Читать книгу A Ride through Syria to Damascus and Baalbec, and ascent of Mount Hermon - Edward Abram - Страница 4

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Our “Ride through Palestine” did not exhaust our enthusiasm for the East; we were not, as some travellers have been, disappointed with “The Holy Land,” because we did not expect to find it still, as in ancient days, a “land of milk and honey.” The cisterns are broken and the waters run to waste, the walls of the vineyards are cast down, the very soil has disappeared from the once fertile terraced heights, the wine presses are covered with weeds, the defenced cities are all a ruin; but, in spite of all this desolation, the Land of our Lord will always have an overwhelming interest for the thoughtful traveller who wishes to trace out on the spot the history of the oldest and most interesting people of the world.

Having on the former occasion travelled by the beaten track, viâ Jerusalem, we this time try a new and unfrequented route. Our objective points are the plains of Sharon and Esdraelon, sighting that mighty headland, “the excellency of Carmel,” with its numerous reminiscences of Elijah, and Baal, that “glory of Lebanon,” Hermon with its traditional snow-clad summit and verdure-vested slopes—the sacred sources of the Jordan, and of Pharpar and Abana, which one thought “better than all the rivers of Israel”—onward then to Damascus with its “straight street” and memories of Abram, Saul of Tarsus, Ananias, and Naaman—then onward again to the reputed tombs of the early patriarchs, and lastly—Baalbec with its massive Hivite and beautiful Roman remains. This is a short sketch of the tour we purpose describing in the following pages.

Joppa—With the House of Simon the Tanner on the Sea shore.

Again we have the good fortune, by the courtesy of the director, to obtain a passage in the French China Mail, from Marseilles to Port Said, so arrive in the Holy Land eight and a half days after leaving the Crusaders’ old haunt in London. Favoured with fine weather, we sail north of Sardinia, and sighting Elba and Monte Christo, in two days pass by Ischia into the beautiful bay of Naples. We find the pretty Chiaja much enlarged, planted, and generally improved, and are pleased to see the graceful palm trees in thriving condition. In the Museo Nazionale, ever so interesting, we come to the same conclusion as Solomon as to nothing being new under the sun, for there, if we mistake not, on well-preserved fresco, we see our old friend the sea-serpent and a lady, very much like Britannia ruling the waves on a half-penny. But the sun is setting on Sorrento, Virgil’s tomb is already in the shade, the ship’s bell is summoning strangers to depart, and passengers to dress for dinner, so we must bid adieu to Naples and proceed again en voyage. Capri stands out grandly and gloomily in the twilight; Vesuvius is quiet, scarcely keeping up appearances: we gaze at it until the giant form dies away in the dim distance, and then—go down to dinner. Early next morning we pass Stromboli, and in the Straits of Messina Ætna, but both are “still and silent as the grave,” in fact on the latter summit, if we mistake not, we see the dark black lava spotted with bright white snow. On the far horizon we sight the distant cliffs of Crete, and two days later find ourselves entering Port Said, where we tranship ourselves to the Austrian steamer for Jaffa, are off in an hour and arrive early next morning. We elect to go to Syria by way of Palestine, but by a different route, in order that we may visit certain interesting districts which lay out of our line on our former visit.

We commence our ride from Jaffa by a two days journey across the plains of Sharon and Esdraelon to Nazareth. This route, being very open to the attacks of predatory Bedouins, is never attempted by travellers, the all but trackless paths over the vast plains being but little known even to the native.

We engage a picturesque Bedouin Sheik (“as mild a looking man as ever cut a throat”) for a guard and guide; two other Arabs join us for company or safety’s sake. This force a small party of Bedouins would not care to face, and a large party would not attempt it, as they would be discovered by their numbers, and vengeance would soon follow, so we pass the Bedouin camps without any interference.

The ride from Jaffa to Nazareth, viâ Jerusalem, is reckoned three good days; but by our new route we only take two, and pushing briskly forward run it in about eighteen hours—hard work rather to begin with, and the Sirocco blowing hot and dry from the Syrian desert into the bargain. We vary the monotony of the journey over the dusty plains with several little races with our Bedouin guard, who does his best to ride us down; but fails to do so, much to the delight of our old Shikarri (muleteer), whose face, by-the-bye, was of such an Assyrian type that he seemed to have started out from the has reliefs of Birs Nimroud. But á route we ride across the Plain of Sharon, passing many hills crowned with villages and capped with ruined churches and fortresses mostly mediæval or Saracenic. It was in this plain that Richard Cœur-de-Lion gained a great victory over Saladin.

