January 28th.
Setting Out
Are we to have such a tedious and noisy scene every morning with the muleteers?
I hope not. It is generally thus, however, the first day; but after each one has ascertained his proper load, they proceed more quietly, and with greater expedition.
A Traveling Motto
Now we are fairly on the road, let us remember to commit our way unto the Lord. “In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Prov. 3:66In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. (Proverbs 3:6)). I This has been my traveling motto, roving or at rest, ever since I left the banks of our own bright Ohio for this “Land of Promise.”
No sentiment can be more appropriate. We shall need the admonition at every step, and the promise thereto annexed as well. But the royal preacher has given another piece of advice to travelers: “Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyelids look straight before thee ... Turn not to the right hand or to the left: remove thy foot from evil” (Prov. 4:25,2725Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyelids look straight before thee. (Proverbs 4:25)
27Turn not to the right hand nor to the left: remove thy foot from evil. (Proverbs 4:27)). Do so now, lest you commence our journey with a practical “illustration,” which will associate your name with Balaam and his much-abused ass.
A Walled Path—Balaam
His path, like ours, had “a wall on this side and a wall on that”; the angel with drawn sword was in front, and the poor beast thrust herself against the wall and crushed the prophet's foot (Num. 22:22-3322And God's anger was kindled because he went: and the angel of the Lord stood in the way for an adversary against him. Now he was riding upon his ass, and his two servants were with him. 23And the ass saw the angel of the Lord standing in the way, and his sword drawn in his hand: and the ass turned aside out of the way, and went into the field: and Balaam smote the ass, to turn her into the way. 24But the angel of the Lord stood in a path of the vineyards, a wall being on this side, and a wall on that side. 25And when the ass saw the angel of the Lord, she thrust herself unto the wall, and crushed Balaam's foot against the wall: and he smote her again. 26And the angel of the Lord went further, and stood in a narrow place, where was no way to turn either to the right hand or to the left. 27And when the ass saw the angel of the Lord, she fell down under Balaam: and Balaam's anger was kindled, and he smote the ass with a staff. 28And the Lord opened the mouth of the ass, and she said unto Balaam, What have I done unto thee, that thou hast smitten me these three times? 29And Balaam said unto the ass, Because thou hast mocked me: I would there were a sword in mine hand, for now would I kill thee. 30And the ass said unto Balaam, Am not I thine ass, upon which thou hast ridden ever since I was thine unto this day? was I ever wont to do so unto thee? And he said, Nay. 31Then the Lord opened the eyes of Balaam, and he saw the angel of the Lord standing in the way, and his sword drawn in his hand: and he bowed down his head, and fell flat on his face. 32And the angel of the Lord said unto him, Wherefore hast thou smitten thine ass these three times? behold, I went out to withstand thee, because thy way is perverse before me: 33And the ass saw me, and turned from me these three times: unless she had turned from me, surely now also I had slain thee, and saved her alive. (Numbers 22:22‑33)). Now this file of donkeys, with rough stone from the quarries on their backs, completely blocks up this narrow way, and if you attempt to force your horse past them, either on the right or the left, you will also meet with a crushed foot. That is a fact so obvious that the dumb ass, if it could speak with man's voice as Balsam's did, might rebuke the madness of the attempt. But what are we to do?
Retreat to the next side-alley, and let them pass. These stone-carrying donkeys are a great nuisance; but we are free from them at last, and you will not encounter a similar annoyance in all Syria, nor meet an equally patent illustration of Balsam's misfortune.
Narrow Paths
I shall not soon forget it. These crooked, narrow paths through the gardens of Beira do indeed require one to observe the wise man's directions most closely. Only a few feet wide, with high walls on either side, and overshadowed by the rough arms and thorny palms of the prickly pear, the rider must keep wide awake, or he will find his face transfixed with the sharp spikes of the one, or his foot crushed against the other. I was stooping to avoid the first, when your timely warning saved me from the second.
The almanac tells me that this is the 28th of January, and yet the air is warm and bland as May. This old world and her ways are to me emphatically new. Those tall pines, with their parasol canopies spread out along the sky, are both new and beautiful; and how surpassingly glorious and majestic does Lebanon appear through and beyond them!
Those old trees were planted by Fakhr et Deen, and there are but few of them left. I saw that pretty wood beneath them sowed by Mahmood Beg, the governor of Beira, twenty years ago. The smallest are only two years old. Half a century hence, the tourist will here find the fairest grove in Syria.
A KhâN
This low, flat-roofed house on our right is a native khân—inn, or, if you please, hotel — much like those of ancient times, I suppose. We shall have some future occasion to test the accommodation which these Arab institutions offer to man and beast.
