Simeon and Judah
We could have wandered for hours over these knolls and amid these ruins. But day will not wait for us, and the sun is nearing his noon-height. Besides, we are in the land of tribes whose friendliness cannot be counted on, and whom our sheikh evidently does not like. We do not wish to be separated from our men, and wre are anxious, moreover, to reach Dhahariyah before nightfall, as our dragoman declares the people of that place to be “bad people,” who might make free with our goods and his “thingies,” as he calls them.
The first tribe on whose territory we had set foot was that of Simeon, the tribe to which Jacob has bequeathed his curse, and for which Moses has left no blessing, — the tribe whose warrior-thousands, well fitted for borderwarfare, guarded the frontier of the land.* But we have
* It was to this warlike tribe that the heroine of Israel, Judith, belonged. Hence in her prayer before setting out to slay the invader of her soil she says, “0 Lord God of my father Simeon, to whom thou gavest a sword to take vengeance of the strangers,” (Chap. ix. 2).
SIMEON AND JUDAH.
scarcely entered it, when we leave it, passing into that of Judah. Through the ravines, and rocks, and woods, where “the lion of Judah” had his covert, our journey for the next three days will lie. Over this region it was that the “lion’s whelp” roamed; and here he “went up from the prey here ‘* he stooped down, he couched as a lion, and as an old lion” (Gen. xlix. 9).*
There is no place or scene of note within sight, though many such there must have been here, two thousand years ago, and even since. Just out of sight, some six or eight miles off, to the south-east, there lies Avarah, the ancient Aroer of Judah (1 Sam. xxx. 28). Directly east, some ten miles off, is El -Milh, probably the ancient Moladah, which, in Joshua xv. 26, is assigned to Judah, and afterwards, (xix. 2), is given, along with Beersheba and Shema, to Simeon. In the same direction, but some twenty-five miles farther east, close by the Dead
* It is not easy to draw an exact line between Judah and Simeon. A large district in the neighbourhood of Beersheba seems to have belonged to both. Originally it was Judah’s, but being too much for him, it was shared with Simeon. This latter tribe seems to have had no proper territory of its own, but merely to have got as much land and as many cities as J udah could spare. Thus it lay scattered over the south and south-west of Palestine. This was one part of the fulfilment of Jacob’s prophecy, “I will divide them in Jacob, and scatter them in Israel” (Gen. xlix. 7). See Iceland’s Palestina, vol. i. p. 143-151. Keil on Joshua, pp. 419, 420. Valentini Comment, in Genesin., vol. iv. p. 790. The Jews have a tradition that the scribes, and lawyers, and schoolmasters were of Simeon, and that these were dispersed over the land, according to Jacob’s prophecy, just as the priests, heads of courts and assemblies, belonged to Levi, and were also scattered among the people. So the Jerusalem Targum affirms.
Sea, is Es-Zuweireh, which some have thought to indicate Zoar, as it lies but a little way north of Usdom, which certainly represents the ancient Sodom. If Zuweireh be not Zoar, it may perhaps be the memorial of Zohar the father of Ephron the Hittite, who in all likelihood was a prince in the region between Hebron and the Dead Sea, over part of which Wady-es-Zuweireh extends.*
Somewhere between Aroer and Sodom, the Keivites seem to have settled, that interesting tribe of Gentiles, descended from J ethro, who cast in their lot wTith Israel, and were permitted to share in J udah’s portion when the land was possessed. “And the children of the Kenite, Moses’ father-in-law, went up out of the city of palm-trees with the children of Judah, into the wilderness of Judah, which lieth in the south of Arad; and they went and dwelt among the people’’ (Judges i. 1 6).f Little is said about their land or themselves, but that little is enough to make us desirous of knowing more about both. They dwelt in the “wilderness of Judah,” — that same region in which David took refuge, when fleeing
* De Saulcy places Zoar on the west, or rather south-west of the Dead Sea, or Bahr Lut; Dr Robinson and Van de Velde on the east. It must have been very near Sodom (now Usdom, at the south end of the sea) else Lot could not have made his way from the one city to the other between the first break of dawn and the rising of the sun, which in that region must be within half-an-hour.