We halt for lunch at El Tireth (from the name, probably once a fortified town), and, after a ride of eleven hours, halt for the night at a Mahommedan village called Baka, which probably now for the first time receives a European guest (as even my guides had not been there before): the sun being already set, it is the only refuge near us. It is built of mud on the slope of a hill near an old ruined fountain enclosed in massive masonry. Most of the wells and fountains we see on the way had been similarly well cared for in ancient times, but are now fast falling into decay. We will give you a little idea of an Eastern village:—Place a honeycomb with the cells perpendicular, cover the top of some of the cubes to represent a flat mud roof, leave others open to represent small stable yards for all the domestic animals in creation, camels included, and you have an Arab village of one-storeyed huts, scarcely distinguishable at a distance from the hillside on which it is plastered. The Sheiks’ houses have an additional storey, a guest-chamber built on the wall. One of these we occupy, not a pane of glass in the place and quite innocent of any furniture whatever, which is perhaps an advantage, considering the creeping things innumerable which abound in Eastern villages. Our guard and other retainers sleep in the open yard with the horses, and leave their weapons with us for safe custody, so for the time I am the custos custodum, but our quarters are inviolable, as for the nonce we are the guests of the village. A few crossed sticks in the corner of the yard form the nearest approach to a fire-place.

We start early next morning over the low Samarian hills of Manasseh, which fall into the sea at Carmel, take a hasty glance at El Mahrakah, or the Rock of Sacrifice, where Elijah slaughtered the Priests of Baal, and enter the vast plain of Esdraelon, between one of the feeders or lower sources of Kishon and Megiddo, at which latter place it will be remembered Barak and his men of Manasseh defeated the hosts of Jabin, King of Hazor, under Sisera, who fled on foot to the tents of Heber the Kenite and was treacherously murdered there by Jael. The Kenites’ home was at Kedes, three days’ journey off in the mountains. It is not probable that Sisera could have fled on foot so far; it is more probable that Heber was pasturing his flocks in the fertile plains of Esdraelon, and that Jabin’s captain took refuge in their tents, then not far off. At Megiddo also, Ahaziah died of the wounds he received from Jehu, and near this spot, in modern times, Napoleon inflicted on the Turkish levies a defeat somewhat similar to that which Barak inflicted on Sisera, but Sir Sydney Smith, holding Acre in his rear, rendered his victory of but little value except to secure a safe retreat to the sea.

After traversing the great plain of Esdraelon for some hours, crossing it in almost a direct line, we leave the level ground again, and ascending the little hills of Lower Galilee, mount up to Nazareth (described in our “Ride through Palestine”) and obtain a lodging at the Latin Monastery, finding in residence the same good Father, quite pleased at seeing us again, so seldom does he see the same visitor twice. Next day we leave Nazareth early, taste the waters of the fountain of the Virgin, at which our Saviour must often have drunk, and soon on our left see Jiptah or Gath-Hepher, the reputed birth-place of Jonah, and on our right, the battle-field where the Crusaders gained their last victory over the Saracens. A few hours later on at Kurun, (the horns of Hattin, we pass the battle-field where shortly after under Guy of Lusignan in 1187 the Crusaders suffered their last defeat, their power in Palestine being then for ever crushed by Saladin. In the meantime, we have also sighted Sepphoris or Sefûrieh, the Apollonia of Josephus, and ridden through Kefr Kenna (Cana of Galilee) where on a previous visit, we were shown the miraculous waterpots which must have been very fortunate indeed to have survived the crash of so many ages. This is rather a dangerous ride for small parties like ours, and at one place where the path is very narrow, we think that we shall have to fight our way through. About six wild Moabite Bedouins, from the other side of Jordan, had planted themselves each side of the narrow way on a slight eminence, completely commanding us; we determine to pass through in Indian file, with the length of a pistol shot between us, so that we cannot both be attacked at the same time. They, perhaps, were peaceably disposed, but it is wise in such a wild country to be cautious: anyhow, they do not molest us. They were all on foot, and seemed quite dead-beat by the sun, and were without water, which we were unable to give them, not having any ourselves. Arabs do not give away water when on the march, as the fountains are so few and far between, and want of water in the sun-stricken wilderness means weariness, distress, and death, so graphically described in the pathetic story of Hagar and Ishmael.

After a pleasant ride, skirting the plain of El Buttauf, we halt for tiffin in the pleasant orange grove of Lubieh, where in 1799 the French, under Junot, held their own against a vastly superior army of Turks, and succeeded in reaching Tabor just in time to fall on the rear of the force then pressing hard upon the main body under Napoleon. Soon after, we catch a glimpse of the little lake of Galilee or Tiberias, at one time, in the bright sunshine, looking like an emerald in a golden setting, and at another time, when a passing cloud veils the God of day, like a jasper diamond set in an agate frame. We put up at the Latin Monastery in Tiberias or Tabarea, where we are entertained by the Father Superior hospitably as we were on a former occasion. Before leaving Tiberias, we trot along the shore to visit the hot Sulphur Springs and old Roman Baths, which are still greatly used.

The tombs of Jethro and Habbakuk are said to be in the hills above the town.

Mount Carmel.