Custom House
Here is the guard of the custom-house, and you may as well return his polite salâm. These gentlemen are obliging or otherwise, according to circumstances. On a former occasion, one of them seized my bridle, and rudely demanded my passport. I replied that it was not customary for residents in the country to carry such documents, and that I had it not with me. This did not satisfy him. He ordered me back, swearing roundly that he would not let the Grand Vizier himself pass without his tazcara.
Bullying Strangers
After he had swaggered himself tired, I told him I had lived twenty years in this country, and knew the regulations of government better than he did; that no order applicable to Franks was ever issued without official notice of the same being communicated to the consuls; and that, as no such notification in regard to passports had been made, I would not conform to it except by force. If he turned me back, I should lodge a complaint against him with the consul, who would hold him responsible for all damages. He immediately lowered his tone, bade me go in peace, and say nothing more about the matter. I did so, and have never been annoyed with a similar demand from that day to this. He had mistaken me for a stranger, and expected to extort a bakshîsh.
It is nine hours, you say, from Beirût to Sidon?
About twenty-seven miles, and takes six, eight, or ten hours, according to the rate of travel. But as our object is to study the land and its customs, or rather to peruse the Word of God by the light which these shed upon it, we shall pay very little attention to the hours stages, and stations of ordinary tourists.
This suits the main purpose of my visit precisely. I have no great fondness for mere sight-seeing, and much prefer to gather instruction from the works and ways, the manners and customs of the living, than to grope for it amid the rotten ruins of the dead.
Road to Damascus
Doubtless the former is the richer field, at least in Palestine, but both should be carefully explored. In the meanwhile, turn a little to the left. The direct road to Sidon leads over a sandy desert, fatiguing to both the horse and his rider. The path we take lies along the eastern margin of it, through mulberry orchards and olive groves, with which we may hold pleasant and profitable converse as we pass. This broad track through the center of the pine forest is the sultan's highway to Damascus. You can see it yonder to the southeast, winding up the face of Lebanon.—When but a few days old in the country, I made trial of it, and was astonished beyond measure to find that such a villanous path was a road to anywhere, and, most of all, that it was the road par excellence between Beirût and Syria's celebrated capital.
Palm-Tree
Look now at those stately palm-trees, which stand here and there on the plain, like military sentinels, with feathery plumes nodding gracefully on their proud heads. The stem, tall, slender, and erect as Rectitude herself, suggests to the Arab poets many a symbol for their ladylove; and Solomon, long before them, has sung, “How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights! this thy stature is like the palm-tree” (Song of Sol. 7:6-76How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights! 7This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes. (Song of Solomon 7:6‑7)).
The Palm
The royal poet has derived more than one figure from the customs of men, and the habits of this noble tree, with which to adorn his sacred ode. The palm grows slowly, but steadily, from century to century, uninfluenced by those alternations of the seasons which affect other trees. It does not rejoice overmuch in winter's copious rain, nor does it droop under the drought and the burning sun of summer.
Its Up-Rightness
Neither heavy weights which men place upon its
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head, nor the importunate urgency of the wind, can sway it aside from perfect uprightness.
Fruit in Old Age
There it stands, looking calmly down upon the world below, and patiently yielding its large clusters of golden fruit from generation to generation. They bring forth fruit in old age. The allusion to being planted in the house of the Lord is probably old age.
Palm Branches
The allusion to being planted in the house of the Lord is probably old age from the custom of planting beautiful and long-lived trees in the courts of temples and palaces, and in all “high places” used for worship. This is still common; nearly every palace, and mosque, and convent in the country has such trees in the courts, and, being well protected there, they flourish exceedingly. Solomon covered all the walls of the “Holy of Holies” (1 Kings 6:2929And he carved all the walls of the house round about with carved figures of cherubims and palm trees and open flowers, within and without. (1 Kings 6:29)). round about with palm-trees. They were thus planted, as it were, within the very house of the Lord; and their presence there was not only ornamental, but appropriate and highly suggestive; the very best emblem, not only of patience in well-doing, but of the rewards of the righteous—a fat and flourishing old age—a peaceful end—a glorious immortality. The Jews used palm branches as emblems of victory in their seasons of rejoicing (Lev. 23:4040And ye shall take you on the first day the boughs of goodly trees, branches of palm trees, and the boughs of thick trees, and willows of the brook; and ye shall rejoice before the Lord your God seven days. (Leviticus 23:40)), and Christians do the same on Palm Sunday, in commemoration of our Savior's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. They are often woven into an arch, and placed over the head of the bier which carries man to his “long home,” and speak sweetly of victory and eternal life. We shall meet this striking and beautiful tree all along our journey, everywhere repeating, as an old friend, the same lessons of piety and encouragement.
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What large black birds are those which fly furiously across the horizon, as if driven by some interior impulse of despair?
