Continuing southward, a dark mountain lies to the left, well named Jebel Māniʿa, which may be rendered “Mount of Protection,” or “The Protector.” In its difficult recesses the peasant cultivators of the rich open land around find a home, secure against marauding Beduw and lawless bands. Jedûr, the old Iturea, stretches away to the right; we are now in Haurân, part of the land of Bashan, corresponding in name to the ancient Auranitis. At Ghabâghib, where we halt for lunch, great cisterns and scattered ruins tell of an important place in times past. It has fallen on evil days, only a few wretched hovels occupying the site. The poor inhabitants, demoralised by the yearly Hajj, expect much more than value for anything they supply; but neither here nor anywhere east of Jordan did we once hear the irritating cry Bakhshîsh.
From this point the road deteriorates. First there are patches of some thirty yards in length thickly laid with broken stones, then occasional stretches of ground cleared, and finally the ancient track, with no claim to be called a road. These patches illustrate the Government method of road-building. All is done by forced labour. A certain length of road is allocated to each town or village in the district concerned, and this the inhabitants are bound to construct themselves, or pay for its construction. The stone-laid patches represent the diligence and promptitude of some villages; the intervals suggest the evasions of work, in the practice of which the Arab is an adept.
The country now becomes more open. The view stretches far in front over the waving grain-fields which have given Haurân its fame. Westward, the rolling downs of Jaulân, the New Testament Gaulanitis, corresponding to the ancient Golan, reach away towards the roots of Hermon, with their beautiful conical hills, once grim smoking volcanoes, now grass-covered to the top; while beyond Jordan we catch glimpses of the Safed hills. To the left, at a somewhat lower level, through a light mist we see indistinctly the dark lava-fields of el-Lejâʾ, and dim on the eastern horizon rises the mountain-range Jebel ed-Druze.
Es-Sanamein, “the two idols,” where we spent the Sunday, stands to the west of the Hajj road. This is a typical Haurân village. The houses are built throughout of basalt, the oldest having no mortar whatever—doors, window-shutters, and roofs all of the same durable material. They have outlived the storms of many centuries, and, if left alone, might see millenniums yet. The modern houses are built from the ruins, the mortar being mud. Carved and inscribed stones that once adorned temple or public building may often be seen, usually upside down, in these rickety new structures. Many houses are fairly underground, being literally covered with rubbish, accumulated through the long years, as generation after generation grew up within these walls and passed away. One temple, built also of basalt, is well preserved, the ornamentation on pillar, niche, and lintel being finer than most to be seen in Haurân. A Greek inscription[1] tells us that this temple was dedicated to Fortuna. An olive-press occupies the centre of the temple. Near by a large water-tank is connected by channels still traceable with an elaborate system of baths. The ancients loved these more than do their degenerate successors. Several tall square towers are evidently of some antiquity; but awkwardly placed hewn stones, certainly taken from other buildings, show them to be modern compared with the city whose ruins lie around.
The doctor’s name is a passport to favour all over the land: Christian, Moslem, and Druze, however fanatical, have ever a welcome for him. His presence brought a perpetual stream of afflicted ones. The people are in many respects simple and primitive. Myth and mystery grow and flourish among them. Most extraordinary tales are told, and accepted with unquestioning faith. The traveller who goes thither leaves modern times behind, sails far up the dark stream of time, and lives again in the dim days of long ago.
Grateful patients sang the doctor’s praise and celebrated his skill. From lip to lip the story and the wonder grew. Some with sore eyes had been relieved. By and by we heard that a great doctor had passed through the country, who took out people’s eyes, opened them up, washed them thoroughly, and replaced them in their sockets, when the aged and weak-eyed saw again with the brightness of youth!
These lands offer a tempting and promising field for the medical missionary. His profession would act like magic in securing entrance to the people’s homes and confidence. And it is practically virgin soil. He would build on no other man’s foundation.
THE COOK’S TENT
About sunset the owner of a flock from whom we wished to buy a lamb was brought to our tents. The flock was sheltered only a little way from the village, but, as the shadows deepened, he displayed no little unwillingness to go thither. At last, armed with sword, musket, and pistols, and accompanied by one similarly accoutred, he sallied forth, not without signs of alarm. Soon he returned, the lamb under his arm, and looks of evident relief on his face. Neither fear nor relief was without reason. In that lawless land, he who goes abroad after sundown takes his life in his hand. Even the hardy shepherd, with tough, well-knit frame, fed on the milk of the flocks, exercised in the invigorating air of the uplands, used from infancy to face the dangers of the solitary wilderness by day, trembles until his knees knock together at the thought of falling into the hands of the enemy who lurks privily for him in the dark.