# Domestic Life in Palestine/Chapter 4

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CHAPTER IV.
FROM JERUSALEM TO HÂIFA.
It was our intention to remain only a short time in Jerusalem, but my brother had been detained on consular business, and was appointed to attend Kamîl Pasha on an expedition to Hebron, to quell a serious insurrection there.
I was left in the care of my good friends at the Talibîyeh, where I enjoyed excellent opportunities for improving myself in Arabic, and gleaning information about the people of Palestine. Every day brought some new delight. I visited all the places of interest in the neighborhood, sketching and making notes, and had the privilege of accompanying Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore when they explored the Moslem mosques and shrines on Mount Moriah.
Mr. W. Holman Hunt was then busy in his studio on Mount Zion, and there I watched the progress of his wonderful picture of the "Meeting in the Temple," and with delight looked through his portfolios and sketch-books. On the 21st of August I went to Hebron, and after spending a few days with my brother at the Pasha's camp, I returned to the Talibîyeh; but of these pleasures I will not pause to speak in detail here.
On the 9th of September, at sunrise, a shower of rain fell, the first I had seen in Palestine. It lasted only half an hour, and seemed quite local. Low down among the hills rainbows, one within another, spanned the valleys, and produced a most beautiful effect. Soon after the rain was over, a cloud of birds appeared coming from the north, their strange snapping cries sounding louder and louder as ​they approached. They were bee-catchers, bright-colored birds of the swallow kind. A strong north wind soon carried the rain clouds and the birds far away, and cooled the air, which had been very sultry.
On September 11th, Miss Creasy—who had long been resident in Jerusalem-took me to see Philip's Fountain, which is about two hours south-west by west of Jerusalem. We started early, with one kawass, and rode over the rocky hills to the Convent of the Cross before the dew had disappeared. We met large companies of "fellahîn "—peasant women—flocking to the city with fruit and vegetables. Most of them wore blue linen shirts, white cotton vails, which fell over their shoulders, and crimson girdles fastened very low. The foremost were carrying a great variety of cucumbers and vegetable marrows, and the fruit of the dark egg-plant, which is pear-shaped, of a deep violet-red color, and very glossy. A group of girls, who balanced on their heads baskets of grapes from the Greek gardens, made a beautiful picture; trailing branches and tendrils of the vine were hanging over their shoulders. We went down a narrow valley, newly planted with mulberries and vines by the enterprising monks of the Greek convent. On the summit of a steep hill, on our right, we saw the picturesque little village of Mâlihah, and large kilns for preparing charcoal were burning on the rock ledges or terraces below it.
We entered the Wady-el-Werd, or Valley of Roses—well named; its broad bed, for above a mile, is like a thicket of rose-bushes, cultivated for making rose-water and conserves. Beyond this garden, which attracted thousands of birds to feast on its crimson berries or hips, we found fig-orchards, blackberry-bushes, and walnut-trees. On our left hand we saw the remains of an ancient building, large hewn stones, excavations in the native rock, a few fallen columns, and a small stone fountain called Ain Yalo, or the Spring of Ajalon. We were following the course of the ancient road "which goeth down from Jerusalem to Gaza." Long ago, ​Queen Candace's eunuch traversed it, riding in his chariot; but the Romans kept "the way" in repair then; no chariot could pass it now. It is little better than a track for mules, and runs along a sort of terrace half-way up the hill on the left-hand side of the valley. Rugged rock ledges were above and below us, and a few flocks were feeding on the scanty herbage and thorns, but down in the bed of the vale there were thrashing-floors and stubble fields. About a mile beyond Ain Yalo we came to Ain Haniyeh, a fine spring of pure water, commonly called Philip's Fountain. Two pilasters, with richly-carved Corinthian capitals, flank a semicircular apse, formed of very large, carefully-hewn stones. From a deep, arched recess or niche, in the middle of this apse, a large body of water gushes and falls with great force into a small basin, which overflows into a stone reservoir below, and then forms a narrow stream which finds its way into the valley. I climbed over immense blocks of stone, assisted by a shepherd boy, and gathered some of the maiden-hair and mosses which festooned the arched mouth of the fountain. Indications of a much larger apse can be traced just beyond; and exactly opposite the fountain, at about forty paces from it, there is a fragment of the shaft of a column nearly six feet in diameter, but only about five feet high. A few shafts of smaller columns are to be seen in a neighboring field. The villagers around carry away the hewn stones which are found here to build their little watch-towers, or to repair their houses. Local tradition says that this is the very fountain to which the eunuch referred when he said to his teacher, Philip, "See, here is water! What doth hinder me to be baptized?" Some boys and girls, wilder looking than the shaggy goats which they led to drink at the fountain, crowded around me as I sat on the great column, sketching the scene before me. My horse, in the mean time, less obedient than the chariot of the eunuch, had broken away from the block of stone to which he was tethered, and was running at full speed into the valley. Loud cries and ​shouts from the boys brought, from all directions, volunteers to pursue the runaway, and, after some little time, the frightened animal was caught, in a circle of the noisiest, wildest-looking little fellows I ever saw, and to whom the few piasters which I distributed was a fortune.