The Raven
The raven. Austere bird of ill omen! I never hear its harsh croak, or see it hurrying hither and thither, as if it could not rest, without thinking of Noah and the ark on Ararat. He sent forth this uneasy bird, which went to and fro until the waters were dried up, and never again sought safety or repose by returning to the ark. Sad emblem of those who fly from the true Ark, and only refuge against that other deluge which shall drown the ungodly in everlasting destruction!
Olive Orchards
And now we are entering the vast olive-orchards of Shwoifat. See! our noisy approach has frightened a timid dove from the midst of that fine old tree.
The Olive Branch
The dove and the olive! another association to remind us of the ark, and the second father of man-kind. Who can see the dove sitting in this tree without thinking of that evening when she returned to the ark, “and,
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The olive-tree, its fruit and oil, must have been known before the deluge, but whether the dove and the branch were emblems of peace and good-will by previous custom, or whether the hint was taken from this transaction, I shall not attempt to determine. The tradition among the Greeks that the first olive-branch that reached their country was carried by a dove from Phenicia to the temple of Jupiter in Epirus, is certainly very remarkable. The connection of the dove with the olive, however, is quite natural. These groves are their favorite resort. In them they build their nests and rear their young, and there may be heard all day long their low, soft cooing, in sweet unison with the breeze which whispers peace to the troubled and repose to the weary.
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It seems a fair deduction from the narrative in Genesis, that the flood must have risen in such a quiet way as not to destroy the trees; and must also have remained but a short time universal, else the olive would have perished.
Habitat of the Olive
We may at least conclude, that lands sufficiently low and warm for the olive had been for some time uncovered when the dove went forth, or it could not have found young leaves upon them. This tree does not flourish in Syria more than three thousand feet above the sea, and in the interior not so high. Indeed, it is scarcely found at all in countries adjacent to Ararat, and the dove had probably to make a long flight for its leaf; which it could easily do before “evening.” And the objection to the literal meaning or strict veracity of this statement has no solid foundation, in the fact that the olive is not an inhabitant of the cold mountains of Armenia.
Have you ever met with any certain traces of the flood in this country?
There are myriads of fossil shells on Lebanon and elsewhere, even on the tops of the highest ranges, but no geologist would appeal to them in proof of the Noahic deluge. That was an event wholly miraculous, and the evidence of the fact is to be found in the sacred record, not in geological researches. I would by no means intimate, however, that future investigation may not uncover many well-ascertained footprints of that mighty catastrophe. But it is altogether foreign to our purpose to wander off into geological speculations, and we are not yet done with the olive-tree.
Beauty of the Olive
Far from it. There are many references to it in the Bible, some of which I am not able yet to appreciate. Thus Hosea says, “His beauty shall be as the olive-tree” (Hos. 14:66His branches shall spread, and his beauty shall be as the olive tree, and his smell as Lebanon. (Hosea 14:6)). It does not strike me as very beautiful; but perhaps one's eye needs to be educated before it can distinguish properly, and decide correctly, on such questions in new and strange circumstances.
No doubt. To me this noble grove, spreading like a silver sea along the base of the hills, and climbing their ascending terraces, is perfectly charming; and it speaks of peace and plenty, food and gladness. The olive-tree and its fruit make the face of man to shine in more senses than one. To a stranger it is necessarily destitute of these pleasing associations; but to me it is at all times both charming and refreshing to ride through such a grove when clothed with flowers, or when bowed down with fat and oily berries.
Oil Out of the Rock
Moses, in that last ode which he to fight the children of Israel, speaks of “oil out of the flinty rock” (Deut. 32:1313He made him ride on the high places of the earth, that he might eat the increase of the fields; and he made him to suck honey out of the rock, and oil out of the flinty rock; (Deuteronomy 32:13)), and until now I had supposed that this tree delighted in hard, rocky soil; but this vast grove spreads over a soft and sandy plain.
You were not mistaken—only misled by appearances. The substratum or this plain is chalky marl, abounding in flint, and the sand is merely an intruder blown in from this desert on our right. In such soil our tree flourishes best, both in the plains and upon the mountains. It delights to insinuate its roots into the clefts of the rocks and crevices of this flinty marl; and from thence it draws its richest stores of oil. If the overlying mold is so deep that its roots cannot reach the rock beneath, I am told that the tree languishes, and its berries are small and sapless. There is, however, another explanation of this figure of Moses. In ancient times generally (and in many places at the present day) the olives were ground to a pulp in huge stone basins, by rolling a heavy stone wheel over them, and the oil was then expressed in stone presses established near by. Frequently these presses, with their floors, gutters, troughs, and cisterns, were all hewn out of solid rock, and thus it literally “poured out rivers of oil” (Job. 29:6), as Job hath it in his parable. There is a ruin above Tyre, near Kânâth, called Im-il-‘Awamîd, where scores of such presses are still standing, almost as perfect as they were twenty centuries ago, although every vestige of the groves which supplied the oil has long since disappeared.
