CHAPTER XVII.

THE DESERT OF JUDAH.

The history of the Survey has been brought down, in the preceding chapters, to the end of the third year, at which time three districts remained to be completed: the Desert of Judah; the Philistine Plain, with the low hills east of it; and Galilee as far north as Tyre and Cæsarea Philippi.

On the 25th of February I once more took the field, with a light and compact expedition, my intention being to push as rapidly as possible through the desert west of the Dead Sea, as far south as the line of Beersheba. Lieutenant Kitchener was scarcely convalescent from a very severe attack of Jericho fever, and our headman, Habib, was also unfit for hard work. So, as I expected to meet with very rough weather, and to have to undergo extraordinary fatigue, it seemed prudent to leave the two invalids in comfortable quarters, until the desert work was done, and the easier task of surveying the Philistine Plain could be undertaken.

I determined to follow in this case the same policy which had been successful in the Jordan Valley, and to go down among the Arabs without any previous formalities. Most travellers who have passed through this desert--the Jeshimon or “Solitude” of the Bible--have summoned the Arab chiefs to Mâr Sâba or Hebron, and there entered into stipulations with them, which have not, as a rule, been carried out; but we had a strong party, we knew the language and the ways of the Bedawîn, and it was therefore safe for us to proceed in a manner which would be impossible for Europeans strange to the country.

We bought in Jerusalem three gaily-coloured head-shawls and one pair of red leather boots as presents. Thus prepared, we marched straight to the nearest Arab camp and pitched close by, without asking leave; and so we became, as it were, the guests of the Sheikh, and were received hospitably. The result of this policy--which was considered risky in Jerusalem--was, that we spent only five pounds in presents and payments to guides, whereas, in just the same length of time, a former party had given thirty pounds. The saving effected in the Jordan Valley was at the same rate; and including the visit to Beersheba, and the other occasions when we went into the Bedawîn districts, we saved, I believe, about £100 for the Palestine Exploration Fund by this method of treating the Arabs. A peculiarity of the Survey of Palestine which should be fully recognised, is the very cheap way in which it was carried out. If it be remembered that the expense in the field was only one penny per acre, it will, I think, be allowed that a very severe economy of time and money was effected, in order to survey a country containing 6000 square miles so completely, in so short a period as five years, and in spite of the hindrances due to long winters, and to seasons of sickness. To keep a party of about sixteen men and sixteen animals (not including those required for moving camp) at the rate of one shilling and sixpence per diem for a man and one shilling for a horse, required constant attention and careful planning, in order to prevent a single day in the field from being wasted.

In the afternoon of the 26th of February, 1875, we reached Wâdy Hasâseh, “the valley of gravel,” and found a triangular encampment of thirty black tents. The tribe was that of the Tâ’amirah, or “cultivating Arabs,” so called because they have actually degraded themselves by sowing barley, which they sell in Bethlehem. They have a very bad name as thieves and murderers, but we found them extremely willing and civil, and the chief, ’Abd el Gâder (as they called him), was a capital fellow. The tribe is remarkable for wearing the turban, which none of the other tribes use, the heads of the Bedawîn being usually either bare, or covered with the _kufeyeh_, or shawl. The Tâ’amirah also wear shoes, instead of sandals, and they are indeed not true Bedawîn, but of the same stock with the peasantry.

We now found that the storm which had driven us to Jerusalem in the winter had saved us from greater misfortunes. Even after the winter rains had fallen, we still found hardly any water in the desert, and there can have been none before the wet season, at the time of our first attempt to reach this district; in addition to which, the climate had been so unhealthy during the past autumn, that if we had gone down into the desert at that season we should, in all probability, have had a repetition of our Jericho experience, under circumstances even more unfavourable.