We returned by a rather different route, and passed another fountain, more simple than the others, but very picturesque, and formed chiefly of blocks of unhewn stone. Women were washing their linen shirts and vails in the reservoir, and a number of rough, desperate-looking men were lounging idly round it. They looked over my paper while I sketched the fountain and a few figures. One of them said, "If we were to fetch all the men of the valley, and all the men of the hills, they could not do that." They seemed, by their remarks, to fancy that drawing was a sense or faculty peculiar to the Franks. They were clamorous for backshîsh, and followed us for some distance, muttering, grumbling, and disputing among themselves. After they had given up the pursuit, I found that I had lost my pocket-book, containing papers of value. I galloped back to Philip's Fountain, though the rays of the sun were very powerful. I explained my loss to the shepherd boys, now my firm allies, then I rode back to the other fountain, where I found the group of men who had followed us, standing as if in consultation. I felt certain that they had my book. I told them I came from the English consulate, and asked them to help me in my search. They so positively declared that my book was not lost there, that I felt more convinced than ever that they had found it. Presently I tried the effect of a small piece of gold, which I offered to the finder. In a moment one of the men drew my book from his girdle, and rather hesitatingly placed it in my hands. I feared he might repent, so I immediately gave it to the kawass to take charge of, and we very thankfully rode away. These men were all fully armed, and dressed in coarse scanty clothing. They looked as if a trifle would excite them to mischief ​and to deeds of daring. When we were far enough from them, we sat down and took our lunch, which we had provided before setting out. We rested under a walnut tree during the hour of noon, and did not reach the Talibîyeh till three o'clock, where we were anxiously awaited, for the Gaza road is not considered a very safe one. In the arched recess at the back of the house, figs from Urtâs, strung together, were hanging in the sun to dry. One of the servants, sitting in the shade, was busy stripping off the flag-like envelopes of large ripe ears of Indian corn, or maize. She told me that she was going to make a mattress of the dried husks for one of the men-servants; and added that poor people, who can not afford to buy cotton wool, make their beds of the outer skins of onions, thoroughly dried and sweetened by exposure to the sun, and sewed up in coarse linen cases.
On the following day, my brother returned from Hebron, and was at last free to leave Jerusalem and start for his vice-consulate at Hâifa. A few days were spent in making preparations for the journey. I engaged Katrîne, a widow of Bethlehem, as my attendant. She was highly recommended to me as a faithful and affectionate woman, but with the serious drawback that she was subject to fits of mental derangement. In the year 1834, when her native town was the scene of rebellion, her husband and little sons were murdered in her presence in their beds, and alarm and despair disordered her mind. (Who can calculate how much harm of this nature will be the result of the late massacres in the Lebanon and Damascus, and how many weakened intellects will be transmitted to succeeding generations? Men survive the sight of open war fare on the battle-field; but who can wonder that women become mad with rage and terror, who see their sons and fathers murdered in their homes?)
In a day or two Katrîne was quite at home with me. She had known my brother for years, and fancied that he ​and I were her own children. She often told me curious stories of our childhood, fictions of her imagination. This delusion, however, made her happy, and caused her to be a most devoted servant to us.
On the 14th of September I was roused before sunrise by the tinkling sounds of mule bells, which reminded me that our journey was planned for that day. All was bustle and animation at the camp. Groups of Arab servants were seated among the rocks. Bags and baggage were strewed around. Tents and tent poles were being removed and packed, and mules and muleteers stood waiting for orders. Mr. Finn was about to make a tour with his niece and a friend, and had arranged to travel with us as far as Yâfa.
After a great many delays, all the attendants were in readiness by eleven o'clock; but it happened that my brother, who had gone into Jerusalem early on business, was detained, and consequently kept a prisoner there, for it was Friday, the Moslem Sabbath, and the city gates are always closed on that day during the hours of morning prayer, and we knew, therefore, that he could not on any consideration be released till noon. ( This custom is rigidly observed, owing to a prophecy which declares that the Holy City will be invaded and conquered at Sabbath prayer time.) So the Consul with his party started, leaving us to overtake him at Yâfa; and I spent one more evening with Mrs. Finn and the little ones at the Talibîyeh. We had nothing to detain us the next day, and at half-past three I rose by lantern and starlight, gathered a branch from the olive-tree above the tent which had been my resting-place for ten weeks, breakfasted with Mrs. Finn, and rode away, well mounted, just as the first gleams of light appeared in the eastern sky.
A Moslem kawass led the way, and my soi-disant mother, Katrîne, a Latin Christian, closely vailed and wrapped in a red Arab clock, sat, à la cavalier, on the broad pack saddle of a nimble little donkey, and two laden mules, in the care of a muleteer, followed. Although our attendants ​were of conflicting creeds, they fraternized very well on the way.
We did not pause till we came to the Fountain of Birds, where a peasant boy brought us fine grapes, and helped us to give our animals water. The orchards around were now in their full beauty, bright with pomegranate fruit and blossom. The rich green fig-trees, wet with dew, smelt like heliotropes, and were garlanded and interlaced with richly laden vines. Little birds were rustling the silvery leaves of the olive-trees, and they now and then swarmed forth in cheerful chirruping flight.