+ See the long note of Drusius on this passage in his Annotations. In 1 Sam. xxvii. 10, David is said to have gone up from Gath against “the south of Judah and the south of the Kenites,” which indicates the geographical position of this tribe.
A i.i AD.
from Saul, and of which probably the deserts of Ziph and Maon formed parts. This wilderness occupied the south-western coast of the Dead Sea, and went inwards toward Beersheba and Hebron. It is one of the most wild and rocky districts of Palestine, — the well-known peaks of Masada being specimens of its savage grandeur. On these precipices, — these “thunder-splintered pinnacles,” — the mountains of Moab, from the eastern side of the sea, look down. And pointing with prophetic ringer to these rocks of Judah as the Kenite stronghold, Balaam said, “strong is thy dwelling-place, and thou puttest thy nest in a rock, nevertheless the Kenite shall be wasted, until Asshur shall carry thee away captive” (Numb. xxiv. 21, 22).* As they had shared Israel’s heritage and blessing, so they were to partake of their exile and calamity; being carried captive by the Assyrian (after long days of “wasting”) and scattered over the east, where one section of them were found by a modern traveller, as the descendants of Jonadab the son of Bechab (Jer. xxxv. 1-H)t
To the north-east, some twenty miles off, Tell Arad seems to mark the site of the ancient Arad, whose king fought against Israel and took some of them prisoners (Numb. xxi. 1), but whom Joshua overcame (Josh. xii. 1 4). In the same direction, but about twenty miles beyond Arad, lies Sebbeh, the Masada of Jose-
* See Rosenmuller’s note on this passage.
f See Joseph Wolff’s Journal (1839), p. 370, 389.
GEHAIt. phus, the scene of a siege and massacre to which history presents no parallel.* To the west, stretching for some thirty miles across beyond the Wady-es-Seba, lies the northern termination of the great desert of Et-Tih, which we had so lately traversed; and somewhere in that direction, perhaps midway between us and Gaza, must lie Gerar, so well known in patriarchal story.-f-This must have been what Jerome so often speaks of as the Geraritic region, from which he supposes that Abraham went up to Jerusalem to lay Isaac on the altar. The exact limits of that region cannot be ascertained, but the town Gerar from which the district took its name, is said by Jerome to be twenty-five miles south of Eleutheropolis, whose exact site is no longer a matter of doubt. J
We now strike due north, and, under a hot sun, move briskly on, overtaking our caravan in less than an hour.
* Josepbus, Jewish War, book vii. chapters 8 and 9; Lynch “s Journal of Expedition to the Dead Sea; Official Report of the United States Expedition; De Saulcy, vol. i. 202-233; Van de Velde, vol. ii. 97-103.
+ Travellers will find it as useful as it is interesting, to try to note the distances and bearings of the places beyond the vision as well as within it.
$ Dr Stewart’s statements have failed to satisfy me (Tent and Khan, p. 207). In endeavouring to identify Gerar with Wady Jerur, which is but a little way above Muzeiriah and Lussan, and not far north of the latitude of Petra, Dr S. has given too little weight to the affirmations of Eusebius and J erome, who seem to have known the place well. Wady J erur must be about a hundred and twenty miles south of Eleutheropolis instead of twenty-five. The journey between Wady Jerur and Jerusalem took us six days. I suspect that a careful perusal of Dr Robinson’s last edition will shake Dr Stewart in his opinion, that” the position of Eleutheropolis has not been satisfactorily identified’’ (p. 208).
FLOWERS.
