CHAPTER XXIV--ADVENTURES IN THE MOUNTAINS OF SYRIA.

_“Doing” Syria--The “Short” and the “Long” Route--How to Choose Them--Engaging a Dragoman--Farewell to Damascus--Preying on Travelers--The Wonderful Rivers of Syria--Crossing the Desert--A Picture of Desolation--Scene of St. Paul’s Conversion--A Striking Contrast--Ancient Ruins and Modern Hovels--A Night with the Bedouins--A Hard Road to Travel--A Glorious View--The “Doubter’s” Mischance--The Lizard in the Boot--A Ludicrous Scene--Gustave’s New Joke--Mollifying a Native--The Massacre at Hasbeiya--Treachery of a Turkish Colonel--Scene of Christ’s Labors--In the Holy Land._

THE “short route” of Syria and Palestine is to land at Beyrout, proceed to Damascus, by way of Mount Lebanon, and then return to Beyrout. There one takes ship to Jaffa, whence he visits Jerusalem and the country around it, and returns to Jaffa to sail away to Egypt or some other country.

The “long route” is to land at Beyrout and proceed to Damascus, as before. From Damascus one goes overland by Tiberias to Jerusalem, and, after seeing the Holy City and surrounding country, takes ship at Jaffa. This route may be reversed by landing at Jaffa and taking ship at Beyrout.

From Damascus to Jerusalem, by the “long route,” is a horseback journey of seventeen days. It may be shortened by rapid travel, and extended to any limit; if you hire the dragoman and his outfit by the day, the longer you make the time the better he will be pleased.

The spring is the best time of the year for making this excursion, as it comes between the period of “the early and the latter rain.” There are no carriage roads in this part of the country,

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and the traveller must make up his mind to the discomforts of a saddle and to lodging in a tent. A dragoman will undertake to supply him with everything--horses, tents, food, bedding, and all--for a stipulated price, which varies with the size of the party, the time of year, and various other circumstances. I shall have more to say on this subject in another place, and will jump at once into the saddle without wasting time upon preliminaries. The long route was impracticable for our party at the time we were in Syria, but I gave it a very careful study, and from the sources at my command obtained the fullest information concerning it. Let us undertake a journey by this ancient way, and we will carry the “Doubter” along with us. He can’t be spared.

We leave Damascus by the Salahiyeh suburb, passing along a paved road and making a gentle ascent that gives us a good view of the city every time we choose to turn our heads. Some of the houses in this suburb are quite good, and we are not surprised to learn that many of the merchants of Damascus make their residence here. As we reach the end of the large village we pass some ruined mosques and tombs, but we have seen so many of these things that our attention is hardly attracted by them. The Moslems of the past must have been more devout than are their descendants of to-day, as they built a great many edifices for religious and memorial purposes, to which very little attention is paid at present. The Syrian Moslem does not seem to care for the antique any more than does his Turkish brother; there may be exceptions, but I think the rule holds good. For the ruins of Baalbek and Palmyra, the Syrian has no veneration except for their money-making qualities; the few people that live near them are not attracted to either spot by any love for it, but solely because it is a good place for “backsheesh.” Take away the tourist and his gold and silver and the natives would move elsewhere.

I am the more severe on these worldly-minded Syrians, who remain unmoved in the face of the stupendous remains of a past age when I contrast them with the guides and runners, hackmen-and peddlers, hotel-keepers and hotel-waiters, who assemble at Niagara and similar places in America. At Palmyra, or at the Pyramids, the Arabs pester you for “backsheesh,” and greatly {320}mar your interest and pleasure. But at Niagara did any one ever hear of such conduct on the part of the men who make their living there? The noble qualities of the American (generally a naturalized one), come out strongly at Niagara; the beauty and sublimity of the cataract never fail to impress the resident with the sense of his duties to his fellow-man, and while the Arab will endeavor to make you pay ten times what you ought, his Niagara prototype is satisfied with five times, provided he knows he cannot possibly lie you out of any more. I have been at Niagara and Long Branch, the White Mountains and the Yosemite Valley, and thus speak knowingly. And whenever an Arab endeavored to defraud me I thought how much better things were at the fashionable resorts in my own country, and derived much consolation from the reflection.