At eight o'clock we reached Abu Ghôsh, and while we waited for Katrîne and the muleteer—who lagged behind—I sketched the old church, and then hastened onward. At ten we rested and lunched under a tree by a well-side near to Latrone, and the kawass contrived to make us some coffee. I was astonished to find that I had traveled through the hill-country of Judea, without fear and without fatigue, by the same road which a short time before had appeared to me so full of danger and difficulty. The hills seemed to me to have been made low, and the "rough places plain." When we entered the level country, the sun was shaded every now and then by quickly-moving clouds, and a breeze sprang up from the west, pleasantly fanning our faces.
We cantered over the plain till we reached a village called Kubâb, a poor, straggling place, with a few gardens fenced with yellow-blossoming cactus hedges. We paused by a well, in a sort of farm-yard, and a lame girl handed us some water in a red jar. She made curious signs and gestures, and we soon saw that she was deaf and dumb. We gave her a backshîsh, and she limped away well pleased. A boy followed us, noisily demanding money as we rode on, but we did not give him any thing; so he ran back to the poor lame girl, threw her down, and snatched her treasure from her. She rose with difficulty, and with silent and impotent rage threw handfuls of dust after him, ​and when he was out of sight, she began tearing her scanty clothing. We turned back and tried to console her, but our words were useless; however, some sweet chocolate cakes were more effectual. We left her stealthily eating them, and went on our way, thinking how sad her life must be.
Before noon we entered Ramleh, leaving our servants far behind. We rode under the tall palm-trees, now laden with glossy red and golden fruit, hanging in clusters on orange-colored stalks. Strings of camels and laden donkeys crowded the dirty, dusty streets, and with difficulty we made our way to the house of an Arab friend. My brother was received with kisses and embraces by the sons of the house, and I was led by an Abyssinian slave—a eunuch—to his widowed mistress, a superior-looking woman, dressed in black silk garments, embroidered with gold thread. She said, "Welcome, my daughter;" and, after giving me some lemonade, took me to a pleasant chamber opening on to a terrace covered with pots of blossoming pinks and roses. She called the slave, and he immediately spread a mattress for me on the floor. Then she took off my hat and habit, and told me to "Rest in peace;" and, sitting by my side on a soft-cushioned carpet, she gently fanned me to keep away the flies and musketoes. When I awoke, after an hour or two of refreshing sleep, I found that my hostess had gone, and the slave was kneeling by my side, fanning me with a little flag made of a green split palm-frond, nicely plaited. His dark, polished face and large eyes, contrasting with his white turban, white cotton dress, and crimson silk girdle, rather startled me before I quite remembered where I was. I heard afterward that he was a favorite and confidential slave, who had belonged for many years to this family.
He poured rose-water over my hands, and led me to a court, where a genuine Arab meal was prepared for us. It consisted of boiled wheat, dressed in butter and mixed with minced meat; some fine broiled fish, in a bed of ​very sweet stewed apricots and rice; and baked fowls, garnished with tomatoes, filled with rice and shreds of meat. A dessert of grapes, dates, and sweetened starch, stuck with bleached almonds, followed. After coffee and pipes we called our servants together, and at about five o'clock we mounted and rode toward Yâfa. The sun was shining directly in our faces, and we watched it gradually going down behind the low coast hills which hid from our sight the Mediterranean Sea. The crescent moon rose bright and clear, throwing our shadows in long dark lines on the sandy road before us.
We saw a little company of Bedouin Arabs sitting on the wayside feasting. As soon as we had passed they rose up and started into a run, leaping and shouting vociferously, and as we and the kawass slackened our pace to join the servants who were behind they passed us, running and dancing along, snatching off each other's white skull caps, flinging them in the air, flourishing their sticks, throwing handkerchiefs at one another, screaming and singing. Their heads were shaved except just at the crown, where the hair was allowed to grow very long, and was plaited. The plait is generally twisted up, and quite concealed under skull-caps, tarbûshes, or kefias that is, shawl head-dresses. The Arab costumes are familiar to most of my readers from the pictures of them in our school-books, and I need not further particularize them here.
"Dear unto me as the sight of my eyes Art thou, O my camel! Precious to me as the breath of my life Art thou, O my camel! Sweet to my ears is the sound Of thy tinkling bells, O my camel! And sweet to thy listening ears Is the sound of my evening song.
Sometimes these wanderers pass several days without taking substantial food; but, to make up for their abstinence, they eat voraciously and "make merry" when they have the opportunity. It was dark in the bridle-path between the Yâfa Gardens, but the large and many glowing watch-fires within the inclosures showed that the abundance of ripe fruit was well guarded.
We entered the gate of the town, where crowds of people were lounging. The broadest bazar was bright with lamps and lanterns; but we soon merged one by one into dark, narrow, crooked streets of stairs, and I was directed to follow the kawass closely and carefully. His large, full, white Turkish trowsers seemed to move before me by some mysterious power, without support or suspension; for the black horse which he rode was quite invisible in the darkness, and his red fez and embroidered jacket could not be seen, only now and then two shining eyes turned round to see if I were safe. I followed my ghostlike leader cautiously till we reached the British Consulate down by the seaside, where we were welcomed by our friends, Dr. and Mrs. Kayat; and Mr. Finn, who had only arrived an hour earlier, soon came to meet us. He had slept at Ramleh on the previous night, and was surprised we had made the journey from Jerusalem so easily in one day. Fire-works from a ship at anchor attracted us to the oriel window which overlooks the sea, and we sat for a long time watching the waves as they rolled toward us, crested with white ​foam, and with lines of phosphoric light flashing from beneath them, only extinguished by the breaking of each successive wave on the rocks.