Grafting Wild Olives
I notice that the branches of some trees have been cut off, and then grafted; why is this done?
Simply because the olive, in its natural wild state, bears no berries, or but few, and these small and destitute of oil.
Paul has an extended reference to this matter. Stay till I turn to the passage, for there are some things in it which I have never understood. Here it is: “If some of the branches be broken off, and thou, being a wild olive-tree, wert graffed in among them, and with them partakest of the root and fatness of the olive-tree; boast not against the branches. But if thou boast, thou bearest not the root, but the root thee” (Rom. 11:17-18,2417And if some of the branches be broken off, and thou, being a wild olive tree, wert graffed in among them, and with them partakest of the root and fatness of the olive tree; 18Boast not against the branches. But if thou boast, thou bearest not the root, but the root thee. (Romans 11:17‑18)
24For if thou wert cut out of the olive tree which is wild by nature, and wert graffed contrary to nature into a good olive tree: how much more shall these, which be the natural branches, be graffed into their own olive tree? (Romans 11:24)). And then, in the 24th verse, “For if thou wert cut out of the olive-tree, which is wild by nature, and wert graffed, contrary to nature, into a good olive-tree,” etc. Now here is my difficulty, and the exact point of inquiry: The olive, you say (and so says the Apostle), is wild by nature, and it must be grafted by the good before it will bear fruit; but here the Apostle speaks of grafting the wild into the good, not the good upon the wild.
True, he does; but observe, he says expressly that this is contrary to nature, as it really is. I have made particular inquiries on this point, and find that in the kingdom of nature generally, certainly in the case of the olive, the process referred to by the Apostle never succeeds. Graft the good upon the wild, and, as the Arabs say, it will conquer the wild; but you cannot reverse the process with success.—If you insert a wild graft into a good tree, it will conquer the good. It is only in the kingdom of grace that a process thus contrary to nature can be successful; and it is this circumstance which the Apostle has seized upon, and with admirable tact, to magnify the mercy shown to the Gentiles by grafting them, a wild race, contrary to the nature of such operations, into the good olive-tree of the Church, and causing them to flourish there, and bring forth fruit unto eternal life. The Apostle lived in the land of the olive, and was in no danger of falling into a blunder in founding his argument upon such a circumstance in its cultivation.
But have all the trees in this vast grove been reclaimed from a wild state by grafting?
The Root of the Olive
Certainly not. The Apostle himself speaks of the root of the good olive,—implying that, by some means or other, it had been changed. The process by which this result is reached is quite simple. You observe certain knobs, or large warts, so to speak, on the body of this tree. Cut off one of these which has a branch growing out of it, above the place where it has been grafted; plant it in good soil, water it carefully, and it will strike out roots and grow. It is now a good tree from the root, and all scions taken from it are also “good by nature.” But if the knob, or branch, be taken below the grafting, your tree comes wild again. The greater part of this grove is now “good” from the root. I am told, however, by olive-growers, that there is a tendency to degenerate, and that it is often a great improvement to graft even a good tree with one that is still better.
The Flower
Job says, He “shall cast off his flower as the olive” (Job 15:3333He shall shake off his unripe grape as the vine, and shall cast off his flower as the olive. (Job 15:33)). What is there in the casting off of olive-flowers which can illustrate the rejection and ruin of those who trust in vanity, for which purpose the patriarch employs the figure?
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Abundance of Flowers
The olive is the most prodigal of all fruit-bearing trees in flowers. It literally bends under the load of them. But then not one in a hundred comes to maturity. The tree casts them off by millions, as if they were of no more value than flakes of snow, which they closely resemble. So it will be with those who put their trust in vanity. Cast off, they melt away, and no one takes the trouble to ask after such empty, useless things,—just as our olive seems to throw off in contempt the myriads of flowers that signify nothing, and turns all her fatness to those which will mature into fruit.
Slow Growth
This tree is of slow growth, and the husbandman must have long patience. Except under circumstances peculiarly favorable, it bears no berries until the seventh year; nor is the crop worth much until the tree is ten or fifteen years old; but then “the labor of the olive” (Hab. 3:1717Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: (Habakkuk 3:17)) is extremely profitable, and it will continue to yield its fruit to extreme old age, like the excellent of the earth. So long as there is a fragment remaining, though externally the tree looks dry as a post, yet does it continue to yield its load of oily berries, and for twenty generations the owners gather fruit from the faithful old patriarch.
