CHAPTER VI

THE SEA OF GALILEE

"We go to the Sea of Galilee ... and although they call it a sea, it is neither a sea nor arm of the sea; for it is but a stank of fresh water ... and it hath in it great plenty of good fish, and the River Jordan runs through it."—SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILLE, 1322

It was a glorious ride from Tabor to Tiberias. The rain clouds hastened westward, and, as we heard later, gratified the thirsty souls at Nazareth, and left us to a thorough enjoyment of our day. We were delighted to find ourselves off the beaten track, for the carriage road to Tiberias was considerably to our north. We had been told, to our satisfaction, that the alternative road by way of Tabor, as it lay a little low, did not give us such frequent glimpses of parts of the lake, but that we should come upon the glorious prospect all at once, and the expectation kept us constantly on the watch. Our road lay for the most part through well-cultivated country, belonging partly to the Bedu and partly to the Circassians, and the wide fields, in which the corn was springing, were a delightful and refreshing sight. We pictured what it would be later in the year to ride, as we were assured we might, through vegetation up to the saddle—barley, maize, sesame, doura, with yellow marguerite and blue eryngo, and campanulas of every shade, raising proud heads above the golden wealth. We were, however, quite content with the garden which had been prepared for us—such an one would be, indeed, difficult to find anywhere else, in such combination, and in the first week of January. Perhaps one great charm of it all was that it was just such a day, and such a spectacle, as one might enjoy, three months later in parks and gardens at home—only glorified as to colour, size, and fragrance, and that here all the flowers were the wild children of Mother Nature. Capers, fennel, asparagus, and scores of balsamic herbs, in which the bees were gaily humming, took us, in thought, into the kitchen gardens of home, now lying under a white coverlet in winter sleep. Here all was so warm in the sunshine that lizards, and even chameleons and tortoises, had wakened up to greet the glad new year.

We passed the immense ruins of a fine khan of fifteenth-century workmanship, and those of an Arab castle on a height beyond, both now serving only as refuge to the flocks of the Bedu, who, on account of the presence of an excellent spring, seek shelter about its walls. Circassian and Bedawy cultivation we had seen, wide tracts in possession of the Jews were pointed out to us at a distance, and at Kafr Sabt we found a village of peasantry from Algeria. Somewhat to the north, the twin peaks of Karn Hattîn looked down upon this aggregation of race and creed—the scene, according to a tradition (not, however, older than the sixteenth century), of the Sermon on the Mount. The same mountain has another association, that of the battle in July 1187, in which Salah ed-din totally defeated the Franks, and gave the death-blow to their power in Palestine. King Guy de Lusignan was taken prisoner, the knights were sold as slaves, the Templars and Hospitallers executed, on the very site where, perhaps, the Master, looking down the avenue of centuries, had said: "Blessed are the merciful, the peacemakers, the pure in heart." Whether the blessings were any more applicable to the Christian Crusader than to the Moslem conqueror is a point upon which the testimony of history leaves one somewhat in doubt.

At the bottom of the valley, into which we soon descended, followed close by a family party of Jews, who seemed glad of the protection of our presence, we found ourselves upon a wide, fertile plain bounded by a water-course;—that we noted the water-courses is a sign that we have been living in arid Judæa;—and then we rose once more, and for the last time, reaching the plateau of Ard el Hammâ, when the promised view burst upon us. Our Jews were actually alarmed by our simultaneous shout of delight: Khalil only smiled sardonically, quite inured to the unaccountable pleasure which the Frenjys exhibited over what not even an Armenian or a Government official could turn into so much as a bishlik (value 6d.).