We take a last view of Damascus from a point where the road crosses a hill about five hundred feet above the city, and nearly two miles away. We see the valley of the Abana in all its loveliness, and realize how much is due to this river and its never-failing waters. We can fully understand the pride with which the native of Damascus contemplates this perennial stream and do not wonder at the reply of Naaman, when told to wash in Jordan. The river is made all the more lovely by its fringe of trees and the wide-spreading gardens where it flows, and the greenness of the foliage is rendered all the more apparent when we contrast it with the barren hills around. The river, divided here and there into several streams, foams and ripples through the glen that leads it down from the mountains to the plain below. Our road lies along this glen, and we suddenly leave it and emerge upon the plain of Dimas.

The change is quite abrupt, from the rich verdure of the valley to the sterility of the Desert, for this plain is really a desert in miniature. The soil is hard and dry, more like flint than earth, and, if you happen to traverse it in summer, you find the heat is intense. It happened to be raining when I crossed this plain, and moreover, it was in the winter, so that I escaped the sensation of undergoing a torture by roasting. It is difficult to realize that such a barren waste can exist so near such a charming city as Damascus. The plain is about ten miles across, and from one {321}side to the other there is not a green thing to be seen, unless the traveller may consider himself one.

After crossing the plain of Dimas we enter the mountains, where we find a few pleasant valleys and ravines, and have some rugged scenery that is not disagreeable. From one of the passes the guide points out another road, which leads more to the eastward, and where the scene of Saul’s conversion is located. There seems to be some difference of opinion about the exact locality, and I suspect that nobody knows the real state of things.

The tradition which locates the conversion there dates back to the time of the Crusades. Some authorities make the scene of the conversion almost under the walls of Damascus, and others within a mile or two of that place. It all depends upon what is meant by “near Damascus.” If we were at San Francisco, and speaking of Albany, we might say “it is near New York,” but should hardly use the expression if we were at Trenton or Hartford. However, it makes no difference about the conversion; we know it happened on the road from Jerusalem, and was near Damascus, so that a mile or two is of no consequence.

We pass several villages and wind among the hills, and in some of the villages, or near them, we find the remains of temples which were doubtless magnificent in their time. They are supposed to have been dedicated to the worship of the sun, though their history and origin are unknown. We are in front of the mountain of Hermon, known here as Jebelesh-Sheik, and it is observable that in several places the temples are made to face it, leading to the supposition that the mountain was an object of veneration and worship.

We pass the night in our camp, at the little village of Rasheiya; we are not in the village, but near enough to enable the beggars and the lame, halt, and blind to find us without trouble and ask for “backsheesh,” which they are sure to do. The white top of Mount Hermon rises above us, and we look upon it with longing eyes. Who will join me in climbing it?

We will divide the party for a day. We will put the “Doubter” with the rest of the mules and send them around to Hasbeiya, where they can wait till we get down on the other side of Hermon. We will start before daybreak, climb the mountain, and, {322}by making sharp work of it, can get down to camp in season for a late supper. We shall feel as tired as though we had been run through a rolling mill; climbing Mount Hermon is serious business, and a thing to do once. Nobody would undertake it a second time, for the mere pleasure of the trip.

Hermon is, with one exception, the highest mountain in Syria, Lebanon being the most elevated. Its summit, or rather its highest summit, for it has three peaks, is about ten thousand feet above the sea level, and for the greater part of the year is covered with snow. In fact the snow remains there the entire year, as there are certain ravines and valleys where it never disappears completely, but lies in sloping streaks visible at a great distance. The mountain is of gray limestone, like Lebanon, and as one looks up its sides there is an aspect of almost complete barrenness. The central peak is entirely destitute of vegetation, with the exception of a few thorny bushes that seem to cling there in utter hopelessness.