The next day, Sunday, we went to the Rev. Mr. Krusé's house, and, in company with Mr. Finn and his party, and Dr. Kayat and his family, we heard Dr. Bowen—the late lamented Bishop of Sierra Leone—preach a most simple, earnest, and appropriate sermon. A few Arab children belonging to the missionary school, and Mrs. Krusé and her family, with the Rev. Henry Reichart, of Cairo, completed the little congregation. Some Arab ladies of the neighboring house watched us the whole time through the open window, and seemed greatly amused. The hymns were sung with much energy in Arabic, and the liturgy—read in English—was responded to by the little Arab scholars with vehemence and clearness. I spent the remainder of the day with Mr. Finn and his party, at the new and well-built house of an Arab friend. We sat on a sheltered terrace, sweet with pinks and jasmine, overlooking the terraced house-tops and the sparkling sea. Down on our left was the southern wall of the town, and the deep dry moat. Beyond it was a sloping, stony plain, where horsemen were galloping about and displaying their skill in the use of spear and musket. Further still was the large open cemetery, with a cupola, supported on arches, in the center; children were playing, and turbaned smokers were resting, under its shade. A garden of figs, palms, and tamarisks, on a gentle declivity, bordered the sandy margin of the sea between us and the quarantine station, and the white sheets or wimples of groups of women could be distinguished among the trees. Drifted sand-hills bounded the view. The sea, calm and brightly blue, broke gently along the belt of rocks, fringing them with foam. We watched the setting of the sun, the hills in the south grew rosy, violet, and gray. The western sky was covered with dark slate-colored clouds, edged with gold. The sunset-gun was fired, and we were led by our host to a ​covered court on the house-top to dine, by lantern light. For dessert, among other fruits, we had a dish of large ruby-colored pomegranate seeds moistened with wine, and sprinkled with powdered sugar; bleached almonds formed the border of this tempting-looking dish.
The next day I was sitting in the oriel window at the British Consulate, with the Rev. Dr. Bowen, while Dr. Kayat was engaged with an English captain and a number of Arabs in the lower part of the room. Black clouds came traveling quickly from the west, over the lead-colored sea. Dr. Bowen observed, in the words of Christ, "When ye see a cloud rise out of the west, straightway ye say, There cometh a shower, and so it is." He had scarcely uttered the words when the clouds spread and fell in a tremendous torrent. The sea swelled, and rolled heavily to the shore. The ships looked as if they would break away from their anchors, and loud peals of thunder made the casemented recess in which we sat tremble violently. The captain hastened away, fearful for the fate of his struggling ship off such a rocky coast. When the rain ceased, and the sun shone again, I rode out with Dr. Bowen to visit Mr. Jones, an American missionary, who lived in the midst of a beautiful garden, east of the town. He had done a great deal of good in teaching the Arab gardeners and agriculturists habits of order and method, but he finds them very slow learners.
At sunrise the next day rain fell in torrents, and did not clear off till noon, after which I sat in my favorite window corner with Nasif Giamal, Mrs. Kayat's brother. We saw just below us, on the rudely-constructed "parade," a crowd of men and children, assembled round a fantastically-dressed man exhibiting a goat, which had been tutored to perform some curious tricks. It stood with its four feet close together on the top of a very long pole, and allowed the man to lift it up and carry it round and round within the circle; then the goat was perched on four sticks, and again carried about. A little band of music—fifes, ​drums, and tambourines—called together the people from all parts of the town to witness this performance. The goat danced and balanced himself obediently and perfectly, in very unnatural-looking postures, as if thoroughly understanding the words and commands of his master. The men who watched the antics of the goat looked as grave and serious as if they were attending a philosophical or scientific lecture.
The assembled crowd had to make way presently for a long procession, preceded by horsemen carrying long spears, and firing guns. Two little boys, gayly dressed and decked with flowers, rode one behind the other on a white horse. Two large books, carried on embroidered cushions, were borne by two attendants. Women closely vailed walked by the side of the boys, singing wildly, and making a peculiar ringing noise in the throat, not unlike the neighing of horses made slightly musical by modulation. Nasif, who can speak English, told me the object of the procession, saying, "The boys are Moslems; they have suffered an infliction not observed by the Christians; the Jews have it, and also the Moslems." This explained to me that the children had been circumcised, and were now being conducted round the town in triumph.
My brother made arrangements with the owner of a little Arab boat to be prepared to take us to Hâifa, as soon as the south wind rose. Two monks of Mount Carmel begged to accompany us. We made our plans so as to be ready at a minute's notice, and spent the evening with Sit Leah. She had quite recovered, and proudly showed me her little Selim. I found that every one addressed her and spoke of her as "Um Selim," or mother of Selim, and the father was called "Abu Selim."