Our way lay over a gently-rising table-land, relieved by soft hollows at intervals, and crossed occasionally by a narrow water-course, whose beds of pebbles and white stone seemed like strines of silver intersecting broad masses of iron. At every step we tread on pottery; not in such vast heaps as at Alexandria, but still in sufficient quantities to shew that this region had not always been the mere haunt of Nomads, — the temporary grazing-ground for the scanty flocks of the cityless fellalnn. Crocuses and lilies of various kinds scatter themselves around. A plant not unlike the mallow begins to shew itself. Our Arabs call it Khubbah. The thistle too now throws up its rough edges; — not our shaggy field-thistle, nor our tall silvery Scotch thistle, but the ic variegated” species, common enough at home. Its bright green leaf, streaked with silver, formed a rich carpet for these ill-clad wastes. We had not found it in the desert, but from the day that we entered Palestine till the day we left it we saw it almost every hour. The Arabs call it Kaiib. It has no resemblance to the shrub of the desert, half-thorn and half-thistle, which they call Akhul, and on which our camels used to graze so eagerly.
Once and again we passed, or saw at a short distance, flocks of sheep, tended by women or children. These consisted, not of a dozen or so of lean kids or long-eared sheep (as used to be the case in the desert), but of well-fed animals who straggled along the pastures in hundreds.
We soon came to an extensive plain, through which our road lies for several miles. Its appearance is not unlike an English common. Besides grass, we observe. lilies, snowdrops, thistles, dandelion, and especially the wood-anemone, a large bed of which, in a moist spot where the verdure is rich and thick, attracts our attention.* It is the first as well the finest of the regular flowers which we have, as yet, seen in the land, for lilies and crocuses are productions of the desert as wrell as of the land, which the anemone is not. It appeared for the first time after wre had crossed the desert-line. The specimens wThich we see of it in this grassy circle are large and rich, but of one colour only. They looked to us strangely beautiful; their rich, soft, rosy cup, as it lifted itself so gracefully out of the sward, contrasting gaily with the brown wastes around, and still more with the rough, hard, dingy vegetation of the desert, which had become so irksome to us. It wras pleasant to see these “wind-flowers” waved to the sunshine in the breeze of Palestine.“y”
We now come to the foot of a hill, or succession of hills, commencing the “hill-country” of Judah (Josh, xxi. 11; Luke i. 39, 65), and leading us over toDhahariyah. Not far off are ruins of considerable extent, stretching over a circle of about a mile in diameter. I did not get the name from our Arabs; but I suspect
v I suppose that these anemones are what Dr Robinson calls “low scarlet poppies” (vol. i. p. 207).
f Anemone literally means “wind-floicer.”
WINDINGS.
that this is El-Ilileh, marked on Dr Robinson’s map as a few miles from Bir-es-Seba. Among the ruins were a great many small piles of stones, the use and history of which we could not discover. They could not be way-marks, as they were clustered together; yet they looked not unlike these. Every object, however trivial, now catches the eye, as we are in a land where every inch of soil or rock has a history.
Stat nullum sine nomine saxum.
We have struck into a defile, with so many windings that one might almost call it a spiral staircase of rock, built by giant hands of old. It crosses Jebel-el-KhuUl, that range of mountains in the midst of which El-Khulil (Hebron) is situated. We find here a larger amount of cultivation than we have as yet seen. We cross, and then wind along the edge of a brook scarcely dry, in the neighbourhood of which are a few trees. We are evidently getting into a more fruitful and betterwatered region, and we can mark progress every hour. A skilful and bold farmer from the banks of the Tweed or the Carse of Gowrie, with the help of a few northern ploughmen, and some capital to work upon, would soon achieve marvels in these ill-used fields.
On a height to the left we see some ruined houses, but cannot discover the name. All the hillocks in that direction are adorned with trees, which twist their roots into every crevice of the rock. Lilies still scatter themselves thickly in all directions; and among them we see the cattle quietly feeding, — not on them, but on the herbage which the shade of their broad leaves calls up and shelters. About three o’clock we came to a most beautiful glen, — quite a gem, even as it is; how much more so were it wooded! Hard by it are the remains of a small streamlet or “burn,” whose channel retains a few pools, and whose banks have not lost their moisture nor their greenness.