The Sea of Tiberias is about thirteen miles long by five to eight wide; its proportions much those of Windermere; its form an irregular oval; indeed, it is said that its ancient name of Kinnerôt is derived from Kinnor, a lute, in allusion to its shape. It lies 681 feet below the Mediterranean, so that it has an almost subtropical, and very abundant, vegetation. The steep hills are of moderate height; but great Hermon, looking over their shoulders at the northern end, dwarfs all else into insignificance. There is, for the most part, but a ribbon of coast, green with herbage and trees, and bordered with glistening sand and shells. It is like a bonnie Highland loch, not wooded like Loch Lomond, nor, on the other hand, bare like Coruisk, but smiling, peaceful, inviting to repose. The very sight of such a quantity of water was refreshing to us, coming, as we did, from a city where it is often cheaper to drink a bottle, or even two, of wine, than to take a bath. In little villages dotted along the shore we could fancy that we might hear the kindly Gaelic instead of the Arabic, which has, however, many similar sounds; the laddie herding on yonder hill is playing an instrument "own brother" to the chanters, and snow-crowned Hermon dominates his world like Cruachan or Schiehallion. The extreme southern end is hidden from us, and we must advance to the very edge of the cliff to see Tiberias lying at our feet—a long line of houses, varied by palms and minarets. At this distance, and before bettering our acquaintance with details, it is not difficult to reconstruct in imagination the city which must have been, in the time of Jesus, one of the many glories of Galilee. To realise the sheen and consistency of its beauty we have to remember that the whole had been newly built by Herod upon a long-deserted site; that palace and race-course and citadel and forum, a great synagogue for the Jews (who refused, however, to enter the city), a wall three miles long, were all new, and all part of an artistic plan. We must remember that this was only one of nine cities, all more or less Greek in architecture and customs, said to have contained each, at least, fifteen thousand inhabitants—an almost unbroken chain around the lake, now so solitary that one's eye finds with difficulty traces of humanity otherwhere than in and about Tiberias, now a squalid townlet of four thousand inhabitants. As Sebaste was called after Augustus, so the name of Tiberius was given to this city—perhaps the old Rakkath. When the foundations were laid, quantities of human bones were laid bare, and the Jews refused to dwell in a city ceremonially unclean, so that Herod was driven to populate his new possession with the scum of the country. To judge from our later acquaintance with the manners and customs of the inhabitants their descendants are still in possession, reinforced by a still larger number of Jews, of whom, indeed, two-thirds of the population now consists. Rich gardens once existed where now are only swamps, beautiful to the eye, but breathing out malarial fever; and fleets of sails met the eyes of Jesus and His fishermen friends where now we can discover but two little rowing-boats. Khalil pointed out the spot where, as he said, Jesus had made forty loaves of bread, and was much hurt that we did not take a note of the story, as we had done of other traditions. The story was true, he affirmed, and the company had eaten them with their fish.

Our horses were in good mood to-day, and we made them descend the steep hillside above Tiberias, by which we not only cut short the tortuous windings of the road but obtained a quick series of points of view, which furnished a panorama wonderful in colour and outline. The approach has still a certain grandeur. The wall and gateway, probably entirely ineffective as such, are picturesque in their decay. They are, indeed, of no great age, and may even belong only to the eighteenth-century restoration, when the town was refortified, to be again destroyed by an earthquake in 1837. We passed some modern European buildings, including a small but inviting little German hotel, and the hospital and manse of the mission of the Free Church of Scotland, and, still descending, paused before the gate of the Franciscan hospice. The rain which we had seen ahead of us in the morning had fallen in Tiberias, and the streets were simply ditches of dirty water, with occasional islands, upon one of which we descended, and then, with a spring, found ourselves in the orderly courtyard.

A hearty welcome awaited us from the Brother in charge, an old friend, formerly gardener in the Garden of Gethsemane, and still practising his art, as the neat flower-beds and well-trained creepers testified.

The Arabs say that the king of fleas lives at Tiberias; if so, he holds his court elsewhere than at the hospices—here and at Et Tâbigha, where next day we were kindly and comfortably entertained. After dinner we climbed to the roof, and had a glorious view of the lake, and of Mount Hermon, and of the tall palms waving in the moonlight. An epidemic of cholera in 1903 produced a fearful mortality, amounting, it is said, to one-fourth of the population, and of these over three-fourths were Jews, probably owing to the extreme filth of their surroundings.