On Wednesday, September 19th, I was roused before sunrise, and informed that the Reis—or Arab captain had sent for us, as the wind was favorable. With the two monks and Nasif G. we quickly went down to the quay. In the mean time the wind had shifted, and the ​Reis could not undertake to steer against it; but he added, "It will veer round to the south again by midnight, and then we shall reach Hâifa in eight or ten hours." It was still very early. We strolled leisurely through the town. The people were just beginning to stir. The shutters of the shops in the bazars were being lifted up—they are like flap-doors attached by rude hinges to the beams above the shop-fronts, and when opened and propped up, they form excellent shades, which are easily dropped down and secured at night.
On my return to the Consulate, I found two of the women-servants making bread, sitting on the ground at a low circular wooden board. One of them moistened some flour with water, another added salt, and a small piece of leavened dough—to "leaven the whole lump "—and then kneaded it vigorously in turn with her companion. It was left to rise, and then the two eldest daughters of Dr. Kayat divided it into portions, rolled them into little round loaves, which were carried away to the oven on large round trays made of reeds, bound together with strong grass.
We prepared ourselves for the journey, and then went to rest early, without undressing. At midnight the Reis sent for us, and immediately we went out into the darkness, with Nasif and three or four lantern-bearers. I noticed a number of men, wrapped in lehaffs, sleeping on low stone platforms, or by the side of kneeling camels, in the streets near the quay. The Mutsellim, or governor, was parading the place. Nasif told me that he did so at irregular intervals, sometimes in disguise, so as to see the state of the town at night, and to ascertain, by personal observation, whether the guards did their duty. We met the two Carmelite monks on the dark wharf, and the great water-gate was opened for us. I was somehow dropped gently into a little rowing-boat far down in the darkness below, where I was taken charge of by two brawny boat men. After much shouting and jolting we were all huddled ​together, and skimmed over the water to the sailing-boat, which awaited us outside the rocky barrier. I found it was divided into three parts—the central portion being like an uncovered hold, four feet deep and eight feet square. The decks fore and aft were incumbered with the ship's tackle, and crowded with sailors, who were singing lustily. The hold, lighted by two lanterns, was matted and set apart for passengers and luggage. Our portmanteaus and carpet-bags served us for a couch, and the monks sat on their saddle-bags, wrapped in their comfortable-looking hooded robes. Poor Katrîne, who had never been on the sea before, was very much alarmed. She rolled herself up in her cloak, stretched herself full length by my side, and was happily soon fast asleep. Our kawass smoked his pipe in company with the Reis above, and an Italian, who had smuggled himself and his baggage aboard, in the hurry and darkness, kept aloof with the sailors. The sky was bright with stars; the south wind was strong, and filled the sails, and by fits and starts I dozed till dawn of day. Then I roused myself, and watched the little group around me, the hooded monks sleeping soundly, my brother at my feet, leaning against a hamper, and Katrîne so enveloped that I could not distinguish her head from her heels.
The favorable wind had ceased, and the sailors were busy taking in sail. By the time the sun appeared above the low coast hills the wind had shifted to the west, and we were in danger of being driven on the rocks. It then suddenly veered to the north, and blew so violently that the Reis was obliged to cast anchor, and we were tossed on a heavy sea, near to a desolate coast, where there was no possibility of landing. By nine o'clock the sun was very powerful. An awning made of the now useless sails was thrown over the hold. We found our quarters far from comfortable, but we were determined to make the best of them. By noon the heat was intense and suffocating down in the hold, so I climbed on to the deck, and sat on a coil of rope, clinging to the mast. The strong wind and the ​sea spray revived me. The coast, which was every now and then concealed by the high waves, was a range of drifted sand-hills, traversed by flocks of goats feeding on the scanty patches of pasture. Not a human habitation, not even a human being was visible, and not a boat or ship was seen all day. In the afternoon the wind ceased, but the ship rocked lazily from the effect of the sea-swell, which had not yet subsided.
My brother read St. Paul's voyage to me as it is recorded in the 27th of Acts. It seemed more interesting than ever. We were not far from Cesarea, the port from which Paul embarked; and he was tossed about by contrary winds, in this sea for many days. It must have been about the same time of the year, too, during the equinoctial gales, when, as he said, "sailing was dangerous." It is distinctly explained that it was after the great Fast of the Atonement, which is held on the tenth day of the month of Tisri, and corresponds with the latter part of our month of September.
At sunset "the south wind blew softly." The sails were soon set, and in better spirits we sat down to our evening meal, and shared our chickens and preserved soup with the monks, who added their eggs, cheese, and cognac. We passed a dreamy, restless night, "sailing slowly," and in the morning were nearly opposite Tantûra. The wind had changed to north-east, so my brother insisted on landing to pursue our journey on shore. We tacked about, put out to sea, and then allowed the strong wind to drive us toward the picturesque coast. Little islands of rock and mounds of ancient masonry stood out before it, beaten by the waves. With some maneuvering the boat was brought safely to the beach, where there were plenty of Tantûra men to meet us, and carry us through the surf to the smooth yellow sands. I was delighted to find myself on firm land again; and I shall always remember St. Paul's advice to the centurion, and vote against sailing in the Levant in the Autumn.