Our ascent is, in most places, gradual, but in some, steep, broken by an occasional level, half a mile in breadth, and as much in length, which serves as a landing-place and rest between one ascent and another. Our road, for two hours at least, was a succession of rocky ladders; for each of these ascending ravines is terraced regularly, so as to give the appearance of huge stairs, sometimes winding to the left, sometimes again to the right, as if conducting us to a castle of giants on the top of some mighty mountain. We scarcely see half a mile before us at any time, on account of the frequent bends of the defile, and much less than that distance on either side, as the hills rise precipitously on right and left, leaving, however, such a breadth of bottom, as, with the help of well-built terraces, furnishes room and soil for a long succession of fields, all under cultivation, though that cultivation is coarse and imperfect.
We must have passed through ten or twelve of these rising bends; for again and again have we been tantalised with the hope that the next turn, or the next flight of steps, would bring us to the top of the ridge.
DHAHARIYAH.
In vain we look and hope. The series appears endless.*
Dhahariyah seems to remove farther off as we advance.
The sun gets lower, and we wonder whether we shall
reach the fort ere it descends. Suddenly, at an abrupt
elbow of the ravine, we are relieved by seeing the old
castle, perched on its rocky height, not a mile before us.
It rises boldly, and looks well in the setting sun; the
poor village, which seems to hang about it, with its square
yellow huts, rather helps, at this distance, to improve
its appearance, a,nd to give dignity to its towers and
broken ramparts. From this point it looks much bolder
and substantial than it is; not so isolated as El-Aujeh,
which we passed some days ago, but well-set upon yon
craggy perch. Like most of its fellow-castles in the
east, and border “peels” in the north, it has seen better
days, and has, at one time, been a noble stronghold for
Romans, or Crusaders, or Turks —
An eyry builded in the cedar’s top,
That dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.
* This ascent to Dhahariyah illustrated to us sucn names as Maaleh-Akrahbjm, the ascent of Akrabbim (Num. xxxiv. 4; Josh. xv. 3; Judges i. 36); the “way of the ascent to Bethhoron”’ (Josh. x. 10); the ascent of Adummim “(Josh. xv. 7); the” as ent of the city “(1 Sam. ix. 11); the” ascent of Olivet” (2 Sam. xv. 30); at “the ascent of Gur “(2 Kings ix. 27); the” ascent of Ziz “(2 Chron. xx. 16); they “buried him in the ascent of the sepulchres “(2 Chron. xxxii. 33); the” ascent of the Levites “(Neh. ix. 4); the ascent of the wall” (Neh. xii. 37); the ‘’ascent of Luhith” (Isa. xv. 5; Jer. xlviii. 5) These different places or objects were on heights, like Dhahariyah, and the way up to them was the Maaleh or ascent. The “ascent of the city “is the way which leads up to the city; the “ascent of the sepulchres ‘? is the way which leads up to the sepulchres; the “ascent of the wall” is the way which leads vp to the wall.
At five we reach a grassy field of a few acres, at the foot of the height on which the fort stands. It is slightly hollow, and bears marks of cultivation. Here we halt, not far from two old and massive olive-trees, which throw their branches over a circle of large diameter, — a circle which, we find, to be walled in with a low row of stones, as a fence against injury, and also to keep the surface-earth loose about the tree-roots. The olives look very venerable, and, though their “high tops” are not “bald with dry antiquity,” they look rather majestic in this spot, and greatly improve the scene.