Labor of the Olive
This tree also requires but little labor or care of any kind, and, if long neglected, will revive again when the ground is dug or plowed, and begin afresh to yield as before. Vineyards forsaken die out almost immediately, and mulberry orchards neglected run rapidly to ruin; but not so the olive. I saw the desolate hills of Jebel-el-Alâh, above Antioch, covered with these groves, although no one had paid attention to them for half a century. If the olive bore every year, its value would be incalculable; but, like most other trees, it yields only every other year. Even with this deduction, it is the most valuable species of property in the country. Large trees, in a good season, will yield from ten to fifteen gallons of oil, and an acre of them gives a crop worth at least one hundred dollars. No wonder it is so highly prized.
Its Usefulness
The value of this tree is enhanced by the fact that its fruit is indispensable for the comfort, and even the existence of the mass of the community. The Biblical references to this matter are not at all exaggerated. The berry, pickled, forms the general relish to the farmer's dry bread. He goes forth to his work in the field at early dawn, or sets out on a journey, with no other provision than olives wrapped up in a quantity of his paper-like loaves; and with this he is contented. Then almost every kind of dish is cooked in oil, and without it the goodwife is utterly confounded; and when the oil fails, the lamp in the dwelling of the poor expires. Moreover, the entire supply of soap in this country is from the produce of the olive. Habakkuk, therefore, gives a very striking attestation of his faith in God when he says, “Although the labor of the olive should fail, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation” (Hab. 3:1818Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. (Habakkuk 3:18)).
Gathering the Olive
Isaiah refers to the gathering of the olive thus: “Yet gleaning grapes shall be left in it, as the shaking of an olive-tree, two or three berries in the top of the uppermost bough, four or five in the outermost fruitful branches thereof” (Isa. 17:66Yet gleaning grapes shall be left in it, as the shaking of an olive tree, two or three berries in the top of the uppermost bough, four or five in the outmost fruitful branches thereof, saith the Lord God of Israel. (Isaiah 17:6)). Have you noticed the circumstances alluded to by the prophet?
Very often; and it is the language of familiar acquaintance with the subjects As you may never have an opportunity to watch the process, I will describe it as it occurs in such places as Hasbeiya, where I have studied it to best advantage. Early in autumn the berries begin to drop of themselves, or are shaken off by the wind. They are allowed to remain under the trees for some time, guarded by the watchman of the town—a very familiar Biblical character. Then a proclamation is made by the governor that all who have trees go out and pick what is fallen. Previous to this, not even the owners are allowed to gather olives in the groves. This proclamation is repeated once or twice, according to the season. In November comes the general and final summons, which sends forth all Hasbeiya. No olives are now safe unless the owner looks after them, for the watchmen are removed, and the orchards are alive with men, women, and children. It is a merry time, and the laugh and the song echo far and wide.
Shaking of the Olive
Everywhere the people are in the trees “shaking” them with all their might, to bring down the fruit. This is what the prophet had in mind. The effort is to make a clear sweep of all the crop; but, in spite of shaking and beating, there is always a gleaning left—“two or three berries in the top of the uppermost boughs, four or five in the outermost fruitful branches” (Isa. 17:66Yet gleaning grapes shall be left in it, as the shaking of an olive tree, two or three berries in the top of the uppermost bough, four or five in the outmost fruitful branches thereof, saith the Lord God of Israel. (Isaiah 17:6)). These are afterward gleaned up by the very poor, who have no trees of their own (Deut. 24:2020When thou beatest thine olive tree, thou shalt not go over the boughs again: it shall be for the stranger, for the fatherless, and for the widow. (Deuteronomy 24:20)), and by industry they gather enough to keep a lamp in their habitation during the dismal nights of winter, and to cook their mess of pottage and bitter herbs. I have often seen these miserable outcasts gleaning among the groves, and shivering in winter's biting cold. In fact, the “shaking of the olive” is the severest operation in Syrian husbandry, particularly in such mountainous regions as Hasbeiya. When the proclamation goes forth to “shake,” there can be no postponement. The rainy season has already set in; the trees are dripping with the last shower, or bowing under a load of moist snow; but shake, shake you must, drenching yourself and those below in an artificial storm of rain, snow, and olives. No matter how piercing the wind, how biting the frost, this work must go on from early dawn to dark night; and then the weary laborer must carry on his aching back a heavy load of dripping berries two or three miles up the mountain to his home. To comprehend the necessity of all this, you must remember that the olive-groves are in common—not owned in common, but planted on the same general tract of land, and are without fences, walls, or hedges of any kind, mingled together like the trees in a natural forest. This tree belongs to Zeid, that to 'Abeid, as they say, and so on through the whole plantation. Such, at least, is the case with the groves we are describing. This vast orchard of Shwoifat, through which we have been riding for the last hour, has a thousand owners, and in “shaking time” every one must look sharply after his own, or he loses all. There is an utter confounding of the meum and tuum in the general conscience of olive-gatherers.