Next morning we set off, after an early breakfast, to ride up to the north end of the lake. Our farther journey, to Besan, would take us southward, and we were warned not to attempt the eastern shore without an escort, as the Bedu there are very wild. We passed the neat hospital and manse, covered with a crimson flame of bougainvillea, and shaded by pleasant trees, with gardens sloping down to the water, and in a few minutes were out of sight of the town, with only the blue lake, with its green margin and surrounding hills, to feast our eyes upon. Ruins, wells with stone enclosures, rock tombs—all speak of a past population. The first sign of present habitation was a miserable village, said to be Magdala. Even here some massive fragments of wall testify to earlier prosperity. Here the shore widens out into the plain of Gennesaret, bounded towards the south-east by a rugged hill, in which are many large caves, formerly the stronghold of robbers, which were fortified without, and adapted for residence by long connecting galleries, and by cisterns, which collected water for the occupants. These bandits gave much trouble to Herod the Great, as they were practically unassailable, the only access to their homes being in the face of a rock eleven hundred feet high. They were finally reached by means of lowering soldiers from the top in cages, and were ultimately overpowered. At a later date these fortified caverns were utilised by Josephus in his struggle with the Romans, and still later they served as hermitages.

According to some authorities, Taricheæ is to be identified with Magdala, though others place it farther south. Its associations are historical and commercial, not religious. The name signifies "pickling-place"; and the salt fish of Galilee were known throughout the Roman Empire—large quantities were taken up to Jerusalem at feast-times, and barrels exported to the shores of the Mediterranean. The great draughts of fish such as we read of in the gospels must have been brought to Taricheæ for preservation, otherwise they would have been wasted in this subtropical climate.

A little past Mejdel our road led us down to the very edge of the lake, where we were tempted to dismount to gather shells, which are very beautiful and varied. The shore is fringed all the way with oleander-bushes, "the blossoms red and bright" of Keble's poem—one of those touches of realism in his verses which are the more remarkable that he was never in Palestine. Khalil thought our occupation very childish, and never could understand why we should want to walk when we were paying for horses to ride upon. Before long we were forced to mount again by the necessity of having to cross several streams making their way down to the lake. The path gradually ascended till we found ourselves following an aqueduct along a very narrow ridge at some height above the water, just after passing the ruins of the large Khan Minyeh, to which it had served to conduct water in the days of Salah ed-din. We had forcible illustration of the sudden storms for which this lake has been always known, for just as we were carefully picking our way along our precarious path a sudden squall arose, and in a moment the wind was whistling about us, rain was dashing in our faces, and the lake was beating angrily upon the shore. There was an instant's question of sheltering among the fig-trees below or of going back; but we would not give in, and after some twenty minutes of discomfort, we came suddenly upon a little group of buildings, obviously European. The Doctor dismounted to beg shelter, and in a very few minutes we found ourselves within the hospitable walls of the hospice of the German Catholic Palæstina Verein. This was a welcome surprise; we had heard of this mission and its hospitalities, but had not realised that we were already at Ain et Tâbigha (possibly Bethsaida), and actually under the roof of the well-known Father Biever, of whom we had heard so much at Madaba.

The house was in course of structural alteration, a good deal of furniture encumbered the wide piazza, workmen were sheltering from the rain, the Father himself was absent, but none of these difficulties subtracted from the cordiality of our welcome. Our horses were stabled, and we, laying aside our wraps, prepared to stay to luncheon. It was an ideal spot: the house built upon a narrow terrace, the bank laid out in gardens sloping down to the water's edge, the arcade covered with roses, among which the _Maréchal Niel_ was conspicuous; abundance of flowers of various kinds, and a friendly family of cats, dogs, ducks of the handsome Aleppo breed, and some fine poultry and pigeons, added to the attractions.

Our vice-host, Father Biever's companion and assistant priest, made us soon feel at home, and we were not difficult to persuade that the rain was far too persistent to make our return possible, and that we had better take up our quarters in the hospice till the morrow. Khalil was despatched back to Tiberias to relieve the anxieties of the Artist, and we settled down, very thankful to be out of the storm.

We were greatly interested in our passing glimpse of a life which seemed to us to have something of the practical usefulness, the self-renunciation, of real mission work. Here were two highly-cultivated men deliberately and permanently establishing themselves in a spot where, for three hours' north and but little less south, they had no single neighbour except the Bedu, and one solitary Franciscan, whose acquaintance we were to make next day. Their own immediate household includes some four or five Arabs who serve the hospice, and assist in the labour of the well-kept fields and gardens, by which the house is largely supported, and lessons of practical utility taught to the surrounding natives. One of these was pointed out to us as the best fisherman on the lake, and we asked him to explain the use of the nets, which were lying under the wall of the house. He proceeded to collect one, which seemed to be circular, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, into large folds with his left hand. The mesh was fine, and the net, in spite of its size, easily grasped. Transferring it to his right hand, with a quick movement he threw the net from him, when it expanded into a large circle, so that one easily understood how the casting of such a net might include "a multitude of fishes."