The custom-house officer came to meet us; and, followed ​by troops of men and boys, we approached the little town, which comprises about thirty or forty rudely-built houses, made of irregularly-piled blocks of hewn stone, bits of broken columns, and masses of mud or clay. The custom-house officer, Abu Habîb, guided us to his house, which consisted of one low, large, square room, lined with clay and roofed with tree branches blackened with smoke. One half of the ceiling was concealed by matting, and the other half was picturesque with pendent branches. Small holes served as windows, and the roughly-made door was a portable one. A mattress spread on the floor was used as a divan. Jars of earthenware and metal saucepans stood against the wall. A cooking-place was built in one corner, made of large, finely-beveled, ancient stones and burned clay. Baskets of coarse salt from the sea-shore were near to it. Habîb, the son of our host, prepared coffee for us. In our presence he roasted the berries, and then pounded them in a stone mortar. A large box, like a muniment chest, with ornamental lock and hinges of wrought iron, stood near the door, and I perched myself on it to be as far away as I could from the mud floor, on which I could distinctly see a numerous assembly of large fleas dancing and hopping about. The monks, with truly monastic virtue, did not seem to mind them. Gaunt-looking women, hiding their faces with tattered white cotton vails, peeped at us, and dirty but pretty children came crowding round.
Katrîne made a tour of the town, and then took me to the house which she considered the neatest and cleanest, where I rested with her and refreshed myself. The women who welcomed me were dressed in tight jackets and full trowsers, made of washed-out Manchester prints, patched all over without regard to color or pattern. Their heads were covered with mundîls—squares of colored muslin; their necks adorned with coins, and their wrists with twisted silver bracelets. They were exceedingly amused with my little traveling dressing-case. They told me they had never seen a hair-brush before. They unplait their long ​henna-stained hair about once a week only, and occasionally clean it with fuller's earth, which is found near, and use small tooth combs of bone or wood.
After some delay animals were procured; fortunately we had our saddles with us. We left our heavy luggage in the care of the Reis, and at two, P.M., we mounted and took leave of Tantûra. We made a rather ludicrous procession. The kawass, on a shaggy mule, took charge of our carpet-bags, and led the way. The two monks were mounted on donkeys, so small that their sandaled feet and heavy robes nearly touched the ground. My brother rode on an old white horse, whose head was garnished with red trappings ornamented with shells. I was put on a little pony who had lost his mane and tail, and who could not understand a side-saddle, but persisted in turning round and round to investigate the mystery; and Katrîne, on a stubborn donkey, had great difficulty in keeping up with us.
We rode northward along the shore, which was strewed with blocks of marble and hewn stones. Women and children were busy collecting in large baskets the coarse incrusted salt, which settles in the natural hollows and artificial basins of the rocks on the beach below. Large herds of cattle and goats, the chief wealth of Tantûra, grazed on the plain on our right hand just above us,which was overgrown with thorns, thistles, dwarf mimosa, and low brushwood.
A little beyond Tantûra stands the ancient Dora, or Dor, on a rugged promontory, with ruined walls all round it, at the edge of the cliff. From its center rises what appeared to me at first to be a lofty tower or castle; but on approaching it I found it was only the narrow southern wall of some long since fallen building. It stands about thirty feet high. This place is now quite abandoned, as the walls are tottering and the cliffs are giving way. The stones are gradually being removed to build up Tantûra. Opposite to these ruins, the plain was concealed from us by a low ​ridge of rocky hills, running close to the sandy shore, which is here and there enlivered by a group of palm-trees.
We kept close to the sea till we came, in about one hour and a half, to Athlîte, or Castellum Pelegrinum, a curious motley pile of ruins standing out on a rocky headland. The foundation stones are so massive, that they have resisted the storms of centuries, and tell of a time anterior to the Romans, who no doubt erected the fortress, built the walls, and fashioned the columns which are now falling to decay. The crusaders, too, have left some of their handiwork here—the pointed arches and the ruins of a Christian church still speak of them. Within the walls of the church, and under the shadow of the fortress, modern houses are rudely built,and inhabited by a poor Moslem population. A group of women were resting by a well of sculptured stone, just outside the walls. Opposite to this interesting place we found a narrow defile cut through the rocks, leading eastward direct from the shore to the plain. Deep ruts, for chariot wheels, were cut in the road, which was just wide enough for two horsemen to ride freely abreast. The white limestone walls rise abruptly on each side, garnished with patches of fragrant herbs and amber-colored lichen. Lintels at each end of this passage show that formerly it was protected by gates, and ruins of strong fortifications surmount it.
We passed out of this curious defile into the fertile but not very extensively-cultivated plain, or "Vale of Dor," between the mountain range of Carmel and the rocky coast hills under whose pleasant shade we pursued our way. We could see that the two chains of hills met at an acute angle far away in the north. Now and then, natural fissures in the rocks, or little valleys made fertile by Winter torrents, revealed to us the sun and the sea.
We stopped to water our animals at a little spring, called Ain Dustrei, which forms a tiny lake, and then finds its way between the hills to the shore. A group of goatherds, with reed pipes, were assembled round a clay ​trough,where their flocks of goats were crowding to drink. The vegetation by this stream and fountain was wild and luxuriant. Oleanders, lupins, tall grass, and the arbutus abounded. The monks soon pointed out, with delight, the white convent of Mar Elias on the headland of Carmel.