Olive Plants Round the Table
Follow me into the grove, and I will show you what may have suggested the comparison. Here we have hit upon a beautiful illustration. This aged and decayed tree is surrounded, as you see, by several young and thrifty shoots, which spring from the root of the venerable parent. They seem to uphold, protect, and embrace it. We may even fancy that they now bear that load of fruit which would otherwise be demanded of the feeble parent. Thus do good and affectionate children gather round the table of the righteous. Each contributes something to the common wealth and welfare of the whole — a beautiful sight, with which may God refresh the eyes of every friend of mine.
Sea of Sand
But here we must leave our pleasant grove for this singular sea of sand, which rolls quite back to the gardens of Beirût. Geologists tell us that this sand has traveled long and far before it reached its present resting-place; that, in fact, its original home was in the great African desert, and, during the countless ages of the past, it has been drifted first by the wind into the sea, and then by the current along the northern coast past Egypt, and around the head of the sea, until, stopped by the Cape of Beirût, it has been thrown out by the waves on to this plain. Others say that it is the sand of the Nile transported hither by the northern current in this part of the Mediterranean. It would lead us too far from our path and our purpose to discuss these theories. My own opinion is, that we need look no farther than this immediate neighborhood for the origin of this desert. The rock on the shore is a soft sandstone, which is continually disintegrating by the action of wind and wave. The loose sand is cast up upon the beach, and the strong southwest winds which blow across the plain are constantly spreading it inward under our very eyes. No doubt, the River Damûr, which is just ahead of us, brings down a vast amount of sand during the winter rains, which is also thrown on shore by the sea. But enough of speculation. The fact is only too certain and too sad. This sand is continually driven in upon these gardens like another deluge.
Destruction of Orchards
Entire mulberry orchards about Beirut, with all their trees and houses, have been thus overwhelmed since I came to the country; and the day is not distant when it will have swept over the whole cape to the bay on the north of the city, unless its course can be arrested. I never take this ride without watching, with weary sadness, this ever-changing desert. Upon the great sand-waves, which swell up from twenty to fifty feet high, the west wind wakes up small but well-defined wavelets,—the counterpart in miniature of those on yonder noisy sea. Should these ripples be caught and fixed by some tranquillizing and indurating agency, we should here have a vast formation of as wavy sandstone as ever puzzled the student of earth's rocky mysteries.
Sand Waves Common in the South
These sandy invasions are not found to any injurious extent north of Beira, but as you go south they become broader and more continuous. They spread far inland round the Bay of Acre. They begin again at Cesarea, and reach to the River 'Aujeh; and then south of Joppa, past Askelon and Gaza, they roll in their desolating waves wider and still wider, until they subside in the great desert that lies between Arabia and Africa. Let us ride up to the crest of that bold sand-wave, and take a farewell look at this prospect, so eminently Syrian. Ibrahim Pacha told the Emeer of Shwoifat that he had three different seas beneath his feet — the blue Mediterranean, this yellow Kŭllâbât, and the silvery sea of this olive Sahrâh. Though we may not admire the poetry of the pacha, we will the scene that inspired it. All he saw is before us; and with the noble Lebanon for background, receding and rising, range over range, up to where Sŭnnîn leans his snowy head against the marble vault of heaven. Picturesque villages by the hundred sleep at his feet, cling to his sides, hide in his bosom, or stand out in bold relief upon his ample shoulders, giving life and animation to the scene.
A Telegraphic Beacon
We will now rest and lunch at this khân Khŭldeh. It has taken three hours to reach it. Though you have but little relish for rotten ruins, there is something hereabouts will surely interest you. This broken tower, crowning the top of a half-natural, half-artificial mound, the guide-books will tell you, is one of those telegraphic beacons which St. Helen built along the road from Jerusalem to Constantinople, to convey to her royal son the very first tidings of the discovery of the true cross, for which she was then ransacking the rubbish of the Holy City. You may accept that, or else suppose that it was one of a system of watch-towers for the defense of the coast, such as are still kept up along the shores of Spain and Algiers. The hill itself, however, speaks of remote antiquity. But by far the most remarkable relics of past ages are those sarcophagi on the side of the mountain.