But a man clothed in authority has made his appearance, having on his breast a large brass plate, like a porter’s badge, informing us, both in Arabic and French, that he is a government officer belonging to the “Board of Health.” Unexpectedly we find that we are in quarantine. Of this calamity our dragoman had given us no warning, though he must have been aware of it. Quarantine on this lonely crag! Amid these ill-favoured villagers! And within two day’s ride of J erusalem! How tiresome! But we are quite relieved at learning that our sanitary imprisonment lasts only for a day, or rather a night; and we are allowed to depart in the morning as usual, only accompanied by our garde de sante, who is to see that we hold intercourse with no one, that we disperse no infection by the way, and that we are safely lodged in El-Khulil; the line of separation between the infected and the healthy
DHAHARIYAH.
being preserved with the most scrupulous care. We have come out of Egypt, it seems, and the plague was there a few years ago (as were the ten plagues three thousand years ago), — therefore we must go into quarantine. True, we have been five weeks in the desert, which ought to have disinfected and deodorized us. But months of the desert are ineffectual for this. A night at Dhahariyah can do what forty days and nights in Et-Tih cannot achieve. However, we submit to the Pasha’s decree without a murmur, seeing, after all, it does not keep us here an hour longer than we intended. We get moreover an illustration of scripture, viz., that a single night may stand for a whole day.
We unload and pitch our tents. A cordon is drawn around us, — at least, a semi- cordon; for, though debarred all access to village and fort, we are left free to ascend the rocky steeps that rise above us to the east. Exclusion from the village is no hardship, as, at all times in the east, the outside is preferable to the inside of such a place, be it Khan or Kasr, or Kalat, or Balad or Medina. But we were sorry not to have a nearer look at the old castle, which is probably Roman, with relics, perhaps, of a Jewish foundation; for, though Dhahariyah has not been identified with any Biblical or J osephan name, it must have always been a place of too great strength, as a frontier-pass and key to the hill country of Judah, not to have been fortified. Whether Dhahariyah may have taken its name, in long ages past, from “Zohar the Hittite,” (Gen. xxv. 9), or from Zohar the son of Simeon, (Gen. xlvi. 10), or whether the word simply means “noon,” as Dr Robinson’s Index says, I do not pretend to say.
We took our way to the heights above us, on the east, after examining and admiring the old olives near our tents. A pretty broad path winds south-eastwards up the side of the hill, which we pursued for a little, but soon struck more directly upwards. The huge outlying blocks of bare rock that strew the slope, and shelter some stray trees or shrubs, give great ruggedness to the scene, — sometimes appearing as precipices, sometimes like ruins. There is a sprinkling of grass here and there, which not only softens the landscape, but shews what might be made of this mountain-hollow.
We would fain climb to the top; but the sinking sun deters us.* We know that we are among thieves, if not robbers; so we must be cautious in our wanderings, though our experience since we left Cairo has not been such as to suggest alarms, and has rather inclined us to undervalue the prowess of travellers who have passed through dangers on every hand, and who could construct adventures out of the grunt of a camel or the report of a gun. It is pleasant from these heights to see village-
* From the top of the hill Dr Robinson saw the ruins of Semua, east by south, which he thinks are to be identified with the Eshtemoh of Joshua (xv. 50), and was told that, close by, was Attir, perhaps the Jattir of Scripture (Josh. xv. 48), which, with Shamir and Socoh, had its place in the mountains of Judah. “Biblical Researches,” vol. i. p. 494; ii. p. 205. Wilson’s “Lands of the Bible,” vol. i. p. 353, 354. Dr W. has identified Ghawein, near Dhahariyah, not with the A in of Jo3h. xv. 32, but with the A nim of the 50th verse,
VILLAGE SMOKE.
smoke once more, though it be but a puff here and there of some family preparing its evening meal.* For about five weeks we have hardly seen any human dwelling save a black Arab screen, and here are actually cottages, and a castle to crown them! Our desert sojourn has shewn us how “the mighty men of the children of Kedar have been diminished “(Isa. xxi. 17), so that “the villages of Kedar” (Isa. xlii. 11) have vanished, “the glory of Kedar” (Isa. xxi. 16) “has failed,“’ and only some very few even of” the tents of Kedar 33 (Psa. cxx. 5, Cant. i. 5) remain. And though now we are traversing the “goodly land,” yet, strange to say, it seems almost as naked a desert (in so far as man is concerned) as Sherif or Euhaibeh.