The view from the summit is magnificent, and well repays us for our trouble. On the north we have the ranges of Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon, with the valley of Bukaâ between them. To the east is the plain of Arabia, spreading out like an ocean, and dotted here and there with ranges and clusters of hills that look not unlike islands. Southward is the Sea of Galilee, and beyond it we can trace the deep valley of the Jordan till it is lost in the distance and shut in by the mountains of Gilead and Samaria. We can see the sunlight playing on the waters of the blue Mediterranean in the west, and trace the coast line, with all its sinuosities, from Mount Carmel to Tyre and Sidon. At our feet and all below us the mountains and valleys, rivers and ravines, are traceable, and as we turn around the points of compass from north back to north again, a beautiful panorama is revealed to us.

On one of the summits of Hermon there are the ruins of a small temple; they are on the very top and near the edge of a cliff, and the character of the work indicates great antiquity.

Their history is unknown. But careful students of the Bible have connected them with certain passages which seem to show that the temples were used for purposes of idolatry.

We descend and rejoin our companions at Hasbeiya, where we

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{325}find the “Doubter” in trouble with a native. He took off his boots to cool his feet after getting into camp, and while the boots were lying on the ground a lizard crept into one of them and nestled down into the toe. When he attempted to don them again the lizard was in the way, and the old fellow danced around as if he had been educated for an organ grinder’s monkey. The nimbleness and desperate energy of his movements, as he vainly endeavored, in his excited state, to pull off his boot, was a performance that the astonished natives had never before witnessed.

He tugged and twisted, and hopped about on one leg, in a very expert and fantastic style.

Finally he removed the boot and out came the lizard, one of those harmless, pretty little things that are found all through Syria. One of the natives had witnessed his contortions, and on seeing the very slight cause for it the impudent aboriginal laughed.

This was very wrong for him to do, and also very rare, for the Syrians are a solemn race and about as little inclined to risibility as an Indian.

The “Doubter” accused the native of putting the lizard into the boot and called the dragoman to translate the accusation. Native denied the charge and wanted “backsheesh” as a salve to his wounded honor. The “Doubter” wouldn’t give it, and thus is the situation when we arrive from Mount Hermon.

“Go away, boy, go away,” he repeats in the intervals of the demand for “backsheesh.” The boy does not heed the remark and grows more importunate as he sees we do not take sides with the “Doubter.”

“Isn’t this Hasbeiya?” Gustave says, with a twinkle in his eye.

I nod and speak assent.

“You must give him something at once,” says Gustave, turning to the skeptic. “This place is the most dangerous in {326}all Syria. The majority of the inhabitants are _Chrétiens_, and will murder you on the slightest provocation. If that boy goes away unpaid, after you have doubted his honor, he will bring down a dozen or more armed men and your life won’t be worth three centimes.”

The “Doubter” is incredulous, but there is enough in Gustave’s statement to alarm him, and we see that he changes color. After a moment’s hesitation he suggests that Gustave had better pay the boy and send him away if the place is so very dangerous.

“That will never do,” responds Gustave, “_you_ have committed the offense and it is you they will be after. Do you see those men in front of that house? They know something is wrong. Give the boy half a franc and send him away.”

The “Doubter” reluctantly draws half a franc from his pocket and places it in the boy’s hand. He is suspicious that he has been hoaxed, but he has some regard for his continued stay on this planet and is willing to pay a small sum. But rather than give a franc he would take the chances. One must draw a line somewhere, you know.