Ancient Sarcophagi
Their number is surprising, since for ages the inhabitants have been breaking them up for building-stone, and burning them into lime; and still there are hundreds of them lying about on the face of the hill. They are of all sizes; some eight feet long, and in fair proportion, the resting-place of giants; others were made for small children. Many are hewn in the live rock; others are single coffins cut out of separate blocks. All had heavy lids, of various shapes, approaching to that of an American coffin, but with the corners raised. They are, no doubt, very ancient. Lift the lid, and the dust within differs not from the surrounding soil from which grows the corn of the current year. And so it was twenty centuries ago, I suppose. They are without inscriptions, and have nothing about them to determine their age or origin. Here is a cherub on one, with wings expanded, as if about to fly away to the “better land”; yonder is another with a palm branch—emblem of immortality; while that large one has three warlike figures, the chosen companions, perhaps, of some ancient hero. But on none of them is there a single mark or scratch which might indicate that those who made them had an alphabet. Who were they? Certainly neither Greeks nor Romans. I find no mention of this place, unless it be the Heldua, which, according to the “Jerusalem Itinerary,” was twelve miles south of Beirût. This distance, however, would take us to the next khan-Ghŭfer en Naamy; and there was an ancient tower near it. Mark Antony spent some time at a fort between Beirût and Sidon, called Dukekome, waiting for Cleopatra. Perhaps this tower-crowned hill marks the spot where these mighty revelers met and feasted. However that may be, we must now leave it. An hour's easy, or rather uneasy, ride through the deep sand of the shore, will bring us to our tent on the green bank of the Damûr.
Lime-Kilns
Here, on the brow of this rocky hill, we have the lime-kilns you spoke of, and men in the very act of breaking up sarcophagi to feed them. It is unpardonable sacrilege thus to destroy those venerable antiquities. It is outrageous Vandalism.
Thorns Cut up
Instead of hurling anathemas at these barbarians, we had better drop a tear of compassion over such ignorance, and then see if we cannot draw some lesson of instruction from even these destructive kilns. You see an immense quantity of this low, matted thorn-bush collected around them. That is the fuel with which the lime is burned. And thus it was in the days of Isaiah. “The people,” says he, “shall be es the burnings of lime: as thorns cut up shall they be burned in the fire” (Isa. 33:1212And the people shall be as the burnings of lime: as thorns cut up shall they be burned in the fire. (Isaiah 33:12)). Those people among the rocks yonder are cutting up thorns with their mattocks and pruning-hooks and gathering them into bundles to be burned in these burnings of lime. It is a curious fidelity to real life, that, when the thorns are merely to be destroyed, they are never cut up, but set on fire where they grow. They are only cut up for the lime-kiln.
The Tent
And here is the Damûr, with our tent pitched among oleanders and willows —a picturesque position for our first encampment. Permit me to introduce you to the house of your pilgrimage. Salim has placed your cot and luggage on the right, and mine on the left. We will pursue this arrangement hereafter, and thereby avoid much confusion.
It looks very inviting, and promises well for future comfort. The sojourning in tents, in the land where the patriarchs tabernacled so many centuries ago, not only takes my fancy captive, but is in beautiful unison with our object.
It is a coach or car, with its bustle and hurry, would be intolerable here; and even a fussy, fashionable hotel would be a nuisance. Let us enjoy the luxury of liberty, and, while dinner is preparing, take a stroll at our leisure up this fine wady.
The DamûR
This name, Damûr, is it a mere variation of the Tamyras of Strabo, the Damura of Polybius?
Yes, if the variation is not that of the Greek and Roman. I suspect that Damûr is the true original. The main source of this river is near 'Ain Zehalteh, a village five hours to the east, under the lofty ridge of Lebanon. Other streams from the mountain farther north unite with this at Jisr el Kâdy, on the road from Beirût to Deir el Kamar. Below this the river turns westward, and falls into the sea just south of this long, straggling village of Mûallakah. Though not more than twenty-five miles long, yet, from the vast extent of lofty mountains which pour their winter floods into its channel, it rises suddenly into a furious, unfordable river. Many people are carried away by it and perish at this ford. This broken bridge was built by the Emeer Beshîr Shehâb, some thirty-five years ago; but it soon gave way before the violence of the stream. From the nature of the bottom, it has always been difficult to establish a bridge at this place. The emir erected his on the ruins of one more ancient, built probably by the Romans, and with no better success than they. The river frequently changes its channel, and the Romans constructed this heavy wall running up the stream to confine it to its proper bed; but in winter it sets all bounds at defiance. During a great flood last year it spread through these gardens of Mûallakah, tore up the mulberry-trees, and swept them off to the sea. The scenery around the head of this river is not so wild as in many other places; but the basins of the different tributaries expand on an immense scale—spreading up the declivities of Lebanon, and opening out prospects which, for depth and height, vastness and variety, are rarely surpassed. The view from Mutyar Abeih, to which I directed your eye as we came along the shore, is particularly impressive. The wady of 'Ain Zehalteh abounds in remarkable cliffs of blue argillaceous marl, which are subject to slides and avalanches on a terrific scale.