On the 27th of February the Survey began, Sergeant Armstrong marching out with one Arab in the Engedi direction, while Corporal Brophy accompanied me northwards. The country was almost impassable, and our progress was painfully slow. In four and a half hours of hard riding we advanced only six miles, so deep were the valleys which we were obliged to cross. Our guides were disgusted, and ’Abd el Gâder was afraid of the high-fed and frolicksome mule which we gave him to ride, feeling sure, as he repeated with a resigned air, that it would end by breaking his head.

We gained a lofty peak, called Er Rueikbeh, where we put up the instrument, and got our observations finished, just as a haze or fog began to spread over the view. This afterwards cleared off, but threatened at first to develop into a simoon, or dust-storm, such as we had once before experienced in the Jericho plains in autumn.

The wonderful strength of the Arabs was here exemplified, for at least one thousand feet below us was an encampment, from which three men came running up to the top of the hill, and they never ceased to shout as they came, and mounted up with wonderful swiftness, though one of them was quite an old man.

The view from the height was most extraordinary; on every side were other ridges equally white, steep, and narrow; their sides were seamed by innumerable torrent-beds, their summits were sharp and ragged in outline. These ridges stood almost isolated, between broad flat valleys of soft white marl scattered with flints, and with a pebbly torrent-course in the middle. There was not a tree visible, scarcely even a thorny shrub; the whole was like the dry basin of a former sea, scoured by the rains, and washed down in places to the hard foundation of metamorphic limestone, which underlies the whole district, and forms precipices two thousand feet high over the shores of the Dead Sea.

The various observations which we were able to make as to the habits of the Arabs, will form part of a subsequent chapter; it is sufficient here to say that, though mere unlettered and ignorant savages, they have a system of patriarchal government, a code of laws, morals, and habits of hospitality and courtesy, which represent a rude kind of civilisation, surpassing in many respects that of the peasantry, whom they despise; but it is only by living long among these interesting nomadic tribes, that one can really understand their motives and ideas.

On the 28th February I visited and surveyed part of the country south of Wâdy Hasâsah, and of Wâdy el Ghâr, accompanied by Sheikh ’Abd el Gâder only.

About noon we halted, under a blazing sun, in the middle of a plateau of glaring white soil. A distant hillock was visible, on which sat a solitary figure, singing a rude chant with considerable energy. Soon after, a most extraordinary person approached us; an elderly man, with grizzled beard and the true dusky complexion of the Bedawî, which differs from the mahogany colour of the peasants and of the Tâ’amirah; he had on a ragged indigo-coloured head-shawl, a sheepskin jacket, and a very short shirt; his well-braced calves and thighs were bare, and his feet, shod with sandals, were remarkable for the fine ankles. Over his shoulder was slung a brass-bound flint-lock gun of portentous length; and thus arrayed, he came jumping from rock to rock, like one of the wild goats of his own desert, leading with him a boy of about ten or twelve, who was clad simply in a shirt that once had been white.

This extraordinary figure came up close to the very feet of my guide, whom he knew, and saluted him in the usual curt, imperious manner, adopted by the Bedawîn when treading on uncertain ground. Their creed is that a man should always appear terrible to his enemies, for which reason nothing more disconcerts them, when affecting a menacing frown, than a quiet smile or a question of a humorous nature; the champion at once feels himself ridiculous, and generally grins or looks foolish.

I was seated on the ground, eating an orange, and threw away the skin, which the old Bedawî at once seized and devoured. He then made signs to me to mount my horse, and also signs indicative of a wish to smoke, if I felt inclined to provide the tobacco. We went slowly back, as I now saw that we were in the territory of a strange tribe, and was doubtful how far my guide might be on good terms with them. As we came to the foot of a hill, two more Arabs appeared, starting from concealment; at first they seemed afraid, and then ran down full speed. One was a young man, with a long gun; the other was a boy with a club, which he whirled over his head with a threatening mien. ’Abd el Gâder gravely rebuked him, and he dropped the weapon, saluting in the gruffest voice he could assume, with the same short, sharp accent, which reminds one most of the snorting of a goat or sheep when it advances in alarm on a strange dog. Perhaps this demeanour is intended to show how brave and independent the Bedawî feels, while really hiding a considerable amount of inward trepidation.