Tristram says: "The lake swarms with fish as I could not have believed water could swarm"; but though fourteen species are reckoned as inhabiting the lake only four or five are ordinarily on the market. There are some, however, of exceptional interest, not only to the learned in such matters, but also to the merely observant like ourselves.

These include two species found nowhere else outside of the tropics—one the _chromis simonis_, of which one species, the _chromis paterfamilias_, for several weeks carries the eggs and the young, to the number, it is said, of two hundred, in his mouth; the other, the _clarias macracanthus_, which emits a sound: it was known to Josephus as the _coracinus_. Several varieties of the _capoéta Damascéna_, the luminous fish, are also found here.

There was so much to hear of interest that we were almost thankful to the rain for keeping us indoors. These solitary priests have adapted themselves to their environment in a manner which, were it more customary among religious teachers, would be of infinite value not only to religion but to science. One cannot think without regret of the wealth of information lost to the archæologist, anthropologist, philologist by the neglect of those who might secure unrivalled opportunities of intercourse with the people, but many of whom after years in this country, leave it as ignorant as when they came, of all that lies beneath the surface. Our friends here, though able to converse in, at least, three or four European languages, use Arabic as their vernacular, speaking it even between themselves, the better to enter into the life of the people; they are good horsemen and good shots, two qualifications absolutely necessary for friendship with the Bedu.[6] They possess, in addition to the animals necessary to the hospice, a beautiful Arab mare, the gift of one of the Madaba flock, and a very fine specimen of the Arab deerhound, not unlike an Irish deerhound in appearance, but swift as the gazelle which it hunts, and so exquisitely light of limb, without the hideous attenuation of the English greyhound, that such a dog is almost invariably known as "Rischân" (feather), feminine, "Rischi." Father Biever was originally an officer in the German army; hence, probably, his power of organisation. He has also a natural capacity for architecture, as is testified by the very large and handsome Convent of St Pierre, perhaps the most effective modern building in Jerusalem, of which he was the architect and practical builder, in addition, it is said, to his having collected a part of the cost in America, where he had some experience of life among the cowboys. He made a very large collection of the flowers of the country, which, unfortunately, was lost with the vessel in which it was sent to Europe. It is to be earnestly hoped that his unique collection of the folklore of the Bedu and fellahin may be given to literature.

We were fortunate in happening to be present at an interesting little social ceremony. Our visit fell on Epiphany, and all the neighbours, Bedu and Druse, came in the evening to celebrate the visit of the Three Kings. The long hall was simply furnished with a table, moved aside for the occasion, and a divan running round the walls. It was brightly lighted, and the household servants presided over the refreshments, which consisted of tea and some confectionery, specially made for the occasion, of very rich and sweet pastry, some of it in the form of puffs containing honey, and the rest in narrow rolls, which are known as "the fingers of Mary."

The company arrived all together, men and boys (the women, of course, being left at home), all dressed alike in the long robe, shawl, girdle, white keffeeye, kept in place on the head by a double rope of goats' hair, and camels' hair mantle, which many removed. Some came barefoot, others removed their shoes on entering, and all sat cross-legged on the divan. The household servants were Arab peasants (fellahin), and regarded by the others as of a lower class—tillers, rather than owners, of the soil. They were differentiated by wearing turbans, made of large, coloured handkerchiefs twisted round the red tarbush, which is of different shape and manufacture from those worn in the towns. Two Arab women and the Lady were the sole representatives of their sex. The guests were perfectly self-possessed, with none of the _mauvaise honte_ of such a gathering at home. They were perfectly easy to entertain, and ready to converse upon any subject, although, we were assured, less interesting than the natives east of the Jordan. The Bedu smoked when invited—the Druses add the prohibition of tobacco to the Moslem prohibition of wine.