Terrific Land-Slip
The Emîr Hyder, in his “History of Lebanon,” says, that about ninety-five years ago a projecting terrace at Kefr Nabrûkh, which had a small village on it, parted from the main mountain, and plunged with prodigious uproar into the wady below, carrying houses, gardens, and trees with it in horrid confusion. It completely stopped the river for seven days. Repeatedly have I stood on the awful precipice, and gazed upon the wrecks of this avalanche with terror. Few heads are steady enough for the giddy perch; and no one breathes freely there, or looks without a shudder into the gulf, which opens fifteen hundred feet directly below him. The emeer relates that one man who was on the sliding mass escaped unhurt, but was ever after a raving maniac. The catastrophe occurred during the life of the historian, and not far from his home, and we may therefore give full credit to his narrative. I have seen many similar slides on Lebanon. Indeed, they occur every winter, but rarely on so gigantic a scale, or accompanied by circumstances so romantic and tragical.
The Mountain Falling
Such avalanches appear to have been known even in the days of Job, and he refers to them to illustrate the overthrow of vain man's hope and confidence. “Surely,” says he, “the mountain falling cometh to naught, and the rock is removed out of his place” (Job 14:1818And surely the mountain falling cometh to nought, and the rock is removed out of his place. (Job 14:18)), and he connects this with the waters which wear the stones, when, as now, they were occasioned by the great rains of winter.
They were, perhaps, more common in ancient days than at present. But there comes the call for dinner, and we must return to the tent.
What an abundant table the Lord, by the ministration of this lively cook of ours, has spread for us here in the wilderness! Neatly got up, too, and nothing seems wanting. Do you know, I looked on during those days of preparation at Beirut with wonder and alarm at the hundred and one things which you were gathering around you. I could not conceive where they were to be stowed away, or how they were to be carried on the mules. Now I find that everything has a place, and an office to discharge.
Pilgrim Feelings
It is said that Bonaparte never spent more than fifteen minutes at the table. However that may be, I have no inclination to devote much time at present to this “vulgar function of eating.” Dinner over, I cannot abide the tent; for, though it has somewhat the shape, it has none of the glory of this starry canopy above. As to sleep, the very idea seems absurd. Could one sleep on the golden streets of the New Jerusalem the first night? You shake your head reprovingly, and the allusion is extravagant, but all my present surroundings seem equally so. Boyhood's possible and impossible fancies are gathering thick about me in living realities. I was ever given to reverie, and many a day, beneath the leafy canopy of maple-trees on the banks of our own Ohio, have lain at ease, and dreamed of this land of the sun, its mysteries and its miracles, and longed to be there, and wondered if I ever should. And now I am here, on the shore of this great and wide sea, with its everlasting anthem going up to the listening stars. Here am I—but you smile, and I do not choose just now to furnish food for your mirth.
Better stop. Why, you have been dreaming, with that Longfellow, who
“Used to lie
And gaze into the summer sky,
Where the sailing clouds went by
Like ships upon the sea.”
All this is a quarter of a century behind my experience. At that remote date I might have understood you, but not now. From this, on, waste no more breath in rhapsodies. A pilgrimage to Palestine has too much of the real in it to permit us to expire in the romantic. We had better prepare to imitate this muleteer, that we may be ready for the early dawn, and the bustle of a new day.
A Stone Pillow
The fellow is sound asleep on the bare ground, and, like Jacob at Bethel, he has actually got a stone for his pillow.
You will often see that in this country. I have tried it myself, but could never bring sleep and stone pillows together. I suspect Jacob was not used to it, for he was disturbed with extraordinary dreams; but to Ahmed, with his hard head and stuffed cap, this stone is soft as a cushion of down.
You do not mean that he will sleep all night on this sand, and with no covering but his old cloak.
Sleeping in Day Clothes
Certainly; and if he were at home he would do the same, at least as to covering. This custom of sleeping in their ordinary clothes is the basis of that humane law of Moses for the protection of the poor: “If thou at all take thy neighbor's raiment to pledge, thou shalt deliver it unto him by that the sun goeth down: for that is his covering only, it is his raiment for his skin: wherein shall he sleep?” (Exod. 22:26-2726If thou at all take thy neighbor's raiment to pledge, thou shalt deliver it unto him by that the sun goeth down: 27For that is his covering only, it is his raiment for his skin: wherein shall he sleep? and it shall come to pass, when he crieth unto me, that I will hear; for I am gracious. (Exodus 22:26‑27)). Envy him his slumbers; they are the sweet ones of the laboring man. And now come in; let us consult the “best of books,” and then commend ourselves and all we love to that good Shepherd who slumbers not nor sleeps.