Pleasant sounds of voices, songs, and bells, and laughter reached us, and we saw an animated little party approaching, mounted on camels, whose nodding heads and necks were decorated with beads, shells, crimson tassels, and strings of little tinkling bells. I paused by the wayside to watch them, as they slowly passed. There were thirteen camels strung together, each carrying two or three women and children, all in gala dresses, made chiefly of soft crimson silk, with white Vandyked stripes on it. On their heads, they wore scarfs or vails, of various colors and materials—silk, muslin, and wool-folded across their foreheads, just meeting the eyebrows, then thrown over the back of the head, and brought forward again to cover their faces, all but the shining eyes. The fringed or bordered ends were allowed to fall gracefully over the shoulders. Some of the women had slipped these vails, or wimples, down below their lips, so as to join in the chorus of the songs improvised by the two professional singing-women who accompanied them. My brother could perceive that it was a bridal party, by these songs, which very much resembled in style the "Song of Songs which is Solomon's." A number of men were in attendance on foot, forming a picturesque body-guard to the exalted women. They were people of one of the villages of the plain or vale of Dor, and had been to Hâifa, to purchase dresses, trinkets, and furniture for two approaching weddings, in a family of some local importance. They were scarcely out of hearing when we met another noisy group, consisting of men and boys, with a few camels, mules, and donkeys, clumsily laden with the purchases for the weddings—cooking utensils, baskets of rice, reed mats, bales of goods, and two red wooden boxes, ornamented with gilt hinges and strap-work. ​The largest camel carried, high on his back, two little wooden cradles, painted blue, red, and yellow; one for each of the brides. This piece of furniture is regarded in the East as the most important and necessary item of a trousseau; and she is an unhappy wife who does not soon see rocking in the gaudy cradle an infant son, whose name she may take, and through whom she may become honored among women.
As we proceeded northward, the plain was so much more narrow, that we could distinguish the deep caverns and excavations in the limestone hills opposite, which have, in turn, served as places of refuge or retreat for prophets, saints, and anchorites, banditti or robbers, and beasts of prey.
The village of Tîreh was pointed out to me, surrounded by cultivated fields and orchards. Groups of palm-trees grew here and there, and the hill-sides were clothed with dwarf oak, wild fig, and locust trees. The fruit of the locust, when ripe, is like a large crooked bean-pod, brown and glossy, filled with large seeds. It is so nutritious, that the children of the poor live entirely on it, during the season, requiring no other food, for it contains all the necessary elements for the support of life—starch, sugar, oil, etc., in proper proportion. I found it, when new, rather too sweet to suit my taste. Children seemed to enjoy it, and they thrive on it, eating the shell as well as the seeds. When this fruit is stored, it becomes somewhat dry, and less sweet, but on being soaked in honey, it is like new fruit. The Arabs all like sweet food, and of many a man of Judea and Galilee, as well as of John the Baptist, it might be said, "His meat [for a season ] was locusts and wild honey."
Just before sunset, we reached the foot of the headland which forms the southern boundary of the bay of Akka. On its summits the convent stands. It was too late, and ​we were all too tired, to go round to the usual ascent on the other side; so we urged our animals up the steep and pathless rocks, here and there overgrown with brushwood, thorns, and thistles, fit only to be traversed by goats and conies.
The monks, who had been our guests on the way, now acted as our guides and hosts, for they were on convent ground. They warned us to grasp the manes of our tired steeds firmly, as they mounted the steep ledges; and I now found the disadvantage of being on a pony without a mane. After about ten minutes difficult riding, we reached a cultivated garden, on a plateau, in front of the large, well-built convent. Frère Charles, an old friend of my brother, came out to meet and welcome us, and kissed him and the two monks again and again.
We were about six hundred feet above the plain, with a magnificent scene before us. The sun was just going down, and the Great Sea was flooded with crimson light. The bay of Akka and the plain surrounded by the hills of Galilee were on our right. The ruins of an ancient port and fortress could be seen on the level strip of land below us; and at about a mile to the right of it stood the little town of Hâifa—very interesting to me, for it was there I was to make a home with my brother, at Her Britannic Majesty's Vice-Consulate.
We spent a pleasant evening with the good monks. It was Friday; they did not let us fast, but sat by us, in pleasant chat, while we enjoyed fish, flesh, and fowl from their excellent cuisine. After dinner we went to the divan or drawing-room, and I looked through the convent album, which is quite a polyglot, containing the autographs of many great and celebrated characters—testimonies to the kindness and hospitality,always met with here.
Three or four examples of misplaced zeal and intolerance have called forth the satire, wit, and displeasure of less prejudiced pilgrims. Frère Charles pointed out to me a few pages crossed, recrossed, and interlined by indignant ​commentators. He remarked that they always seemed to be particularly interesting to English people, provoking laughter and anger by turns. The pages had evidently been translated to him.
We gratefully rested that night in clean, comfortable, neatly-furnished rooms, and on French musketo-curtained beds. In the morning I heard the swell of the organ and the chanting of the monks at an early hour. A servant brought café au lait to my room at seven, and told me my brother had already gone down to Hâifa. Frère Charles and our fellow-travelers conducted me to the chapel, which has a finely-proportioned dome and marble floor, and a few sculptured figures in alabaster.