When tea was handed round, the fun of the evening began. Two of the cakes contained each a bean, and those who found themselves possessors of the beans were king and queen for the evening; obviously a variant of an original three beans and three kings. The queen was a young Druse, tall and slim, with good features, and long, narrow eyes, which gave him an expression of sleepy good nature; the king was a much quicker-witted fellah, thick-set, with a certain piquant ugliness, and bearing the name of Dieb, which, in Arabic, means "wolf," and which, whether in Arabic or in German, was, we were told, equally appropriate.

In true Oriental fashion, the king issued commands through his wife, and required services of various kinds from the assembled company, who cheerfully complied, filled his drinking-bowl with tea or water as he might desire, fetched his tobacco, sang to him, and danced for him. The climax was reached when two of the men were required to serve the queen for a horse, and the tall Druse had to proceed up the room leaning on the shoulders of the two. The Oriental is a born mime, and the ridiculous situation was carried off with a _savoir faire_ which only an entire lack of self-consciousness could account for. No musical instrument was at hand, but a little boy, of perhaps twelve, evidently a known expert, produced an excellent imitation of the shepherd's pipe by blowing into his fingers. We were sorry to get none of the characteristic singing, in which, as in the Hebrides, a _motif_ is announced by one, and taken up in chorus by the rest; but the guests came from different villages, and, therefore, did not know the same songs—a fact which speaks volumes for the wealth of folk-songs—a wealth as yet very imperfectly estimated.

Nothing could have been more orderly and well mannered; the only exception was one of those which prove the rule. A boy, of perhaps sixteen, probably from shyness, refused to sing, upon which he was told to go. "You have had your _Kuchen_" (it was quaint to hear the Arab adoption of the word used among ourselves); "you have had your tea; you will do nothing—go!" And go he did, though we were pleased to see him slip in, half-an-hour later, by another door. When the king became impatient of his consort's inertness he started to his feet, tore off his head-dress, distorted his features, producing the most entire change in his appearance, and performed a whole drama in dumb show, which, even to the uninitiated, was extremely comic, and which produced shouts of laughter among the Arab element of the party—the Druse and Bedu dignity being less easily disturbed.

Arab entertainments are very long drawn out: when we retired to our rooms, adjoining the chapel, the party showed no intention of breaking up. The long-desired rain was a source of satisfaction, which added to the general placidity, if not hilarity.

Next morning we awoke to a world of intense green and blue, glistening with raindrops and glad with the singing of birds, the bulbul among the loudest, though it must be owned that, apart from association, he is much overrated, being vastly inferior to the nightingale or, to our ears, the thrush or the blackbird. After an early breakfast we remounted our horses, and, accompanied by our host, proceeded upon our interrupted journey northward.

We noted the little landing-stage, one of those reminiscences of the visit of the German Emperor to be found all over Palestine—sole representative of the busy wharves and boat-builders' yards of the time of our Lord, to which time belong also the tanneries, potteries, and dyeing-sheds, the remains of which are scattered around Et Tâbigha. Farther on we came upon hot springs, and the, to us, novel sight of a hot waterfall, with the remains of mills, aqueducts, and, possibly, baths.

In about half-an-hour we were at Tell Hûm, which, although no systematic excavation has yet been possible, is by many authorities assumed to be identical with Capernaum, and which, in this belief, was acquired in 1890 by the Franciscans, who, however, dare not, for political reasons, call attention for the present to the elaborate ruins which exist not far beneath the surface, and the workmanship of which appears to be Roman. Meantime the soil is under cultivation for the use of the convent at Tiberias, a solitary brother remaining there to direct the labours of the Arabs. The low, swampy ground is unwholesome for Europeans, and it is necessary to replace the lonely Franciscan every few months. The authenticity of the site has been much disputed; but the cautious Baedeker regards it as "as good as certain," largely on the authority of the old itineraries of pilgrims. Whatever its name, it was undoubtedly a sacred spot to the early Christians. The remains include the foundations of a building of unusual beauty, constructed of immense blocks of white limestone, so fine as to resemble marble, which must have been 75 feet long by 54 wide. The bases of columns and some very ornate Corinthian capitals are still visible, and it is not impossible that we may have here the synagogue built by the centurion, of whom it was said: "He loveth our nation!" The ruins, probably of a Christian church, which were seen here in 600 are not far distant, and it is evident that a considerable town once stood here—if not Capernaum then some other—upon which Romans and Christians have, in turn, expended wealth and interest.