The young man seized my bridle, but he let go on receiving a gentle kick from my offside boot, and fell in with the party behind, eagerly inquiring who I was. ’Abd el Gâder was not, I think, at his ease, but he showed great coolness, explaining that I was an English Consul, come to see the condition of the country. A Consul, it must be understood, represents the highest dignity amongst Europeans in the Bedawîn eyes, as a “Milord” does among the Lebanon mountaineers.

The immediate result of this announcement was a burst of eloquence from the Arabs. “Look at our country, O Consul!” they said; “it has no water, no vineyards, no corn; when will you come and give us water, and make us vineyards?” I replied with a comprehensive nod of the head and the remark that “God made the country for the Bedawî.” These people seem to have a firmly-rooted conviction that Christians can command the rain, and that they had once made vineyards in this part of the wilderness.

The new-comers next descended to the more engrossing, if less poetic, topic of tobacco, but I pretended not to understand. These Arabs smoke “hunting-pipes” with a stem half an inch long, and generally fill them with dried stalks or wood-chips. They always ask either for tobacco or for gunpowder.

We reached a high, narrow saddle, when suddenly, from a hollow, six more men, fully armed, sprang up and joined the others, who were apparently the advanced scouts. I rode in front at a slow pace, and carefully refrained from looking round or showing any signs of uneasiness, as Bedawîn eyes are very sharp in watching for symptoms of alarm which may encourage them to bully. I confess that it is unpleasant to be followed by ten loaded guns, in the middle of a lonely desert, without a European to help in case of a fight, or any protection beyond the very doubtful one of a single Bedawî of another tribe.

The wild figures hovered round, half clad and entirely savage, skipping like wild goats, and gesticulating energetically: and I could not but think of David’s band of outlaws, who had once scoured this very wilderness, hiding in the hollows, or descending on the unwary sleepers by night. Powder and tobacco alone make the difference between the ancient and the modern nomads, and show that even the Bedawî is not untouched by modern civilisation.

At length we reached the boundary valley, and descended into it. Looking back, I saw the K’aabneh, perched on fragments of rock, watching to see that we really kept in the Tâ’amireh district; and, satisfied at last, they filed along a goat-track on the white cliff above us, and disappeared just as we stopped at a well. ’Abd el Gâder was much relieved, and he took care to tell me that his influence alone had prevented my being killed and robbed on the spot.

On Monday, the 1st of March, we moved to Engedi, accompanied by ’Abd el Gâder and by six of his men. Our road was across rolling downs of white marl, only remarkable for the jerboa burrows. We passed by the graves of some of the Rushâideh Arabs, who had been killed, I believe, by the Egyptians, and our guides reverently kissed the tombstones, which were marked with the tribe Wusm, or sign. By one o’clock we reached the top of the cliffs over the spring, 2000 feet above the Dead Sea, where is a flat plateau, with cliffs on three sides, bounded by two magnificent gorges, which run down towards the shore; and on this plateau we camped.

The cliffs are vertical, but their feet are covered by a steep slope of soft débris. Both the gorges have springs in them, and both run with water in winter. The northern gorge is the finest, and as we looked down we could not but shudder when an Arab said quietly, “A man once fell from the top of this cliff.”

The Arabs wished us to go down to the spring; but it would probably have cost us the loss of several of the pack animals if we had attempted to take them, loaded and fatigued as they were, down the winding track cut in the face of the precipice. I decided to camp above, and sent the beasts down unloaded to drink. They took an hour to go down, and another to come up, and all that time, as we watched from above, a stone might have been dropped on to their saddles. We afterwards found a hollow in the rocks above the cliffs with rain-water in it; and on this the whole party, with twenty-two animals, lived for two days, at the end of which time the water was exhausted.

