the high-hearted soldiers of the Cross. With admirable courage, in the true spirit of Christian heroism, a missionary and his wife braved all the dangers in the way, and made for themselves a home in the midst of these people. That they had dangers not a few to face, and many privations to endure, needs hardly to be said. But these “things did not move them”; and the bold warrior Arab learned to love the man of peace, and prize him as a friend. Who knows whether the Cross may not soon triumph where the crescent so long struggled for supremacy in vain!
CHAPTER XIII
The banks and thickets of the Jordan—Bathing-place—The Greek convent—A night of adventures in the plains of Jericho—The modern village—Ancient fertility—Possible restoration—Elisha’s fountain—Wady Kelt—The Mountain of Temptation—The path to Zion.
The Jordan, in the lower reaches, is shaded by overhanging willows, and the path along the bank is lined with tall oleanders. In the brushwood, which grows thickly over the little peninsulas formed by the circlings of the river, we were assured that the nimr (small leopard) found a lurking-place; and, further, that he and his grim neighbour, the hyena, haunted the bushy hollows between the sand-dunes which stretch away towards the sea.
We shouldered our guns, and, armed with ball cartridge, set out to beat the brushwood in the hope of starting game of this class. Perhaps it was as well for ourselves that we were disappointed; but a gun in a man’s hand adds marvellously to his powers of endurance in walking, so we were able to explore the shady banks of the river, and attain a fuller knowledge of its windings. The bridge was photographed with a group in front as a souvenir of our visit; then, sending the muleteers straight to Jericho with tents and baggage, we prepared to ride towards the sea, with the intention of returning to Jericho for the night. Our road wound among the sand-dunes for some distance. Here we were charged to keep close together. The advice was necessary. Had one lingered behind, and by any mischance lost the way, he might have wandered long enough in the labyrinth formed by these little sand-hills, which resemble each other so closely as to be distinguished only by the trained eye. They are the haunts of robbers too, who, in the multitudinous winding hollows, may easily escape pursuit.
We did not go so far down as the fords and famous bathing-place; but on a subsequent occasion I saw something of the extraordinary scenes enacted there—a great company of Russian pilgrims, men, women, and children, plunging promiscuously into the sacred river. Most wore a thin linen garment as they went down into the water. This is afterwards carefully preserved, and is worn again only as a shroud. Certain men standing in the stream saw that each one went at least three times over the head.