On our way back to Tiberias, we listened to many stories illustrating the psychology and beliefs of the people; of, among other things, the science and superstitions in regard to the horse—traditions which deserve to be preserved. In this country, except where civilisation has introduced bearing-reins, tail-docking, and other deformities, it is assumed that Nature understood her own business, and that, for example, the object of a tail was for the relief of a horse when tormented by flies, for which purpose, as well as for beauty, the longer and fuller it is the better. They judge of a horse's age not only by the teeth but by the tail, which takes some years to bring to perfection. The first year it is kept bare, the second thinned, after which it is allowed to grow. The Arabs preserve the genealogies of all their horses, many of them up to hundreds of generations, and their classification is very elaborate. There was a time when only one horse existed in the country, and he was the property of Solomon, who, however, seems to have been imperfect in horsemanship, as he was, on a certain occasion, thrown, for which offence against imperial dignity the horse was condemned to death. He was ridden down from Jerusalem to Jaffa, weighted with stones, and sunk into the sea. As he was in his death agony, five bubbles rose to the surface, which developed into five horses, each the ancestor of a separate type (details, as in the Genesis account of the ancestry of the human race, not explained). Each of these stems furnished five sub-families, and from one or other of these, every pedigree horse is descended.

Another story which illustrated certain characteristics of native life, and the possibility of making the most of occasion, related to a couple of shechs who came from a great distance to consult a certain priest in a very delicate matter. As is the custom of the country, they talked of irrelevant matters for about four hours, and then submitted their difficulties. Neither of them had any children—_i.e._ possessed no son, but merely "a piece of a daughter." The phrase is equivalent to our use in referring to "a head of cattle." The priest was well known for his power and benevolence; surely he would exercise both in so worthy a direction! With characteristic presence of mind he seized the occasion for a moral lesson, and represented that certain changes of habit might be rewarded by the desired result. The shechs promised obedience, and departed. A year afterwards, when the incident was forgotten, the priest called to his servant one morning to remove a sheep which had trespassed into his garden, and was informed that this was a valuable present brought by one of the shechs upon the occasion of the arrival of a son and heir. Whether the other was less fortunate or less grateful history does not relate.

On our return, we visited the Khan Minyeh, and a little east of it a small Tell, by some identified with the site of Bethsaida, which, however, is by other authorities located on the east side of the lake. The towns on the shore of Tiberias have been destroyed, to a degree surprising when we compare them with contemporary cities in the Decapolis. In Jerash, in Ammân we were able to reconstruct the life of the people—their homes, their temples, their amusements; in Chorazin, Bethsaida, Capernaum, Magdala we found, at the best, heaps of stones, and mounds grown over with grass and flowers.

In the absence of Khalil, Dieb, our friend of the night before, rode back with us to Tiberias, as, without a local guide, we might have found it difficult to know whereabouts to ford the many streams, which a twelve hours' downpour had swollen to considerable size. He was very useful and kindly, and filled the Lady's pockets with pretty shells from the lake, some of which must have been occupied, as she found two of them walking about, a month afterwards, in her hotel in Jerusalem.

[6] As an illustration of the esteem in which these acquirements are held we were told elsewhere the following incident:—A Franciscan friar, accustomed to ride between the widely-scattered convents of the order, was, on one occasion, traversing the desert on a very powerful young horse not yet properly disciplined. The party met with some Bedu belonging to a rich and powerful tribe, the shech of which was present. The young horse, possibly taking fright, or excited by the presence of the Arab mares always ridden by the Bedu, became violent, and tore off across the sands. The Franciscan, a very small man, and hampered by his habit, nevertheless retained his self-possession and his seat, and, in course of time, brought the animal back to obedience. The shech watched every manœuvre with the deepest interest, and when the priest returned to the party congratulated him very cordially, and offered him his daughter in marriage. It was explained that he was a priest. "I don't mind that," said the shech; "he is just the son-in-law for me." But the priest was poor. "No matter, he shall have her without payment of so much as a single camel. I have two daughters; he shall choose between them: he shall be to me as a son." History goes no further.