Next morning I descended the pass to the warm spring of Engedi, 1340 feet beneath our camp; there is no scene more vividly impressed on my memory than that of this magnificently rocky and savage pass, and the view from the spring which is given in the illustration.

The spring itself, 83° F. in temperature, comes out from under a great boulder, and the water streams over a steep cliff, the course being marked by a fringe of vegetation beside the cascade. There is a little sloping plateau with remains of a square drystone platform, not unlike an altar; and round the spring there is a cane-brake and thicket of Solanum and prickly bushes, with the ’Osher trees, or “apples of Sodom,” growing above, the fruit of which consists chiefly of skin and white pith, but is hollow within, while the leaves of the tree are thick and fleshy. Among these thickets the beautiful black grackles, with gold-tipped wings, with the bulbuls, and hopping thrushes, were the only living things visible.

The view extended across the calm blue sea to the great eastern precipices. The broad tongue of the Lisân ran out only some few feet above the water-level, and high above, the great Castle of Kerak, with its towers and bastions, stood distinct and white on its rocky scarps, taking one back in imagination to the middle ages.

On the south the scene was equally grand. The long western beach of the sea stretched away with a succession of little white capes running out into the blue water, and, above this, the great cliffs--bastion beyond bastion of castellated crags divided by great gorges, succeeded one another. A steep slope of débris lay at their feet, and beneath this was a second line of white terrace--the Siddim cliffs, which are shores of a former lake. A dark, square, rocky promontory was capped by a building conspicuous against the sky-line, being part of the fortress of Masada, and yet farther off the salt mountain of Usdûm, and the blue range of the Arabah closed the view, but were half hidden by the smoke of burning reeds in the marshes south of the lake.

Descending six hundred feet from the spring, by the ruins of former gardens, we rode northwards for about half a mile, and then, leaving our horses at a spot where the boulders were too rough to allow them a footing, we toiled along the shore for two and a half miles, in search of the sulphur springs discovered by Dr. Tristram. Scrambling over cliffs, or walking in the water round promontories, we reached the place; but the season had brought only a little rain to this part of the desert, and the springs were dry, being only recognisable by the strong local smell of the sulphur. Along this desolate shore we found the pickled bodies of fish from Jordan, and here and there a palm stem, carried over from the east, while in the hollows of the rocks we noticed the waves splashing up, leaving little pools which dried rapidly, and made a white bed of crystalline salt on the stones.

On the morning of the 3rd of March, we were visited by a kind of simoon, a violent wind, accompanied by a dusty mist which hid the sea. Our tents were in the greatest danger of being blown over the cliff, and they soared up like balloons, being only kept back by turning out the whole party to hold the ropes.

I now saw reason to credit the stories of fighting having occurred farther south, and it seemed well to have some one with us who was known to the Jâhalîn Arabs. I sent therefore to Hebron, and in the evening old Sheikh Hamzeh--the well-known guide whom Professor Palmer employed, and who accompanied Dr. Tristram--came into camp. Though over eighty years of age, he had walked all the way, seventeen miles, in about six hours.

Next morning we parted from our Tâ’amireh friends, for whom I had a great liking, and we marched south. None of the animals had been watered for about twelve hours, and the eagerness with which the horses rushed over slippery rocks to a pool left by the rains was not surprising.

Our new camp was on an open plateau, nine miles from Engedi, beside a rock-cut tank, full of water, and the water full of frogs--the only supply for drinking within several miles. This place is called Bîr esh Sherky, “the Eastern well.”

Rain fell during the night, but the morning was fine, and we set out to visit the magnificent fortress of Sebbeh, or Masada, the last Jewish stronghold after the destruction of Jerusalem by Titus. Old Hamzeh was mounted on a pony and rode gaily before us, flourishing his pipe, while his white beard floated in the wind, as he carolled a war-song in a very cracked voice.