The ground floor of the convent is occupied by offices, kitchens, pharmacy, and surgery. A large portion of it is set apart for a place of shelter for poor pilgrims. The first-floor, consisting of a fine suite of lofty rooms, is nicely furnished, and prepared for travelers, who are expected to pay first-class hotel prices; but no direct charge is made. The second floor is reached by a narrow staircase, at the foot of which an inscription, in Italian and French, proclaims that females are not admitted. The monks told me that there was an excellent library of English, Latin, French, and Italian books up there, as well as a large refectory and a great number of cells; and the terraced roof made a fine promenade for the recluses.
Presently a kawass came, bringing a horse for me, and an invitation to spend the day with Mr. Finn, whose tents were pitched just outside Hâifa; so with Katrîne, in her purple dress and white vail, by my side, and the kawass leading the way, I emerged from the convent buildings, and gradually descended, on the north-east side, by a winding path almost like a rocky staircase. The upper part of the hill was covered with wild flowers, fragrant herbs, shrubs, artichokes, acanthus, and dwarf oaks, and on the lower terraces a fine grove of olives and some fig trees flourished. ​The little town of Haifa was in sight—flags above all the Consulates were waving a welcome to Mr. Finn and my brother. I was quite surprised to recognize so many; they were French, Austrian, Prussian, Greek, Dutch, and American, and made the place look quite cheerful. We rode through a beautiful olive grove in the plain at the foot of the hill, crossed several stubble-fields, some rocky waste land and young plantations, and found the tents of Mr. Finn under a large terebinth-tree, near to the sea-shore, not very far from the west wall of the town. Visitors were coming and going all day, and coffee and pipes were in constant requisition.
The view from the open tent, looking toward the north, was very lovely. I will try to make you see it as I saw it on that sunny afternoon. Fancy a foreground of white rocks and dark thorny bushes; then a stony bridle-path, skirting a garden which gently slopes toward the shore, so that the broad sands are quite concealed by its fruit trees, and the blue sparkling sea looks as if it came close up to the hedge of prickly pears below. On the left-hand side of the picture the sea meets the sky; but from the right a range of undulating hills, tinted with crimson, purple, and orange, extend more than half-way across it, terminating in a bold white cliff or headland, called Ras el Abiod—the "Promontorium Album" of Pliny—standing out in strong contrast to the dark-blue sky and darker sea. The opposite shore of the bay, nine miles distant, is marked by a level line of white sand, which seems to separate the sea from the green plains at the foot of the hills; and on a low promontory to the right of Ras el Abiod the proud-looking little city of ’Akka is conspicuous, and forms the central point of the picture. Above the clearly-defined summits of the hills silvery clouds are resting. Mount Hermon rises in the distance, pale and shadowy, till the sun is low, and then it is tinged with gold and violet. Four ships are at anchor on the right, and a vessel in full sail is entering the bay from the north.
A man-of-war is ​cruising about far out at sea. A tall palm-tree on one side, and an oak and a seared, white-branched fig-tree on the other, inclose this coup d'oeil.
The bridle-path across the foreground was enlivened by passers-by, such as troops of barefooted boys, driving donkeys laden with hewn stones, which had been taken from the ruins of the fortress, and were about to be used in Hâifa, where many new houses were in progress, and still more were planned. Camels laden with grain and melons jolted by, and a few townspeople passed backward and forward as if to peep at our tents. At sunset there came large numbers of goats and cattle, led toward the town to be secured there for the night, for it is not safe to leave them in the open country, even in the care of the well-armed herdsmen.
Hâifa is a walled town, in the form of a parallelogram, pleasantly situated close to the sea, on a gently-rising slope. A steep hill, a spur of Mount Carmel, rises immediately behind it, and is crowned by a small castle, to which I climbed with Mr. Finn, and thence looked down into the town. The houses are distributed irregularly. Those occupied by consuls and merchants are large, substantial buildings of hewn stone, with central courts and broad terraces. The poorer class of houses are of earth and rough stone, and have no upper chambers. All the roofs are flat. On each side of the little town there are fine fruit gardens, where the pomegranates and figs especially flourish. A grove of palm-trees borders the sandy shore on the east of the town.
I returned to the convent to sleep, and after spending the next day, Sunday, with Mr. Finn at the tents, I prepared to enter Hâifa for the first time, by moonlight.
* ↑ See note, page 60.
* ↑ This melange, which is very common, always reminded me of the "broiled fish " and the "honeycomb" spoken of in Luke xxiv, 42.
* ↑ See page 63.
* ↑ The Arabic name for the locust-tree is "Kharub," and the beans are commonly called "St. John's bread."
* ↑ The town of Haifa was built where it now stands, by the famous Dhâher, governor of Acre, in the middle of the last century. The ruins of the old town of Ἠφἀ, Sycaminum, are still to be seen on the sea-shore just below the head of Mount Carmel, which site Dháher found to be too much exposed to the incursions of the nomadic tribes in the plain of Athlite. Some of the elder residents remember their fathers having pointed out the position of their former residences in the old town.—E.T.R.