It was early on the following morning when our horses were led around to the door of the mission-house, but notwithstanding the early hour a dozen or more of the natives were standing in line to receive medical attention from the missionary. A few were there who seemed to have come to witness our departure. Our guide, promised the night before, was on hand, mounted, ready to lead the way over what proved to be by far the roughest part of my trip. For that day my party consisted of four persons. Our new leader, whose name I did not learn, was a man of about fifty years, and was a genuine Arab in appearance and dress. But he wore nothing on his feet—not even sandals. I felt better satisfied, knowing that he would lead the way on that day, for my dragoman was not familiar with that part of Gilead. However, when toward the middle of the afternoon we descended into the Jordan Valley, he was quite at home again.
Single file we proceed from Coefrinje along a narrow path with the bushes and briars brushing the sides of our horses and wetting us with dew. It is not long until we begin to ascend a high ridge. Here there are no paths whatever, and at times our horses can scarcely move on because of the steepness of the ascent. But a few minutes before nine o'clock, after a toilsome struggle, we reach the summit of the ridge, and here I get my first panoramic view of the west-Jordan country. It is entrancingly beautiful.
When we had reined up our horses I said to my dragoman, "Tell our attendants to be still until I have finished speaking; I want to explain the scene before us." And then while he listened, and looked as I directed, I said: "That towering height far to the north is Mount Hermon; the sheet of water some miles on this side is the Sea of Galilee; to the west of the Sea of Galilee is Hattin, the Mount of Beatitudes; that white spot southwest of Hattin is Nazareth; that great plain south of Nazareth is Esdraelon, the 'battle-field of Palestine'; these rounded mountains here in the eastern part of the Valley of Esdraelon are Tabor, Little Hermon, and Gilboa;—on the north is Tabor, at whose base Napoleon fought; the next is Little Hermon, where lived the witch of Endor; and the one south of Little Hermon is Gilboa, where Saul and his sons were slain; that range of mountains forming the southern wall of Esdraelon is Carmel, where Elijah held his trial with the priests of Baal; here below us, winding in its serpentine course, is the Jordan in its great trough or Ghor; in the center of the picture are the mountains of Samaria, with Ebal and Gerizim; to the south are the mountains of Judea, where lies Jerusalem; and that broad expanse of water beyond all these is the Mediterranean, the 'great sea toward the going down of the sun.'"
Then I waited for his criticism. He said, "You are right in every point, but how did you know?" I said, "It is just like the Palestine of my childhood's fancy that I located in the field back of the barn on my father's little farm in western Pennsylvania, and with that picture I have been familiar from the days of my early youth." It is impossible for me to express what were my feelings at this supreme moment of my life, as I viewed for the first time what is distinctively known as the land of Patriarch, Prophet, Priest, and King—the land of my Redeemer's earthly pilgrimage—the world's best Holy Land! After some time spent in viewing that almost matchless scene, and in gathering mountain lilies, we began our descent into the most remarkable depression in the world—the great Ghor of the Jordan. The next few hours afforded little of pleasure. Careful attention had to be given to our horses as we wound about among the rocks. The horses of both my dragoman and muleteer fell on this trip, but without serious results to either horses or riders. It was quite wearying to proceed thus, so when we finally reached a large sloping rock under which was a kind of stagnant pool—the only water we had seen since leaving Coefrinje—I was glad to know that there we would lunch, even though I could not drink of the water.
This rocky wady is like a prison-house to me. But while eating I hear sweet strains of music somewhere on the mountains—it is from a shepherd's pipe. Scanning the heights I see far above me shepherds with their flocks of sheep and goats, and the music that I hear is from their reed-harps which they play as they lead the way over rugged mountain paths to find greener pastures and better waters.
We tarry here only a little while. Not long after lunch we pass a grotto of small size in the hill-side. Evidently the carven ruins are the remains of an ancient temple that stood here in the days when a pagan people held possession of the land; and I feel sure that a fountain must exist here a good part of the year, though now it is dry.
A little farther on is Jabesh-gilead. The story of Jabesh-gilead is a touching one. The people of the city were besieged by the Ammonites under their king, Nahash. The men of the city were willing to make a covenant to serve the Ammonites. But Nahash told them that the only condition on which he would make a covenant with them would be to thrust out all their right eyes and lay it as a reproach upon Israel. The elders of Jabesh asked a respite of seven days in which to get help, which request was granted. The situation was critical in the extreme. Messengers left the besieged city and hurried to the new king of Israel. Saul heard the story of their distresses. Immediately he gathered an army of three hundred and thirty thousand men, and, marching rapidly up the Jordan Valley, crossed the river and attacked the Ammonites and completely routed them with great slaughter. And thus he saved the city.
The men of Jabesh-gilead never forgot Saul and his kindness to them. Forty years later the disastrous battle of Gilboa was fought. In this battle both Saul and Jonathan were slain. The next day when the Philistines searched for spoils among the dead they found Saul and his three sons, and they cut off his head to carry it as a trophy to Philistia; but they took the headless trunks of the king and his sons to Beth-shan and fastened them against its walls as a terrible warning to the Israelites. But, "when the inhabitants of Jabesh-gilead heard of that which the Philistines had done to Saul, all the valiant men arose and went all night and took the body of Saul and the bodies of his sons from the wall of Bethshan and came to Jabesh and burnt them there. And they took their bones and buried them under a tree at Jabesh, and fasted seven days." (II. Samuel 31:11-13.)
Off to the left a little way I see Tabakat Fahil, identified as Pella, the place to which the Christians of Jerusalem fled just before the siege of Titus in obedience to the prophetic warning of Christ.
It is two o'clock when we reach the Jordan Valley, at a point a little south of Beth-shan, which is on the west side of the river. We now turn northward and pursue our way steadily near the mountains until after five o'clock; then we turn toward the river, which we reach at sun-down.
The Jordan Valley is covered with a growth of thorn said to be like that used in the crowning of Christ at the time of his mock-trial. We eat of a delicious yellow berry now ripening on these thorns. We pass two or three small villages, the names of which I could not learn. We cross a number of small streams this afternoon, the largest of which is the Tayibeh. All of these streams are thickly lined with reeds and pink oleander; so thick is this growth in some places that the streams are completely hidden. Our Arab guide springs down into each of these water-brooks and hands drink to us, but he drinks, I think, after the manner of the drinking of "Gideon's three hundred," in the time of their being tested; that is, by a quick movement of the hand throwing water into his mouth.
Pushing rapidly across the open valley we startle gazelles from their hiding-places among the reeds. Then, near the river, we pass several encampments of Bedouins whose tents are black as those of Kedar. At last, after being in the saddle all of ten hours, just at sun-set, we reach the Jordan at the bridge of Jisr el Mejamia, six miles south of the Sea of Galilee. Just across on the other side of the river we shall tarry through the night.
The way has been long and trying. I am very weary. But, now, just before me the Jordan—sacred stream! And then, on the other side, rest! Happy, soul-cheering thought!
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