We soon return, as the shadows are coming down, — though without one cloud in all the glowing Occident.
* For once, we westerns have an advantage in understanding a Bible figure. Smoke is little known in the east, either in cities or villages, and there are no “chimney-tops “for sight-seers to resort to; hence the words, “they shall mount up like the lifting up of smoke,” (Isa. ix. 18), — “the wicked shall consume into smoke” (Psa. xxxvii. 20), — “as smoke is driven away, so drive thou them away,” (Psa. lxviii. 2), — “my days are consumed like smoke” (Psa. cii. 3), — are quite as expressive in the west as in the east. Our western fuel does not give forth so acrid a smoke as where wood is used; hence, again, “smoke to the eyes,” (Prov. x. 26), — “smoke in my nose,” (Isa. lxv. 5), — are figures more of the east than the west, as is the “amaras fumus” of Virgil. — (Mn. xii. 588). The “bottle in the smoke,” (Psa. cxix. 83), reminds us of a Highland hut as well as a Syrian hovel; for, in both, the smoke finds its way up out at the roof only after paying its rtspects to the different corners and walls. The ‘• chimney “(Hos. xiii. 3) is the mere hole in the roof for escape, — a “smoke-hole.” See Gesenius, The weary sun hath made a golden set; And by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives token of a goodly day to-rnorrow.
As we near the foot, in the direction of the old olives, we see a flock of perhaps threescore black and white sheep returning from the hillside, where they have been grazing, or from the caves in which they have been sheltered from the noon-heat. Before them slowly walks the shepherd, staff in hand, not once looking behind him. The flock follows quietly, not scattering nor needing the rod or the angry shout. He and they seem to know each other well, and to have mutual confidence. He who wrote the twenty-third Psalm must have known scenes like this; and still more He who said, “when he putteth forth his own sheep, lie goeth before them and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice,” (John x. 4).
After dinner the sheikh of the village pays a visit to our encampment, or at least to the end of the field where our tents are; for the laws of quarantine are rigid, and he dare not cross the line which the guard has drawn, nor exchange anything with us but words and frowns. Our dragoman calls us out of our tents to hear his proposals and demands. If not quite reasonable, they are very intelligible. He denies our right to encamp here without his permission; and since we have thus intruded, we must pay trespass-money. The ground is not his, we tell him; and besides, here we are. snugly encamped, armed with double-barrelled
DEMANIS OF THE SHEIKH.
guns, revolvers, and matchlocks, with a magic line of health drawn round — let him dare to lay a finger on us! We came without his leave; and as we came, so we mean to stay until it suits us to go. Well then, we must pay him handsomely for permission to remain. As to paying, why he has no right to a farthing, and besides, we are really quite short of money, having paid it nearly all away at Jebel-Musa and Kalat Nakhl. We can give him nothing till we reach El-Khuds. That will never do. Franks have always plenty of money; and we must empty our purses. Money he must have, and that a fair round sum too. We are the first travellers he has got hold of this season, and he cannot afford to let us go, Besides, according to the law of this lawless land, our Bedawin must stop here. They have no right to guide or carry us farther. His Highness, Sheikh of Dhahariyah, will provide us with as many men and camels as we like (perhaps more) to take us on to El-Khulil, and we must now consider ourselves, legally or illegally, at his mercy. Not a tent-peg shall we pull up till we have paid him his gold and hired his camels. How much does he expect from us? Five hundred piastres each (£5), besides one hundred piastres per camel, — not a parah less! This is too much. Yet we hardly know whether to be amused or annoyed, seeing we are more at his mercy than we should like to be, and he is one of the most scoundrellooking men we have seen either of Bedawin or Fellahin. Sheikh Suliman was a gentleman in comparison with this mountain -robber. We remind him that our nation is at this moment fighting the Sultan’s battles, — and that he must not be so hard upon Englishmen. What does he care about Sultan or Stambul? We appeal to the Pasha of Jerusalem. What does he care about Pasha or El-Khilds? He must have his piastres, or we shall not move. What is the English Consul or the Queen of Great Britain to him? Our dragoman gets eloquent, both in word and deed; and tearing his cap from his head, flings it, in real or feigned indignation, at the Sheikh’s feet, meaning “take my head first.” Neither argument nor eloquence avails, and the Egyptian’s fez-cap is tossed back with horror, upon the end of a chibouque-stick, as a transgression of the laws of quarantine. We must pay the vagabond his money, or else remain prisoners at his pleasure.