We had five of the Jâhalîn Arabs with us, whom we had picked up from the neighbourhood; they were the hardiest runners I have ever seen in any country, their muscles being strung like whipcord, and their lungs magnificent. Scantily clad, shod with sandals, and armed with long fowling-pieces, which were brass-bound, with flint locks, they trotted in front of the horses as we cantered.

After passing over undulating hills, we reached the head of a gorge finer than any we had seen before, and crossing the shingly bed of the great valley, we climbed on to a white plain, at the end of which, eight miles from camp, we perceived an isolated square block of hill, with a flat plateau at the top, and vertical walls of rock all round. This crag has a great valley on either side, and a narrow plain beneath it on the east, reaching to the Dead Sea shore. As we descended into the northern gorge, we saw a large herd of what I at first took for gazelles, but as they cantered across the plain their great rounded horns showed them to be the Beden, or ibex, the “wild goats” of the Bible, which abound among the precipices in this pathless waste.

The rock of Masada measures 350 yards east and west, by 690 yards north and south, and its cliffs are 1500 feet in height above the plain on the east. Two paths lead up to the plateau on the top, that on the east being a winding ascent, now almost impassable, but by which Captain Warren went up; this is apparently the path called the “Serpent” by Josephus. The second path, on the west, ascends from a narrow sloping bank of white marl, which is about 1000 feet high, and which Josephus calls the “White Promontory;” upon this rises the great ramp, about 300 feet high, which the Romans piled up against the rock during the siege, a work so laborious that it seems almost incredible that human efforts could have accomplished it, in so short a time. At the top of the ramp is the masonry wall which the besiegers built as a foundation for their engines, before discovering the great tragedy that had been enacted within the fortress, where the garrison had fallen by one another’s swords (B. J. vii. 8, 4).

A fatiguing climb brought us to the plateau at the top. Here is a pointed archway, indicative of Crusading masons, and scored with the tribe-marks of the Jâhalin, and Rushâideh Arabs, which were on a former occasion mistaken by a distinguished Frenchman for planetary signs.

We fell to work at once with tape and compass to plan and describe the ruins. The buildings are principally on the north-west part of the rock, and they are of various dates. The most ancient appear to be the long rude walls, resembling the buildings at Herodium (Jebel Fureidis), but the majority of the masonry is to be ascribed to the Christians of the fifth or twelfth centuries. There is a chapel on the plateau, and also a cave, in which I found a curious inscription with crosses, which is, apparently, a new discovery. It is painted in red, and resembles some of the twelfth and thirteenth century inscriptions near Jericho.

The most extraordinary feature of this wonderful place has yet to be noticed. The Romans in their attack on Masada followed the same method which had reduced Jerusalem. They surrounded the unhappy Jews with a wall of circumvallation. Looking down from the summit, the ruins of this wall--a drystone parapet, running across the plain and up the southern hill-slopes--could be distinctly traced.

Two large camps, also walled with stone, lay spread out behind this line on the west and east, and six smaller ones, like redoubts, on the low ground; the entire length of the wall was not less than 3000 yards, as measured on our plan, and the whole remains almost as it was left eighteen centuries ago, when the victorious army marched away to Italy, leaving behind, in this waterless wilderness, proofs of the genius of the great nation of engineers, which found no task beyond its power, and which, even here, eleven miles away from the nearest considerable spring, and twenty miles from any source of provisions, was capable of crushing the desperate resistance of a nation which had so long defied the monarchs of Asia and Egypt.

At Cæsarea we had occasion to reflect on Josephus’s exaggerated statements, but at Masada we cannot but admire the exactitude of his description. The wall of the citadel he makes to be seven furlongs in length, the actual measurement being 4880 feet. The length of thirty furlongs, which he states as that of the “Serpent” ascent, would give a gradient about equal to that of the great descent at Engedi. The remains of a building 200 feet square still lie close to the western ascent, where Josephus places Herod’s palace. On the “White Promontory” Silva erected his mound, 200 cubits high, and on the top of the mound he built a stone wall, fifty cubits high, making a total of some 350 feet, which seems a very correct estimate of the height of the existing ramp and wall at the western ascent. Finally, Silva’s camp was pitched in a convenient place, where the hills approached nearest to the rock of the fortress, and just at this point, opposite, the western ascent, the ruins of the largest Roman camp still stand.