Before 1860 Hasbeiya contained a population of about five thousand, four-fifths of them Christians. It was the scene of one of the most terrible massacres of that year. The town stands in a glen, and is surrounded on three sides by high hills which are terraced and covered with vineyards, and fig and olive trees. In a secure place on a rocky ridge is a strong building formerly the palace of a local chieftain, and capable of resisting any attack with small arms. In 1860 it had a garrison of two hundred soldiers commanded by a Turkish colonel, and when the Christians were attacked by the Druzes they appealed to the Colonel for protection. He gave them a written guarantee of safety on condition that they should come into the palace and surrender their weapons, which they did. They were then kept for seven days in the palace and at the end of that time the colonel ordered the gates thrown open. The Druzes were admitted, and the Christians to the number of a thousand were massacred. The soldiers of the garrison did not join in the massacre, but they prevented the Christians fleeing or seeking concealment, and in some instances pushed them forward to be killed. The Colonel {327}was afterward tried, condemned and shot, at Damascus, by order of the British Commissioner, Lord Dufferin. He (the Colonel) insisted that he was acting under authority of his superiors, and the belief is very prevalent that the whole series of massacres was covertly ordered from Constantinople.

From Hasbeiya we take an early start and ride to Banias through a rough and picturesque country, fairly wooded for Syria and containing frequent olive groves. We pass a lot of villages, each looking so much like the other that it is not worth while to try to make much distinction between them. We pass near one of the sources of the Jordan, a fountain that has flowed without cessation for unknown thousands of years, and will probably flow on for thousands of years to come. One of the villages on the route contains the tomb or one of the tombs, of Nimrod, the mighty hunter. Very little is left of it--about as much as there is of Nimrod himself.

Banias, better known as Cesarea-Philippi, is picturesquely situated. A mountain crowned by a ruined castle overlooks abroad terrace which commands a fine view of mountain and plain. The ruins of the city and the huts of the modern town are situated on this terrace, and the spot reflects creditably on the man who chose it. I don’t think he is around now, as he performed his work a good while before King Solomon was thought of. The time of the foundation is unknown, but it is certain that a city stood here at a very early date. The name Banias comes from Panias or Panium; the Greek settlers in Syria established here a temple to the worship of the God _Pan_ and from the establishment of the temple a city grew up.

The ruins are of considerable extent, and comprise among other things a citadel, inclosing a quadrangle of four acres or more within massive walls. The modern village is within this citadel, and contains forty or fifty huts and houses built with flat roofs, like nearly all houses in Syria. How are the mighty fallen! The walls of the city have suffered from earthquakes and vandalism, but more especially from the roots of plants and trees that have forced the stones apart. The same is the case with the castle that overlooks the town at an elevation of quite a thousand feet. {328}A steep path leads up to the castle and it requires an hour of toilsome climbing to reach the top of the hill. The castle has a curious shape; it is about a thousand feet long by two hundred broad, and narrows considerably in the centre, so that it looks like two castles side by side. Many of the stones composing the walls are of great size, for such an elevation; they are frequently ten or twelve feet long, and accurately hewn and dressed. One can spend hours in the castle studying its construction and looking out upon the beautiful panorama that greets the eye from its walls. Antiquarians and archaeologists are at variance concerning this castle; some of them give it an existence from a period long before the Christian Era, while others think it is not more than twelve or fifteen hundred years old.

The city did not become prominent in history until the time of Herod the Great. Josephus relates that “Herod having accompanied Cæsar to the sea and returned home erected to him a beautiful temple of white marble near the palace called _Pentium_. This is a fine cave in a mountain under which there is a great cavity in the earth, abrupt, deep and full of water. Over it hangs a vast mountain; and under the cavern rise the springs of the river Jordan. Herod adorned this place, which was already a remarkable one, still farther by the erection of this temple which he dedicated to Cæsar.”

The description is accurate. The temple is gone, but there are Greek inscriptions and sculptured niches on the face of the cliff which were made at the time the temple was erected. The great fountain which forms the principal source of the Jordan bursts from the side of the cliff through a cavern, now partially choked with rough rocks and fragments of ancient buildings. The waters roll and break through a rocky channel as they begin their course down the deep ravine which leads them on and on till they are swallowed in the dark and gloomy bosom of the Dead Sea.

Hermon, the high mountain, is in front of us, and its triple summit stands cold and majestic now as it stood in the days that were made memorable by the recorded miracles of Christ.

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