It is late; so we give up the contest for the night. Telling him that w7e belonged to the nation that had taken Sebastopol, and that he need not expect us to strike to him, we retire to our tents; though not without some misgivings that mischief may follow in the morning. The village is said to contain a hundred able-bodied men, owning no good name either for honesty or peaceableness; and if he succeed in rousing their passions or their covetousness against us, we may be forced to yield to his extortion, nay, perhaps to submit to an increased exaction. Our dragoman, however, does not take the matter very seriously, and says that he means to start on the morrow at his usual hour, and let the sheikh do his wrorst.
FIRST NIGHT IN PALESTINE.
The sheikh and his half dozen of village grandees, — all nearly as ill-favoured as himself, — now rise, and giving us scanty salutation, make their way homewards up the slope. We soon retire to rest,, committing ourselves to the mighty guardianship of Him who neither “slumbers nor sleeps,” A heathen has taught us the lesson,
“Quid sit futurum eras fuge quserere
and a greater than he has given faith a wTord to rest upon, —
“Care not then for the morrowe,
For the morrowe shall care for itself;
Every daye hath ynough of its owne travayll.”
(Matt. vi. 34. — Tyndale’s trans.)
In a short time all is quiet around us. The villagers, young and old, have gone to roost. Our own Arabs are asleep. Our quarantine guard professes to keep watch. But knowing that we are in the neighbourhood of pilferers, we look well to our tents, so placing our baggage in the centre that no hand nor hook may intrude at any point to purloin our goods without awakening ourselves. Not that we have much fear, but a little foresight often prevents a world of mischief and regret. Our own Arabs are faithful, and they lie around us, so that even the light footfall of theft could hardly trust itself to move between their ranks. They are quite aware of their unsafe proximity to a village whose evil name has found its way far into the desert of Et-Tih. Aoudeh, for security, deposits his bavoudeh in our tent. He can trust us, but he cannot trust his fellow-moslems of Dhahariyah.
We have been well provided with water to-night, — our first in Palestine. It is not the first time that we have drank of the waters of the land; for we tried some this morning at Bir-es-Seba, and we tasted of some brooks or pools by the way. But this is the first time that we have had our caravan-supply out of the wells of Judaea. Women (who look much more respectable than the men) bring it to us in water-skins. They are not allowed to approach nearer than the low rude wall that lines the highway to the village, which seems less than a stone’s cast from our tents. But they bring their well-filled skins to the wall, and laying them down on one of its large stones, they retire till our men have emptied them into our barrels. The water is excellent; the best that we have tasted since we drew from the well of Sinai.
To-morrow, if the sheikh allows us, we hope to rest in the city of Abraham and David. Each hour will bring us into better known and more interesting territory. And though we have got no very civil welcome at our first resting-place, we are better off than many a pilgrim of the old age, who would have been tossed into some dungeon of yon old castle, and would have been glad to get free by the payment of a ransom fifty times as large as that which is demanded of us.*
* See the frequent references in the travellers of the last two centuries to the payment of “Caphar” or tribute, in every district through which they passed, — as well as narratives of pilgrims of a still anterior age.