The silent record of the great struggle is the circle of stone which, guarded by Roman soldiers, shut out from the Sicarii all hope of escape; but though we know the history of the siege, no tradition exists of it among the Arabs. I pointed out the wall and camp to our guides, and received the usual reply: “They are ruined vineyards of the Christians.”

For five hours we worked hard on the summit of the hill, and it was no easy task to drag the measuring line against the furious wind, which now began to rage, and over the fallen blocks of Herod’s palace. I was disappointed in my attempt to reach the towers which lie half-way down the cliff on the north. The rope-ladders were too short, and there was nothing to which we could fix them, while the fury of the wind would have rendered the descent over the crag most hazardous.

We rode back to Bîr esh Sherky much fatigued, but the great wind kept us awake all night, and rain again fell heavily on our unprotected beasts.

On Saturday the 6th of March, we moved on six and a half miles, to the main encampment of the Jâhalîn in Wâdy Seiyâl. The wind was so strong, that in crossing the great ridges we were scarcely able to sit on our horses. We saw a large body of cavalry at one of the Arab encampments, sent by the Government to settle the recent quarrel with the Dhullâm. In the afternoon I looked down from a high ridge upon the main camp of Abu Dahûk, and sent our scribe to announce my arrival. I then rode up to the principal tent, and was invited to enter, but I noticed that the Arabs were extremely surly, owing no doubt to recent defeats.

“You have brought the Tâ’amireh here,” said Abu Dahûk, a most villainous-looking young chief, half negro in features. “Is this their land?” I asked. “No, by the life of Allah,” he said fiercely; “all the land to Engedi is ours.”

I told him that I had lived three years in the Arab country, and knew their customs. “Tâ’amireh in Tâ’amireh country, Jâhâlîn in Jâhâlîn land” were, I said, my guides and friends. This speech was received with much satisfaction, and coffee was handed round. The tribe, however, impressed me very unfavourably, as dirty, and ill-mannered, in comparison with others.

In about an hour the rest of the party arrived, and the camp was set up, but the great wind still blew fiercely, and the rain began at night.

We passed a wretched Sunday in the wind and rain, the poor horses suffering from the cold, and standing over their fetlocks in mud. I was pestered with visits from the Arabs, who sat and blew down their empty pipes as a hint to me to fill them. At length Abu Dahûk asked point-blank for a pipeful, but I told him I could not fill a “finjan” (coffee-cup), in allusion to the enormous size of the pipe-bowls of the whole tribe.

In the afternoon I turned out the party in order to exercise the horses by riding them bareback. The Arabs admired this exhibition extremely, and brought out their guns and fired them off to give greater effect to the Fantazîa.

Monday came, and still the high wind blew and the cold drizzle descended. Our stores had quite run out, and there was neither barley for the horses, nor food for the men; so I ordered a march to Hebron, sixteen miles distant, the Survey work being finished, excepting a piece which could be done on the way.

Poor old Hamzeh, curled up on a little pony, looked the picture of misery, though he still strove to be useful as a guide. The beasts groaned and the dogs whined; a mule fell, and was with difficulty reloaded; the wind blew the loads over to one side, and the beasts at times refused to face it. By 8 p.m. the whole party was, however, safely lodged in a Jew’s house in Hebron.

Such was the conclusion of the Survey of the desert; in ten days of very hard work a party of three Englishmen had filled in 330 square miles, including visits to the various ruins in the district, and half a day spent at Masada. We had just finished the work when the great storm broke, and could now rest in a dry house with our beasts in a warm stable, and enjoy the reflection that this difficult piece of the Survey was happily accomplished.