About an hour's ride over a rough, rocky road, half flooded with water,
and through a forest of oaks of Bashan, brought us to Dan.
From a little mound here in the plain issues a broad stream of limpid
water and forms a large shallow pool, and then rushes furiously onward,
augmented in volume. This puddle is an important source of the Jordan. Its
banks, and those of the brook are respectably adorned with blooming
oleanders, but the unutterable beauty of the spot will not throw a
well-balanced man into convulsions, as the Syrian books of travel would
lead one to suppose.
From the spot I am speaking of, a cannon-ball would carry beyond the
confines of Holy Land and light upon profane ground three miles away. We
were only one little hour's travel within the borders of Holy Land—we
had hardly begun to appreciate yet that we were standing upon any
different sort of earth than that we had always been used to, and see how
the historic names began already to cluster! Dan—Bashan—Lake
Huleh—the Sources of Jordan—the Sea of Galilee. They were all
in sight but the last, and it was not far away. The little township of
Bashan was once the kingdom so famous in Scripture for its bulls and its
Lake Huleh is the Biblical "Waters of Merom." Dan was the northern and
Beersheba the southern limit of Palestine—hence the expression "from
Dan to Beersheba." It is equivalent to our phrases "from Maine to Texas"—"from
Baltimore to San Francisco." Our expression and that of the Israelites
both mean the same—great distance. With their slow camels and asses,
it was about a seven days' journey from Dan to Beersheba—-say a
hundred and fifty or sixty miles—it was the entire length of their
country, and was not to be undertaken without great preparation and much
ceremony. When the Prodigal traveled to "a far country," it is not likely
that he went more than eighty or ninety miles. Palestine is only from
forty to sixty miles wide. The State of Missouri could be split into three
Palestines, and there would then be enough material left for part of
another—possibly a whole one. From Baltimore to San Francisco is
several thousand miles, but it will be only a seven days' journey in the
cars when I am two or three years older.—[The railroad has been
completed since the above was written.]—If I live I shall
necessarily have to go across the continent every now and then in those
cars, but one journey from Dan to Beersheba will be sufficient, no doubt.
It must be the most trying of the two. Therefore, if we chance to discover
that from Dan to Beersheba seemed a mighty stretch of country to the
Israelites, let us not be airy with them, but reflect that it was and is a
mighty stretch when one can not traverse it by rail.
The small mound I have mentioned a while ago was once occupied by the
Phenician city of Laish. A party of filibusters from Zorah and Eschol
captured the place, and lived there in a free and easy way, worshiping
gods of their own manufacture and stealing idols from their neighbors
whenever they wore their own out. Jeroboam set up a golden calf here to
fascinate his people and keep them from making dangerous trips to
Jerusalem to worship, which might result in a return to their rightful
allegiance. With all respect for those ancient Israelites, I can not
overlook the fact that they were not always virtuous enough to withstand
the seductions of a golden calf. Human nature has not changed much since
Some forty centuries ago the city of Sodom was pillaged by the Arab
princes of Mesopotamia, and among other prisoners they seized upon the
patriarch Lot and brought him here on their way to their own possessions.
They brought him to Dan, and father Abraham, who was pursuing them, crept
softly in at dead of night, among the whispering oleanders and under the
shadows of the stately oaks, and fell upon the slumbering victors and
startled them from their dreams with the clash of steel. He recaptured Lot
and all the other plunder.
We moved on. We were now in a green valley, five or six miles wide and
fifteen long. The streams which are called the sources of the Jordan flow
through it to Lake Huleh, a shallow pond three miles in diameter, and from
the southern extremity of the Lake the concentrated Jordan flows out. The
Lake is surrounded by a broad marsh, grown with reeds. Between the marsh
and the mountains which wall the valley is a respectable strip of fertile
land; at the end of the valley, toward Dan, as much as half the land is
solid and fertile, and watered by Jordan's sources. There is enough of it
to make a farm. It almost warrants the enthusiasm of the spies of that
rabble of adventurers who captured Dan. They said: "We have seen the land,
and behold it is very good. * * * A place where there is no want of any
thing that is in the earth."
Their enthusiasm was at least warranted by the fact that they had never
seen a country as good as this. There was enough of it for the ample
support of their six hundred men and their families, too.
When we got fairly down on the level part of the Danite farm, we came to
places where we could actually run our horses. It was a notable
We had been painfully clambering over interminable hills and rocks for
days together, and when we suddenly came upon this astonishing piece of
rockless plain, every man drove the spurs into his horse and sped away
with a velocity he could surely enjoy to the utmost, but could never hope
to comprehend in Syria.
Here were evidences of cultivation—a rare sight in this country—an
acre or two of rich soil studded with last season's dead corn-stalks of
the thickness of your thumb and very wide apart. But in such a land it was
a thrilling spectacle. Close to it was a stream, and on its banks a great
herd of curious-looking Syrian goats and sheep were gratefully eating
gravel. I do not state this as a petrified fact—I only suppose they
were eating gravel, because there did not appear to be any thing else for
them to eat. The shepherds that tended them were the very pictures of
Joseph and his brethren I have no doubt in the world. They were tall,
muscular, and very dark-skinned Bedouins, with inky black beards. They had
firm lips, unquailing eyes, and a kingly stateliness of bearing. They wore
the parti-colored half bonnet, half hood, with fringed ends falling upon
their shoulders, and the full, flowing robe barred with broad black
stripes—the dress one sees in all pictures of the swarthy sons of
the desert. These chaps would sell their younger brothers if they had a
chance, I think. They have the manners, the customs, the dress, the
occupation and the loose principles of the ancient stock. [They attacked
our camp last night, and I bear them no good will.] They had with them the
pigmy jackasses one sees all over Syria and remembers in all pictures of
the "Flight into Egypt," where Mary and the Young Child are riding and
Joseph is walking alongside, towering high above the little donkey's
But really, here the man rides and carries the child, as a general thing,
and the woman walks. The customs have not changed since Joseph's time. We
would not have in our houses a picture representing Joseph riding and Mary
walking; we would see profanation in it, but a Syrian Christian would not.
I know that hereafter the picture I first spoke of will look odd to me.
We could not stop to rest two or three hours out from our camp, of course,
albeit the brook was beside us. So we went on an hour longer. We saw
water, then, but nowhere in all the waste around was there a foot of
shade, and we were scorching to death. "Like unto the shadow of a great
rock in a weary land." Nothing in the Bible is more beautiful than that,
and surely there is no place we have wandered to that is able to give it
such touching expression as this blistering, naked, treeless land.
Here you do not stop just when you please, but when you can. We found
water, but no shade. We traveled on and found a tree at last, but no
water. We rested and lunched, and came on to this place, Ain Mellahah (the
boys call it Baldwinsville.) It was a very short day's run, but the
dragoman does not want to go further, and has invented a plausible lie
about the country beyond this being infested by ferocious Arabs, who would
make sleeping in their midst a dangerous pastime. Well, they ought to be
dangerous. They carry a rusty old weather-beaten flint-lock gun, with a
barrel that is longer than themselves; it has no sights on it, it will not
carry farther than a brickbat, and is not half so certain. And the great
sash they wear in many a fold around their waists has two or three absurd
old horse-pistols in it that are rusty from eternal disuse—weapons
that would hang fire just about long enough for you to walk out of range,
and then burst and blow the Arab's head off. Exceedingly dangerous these
sons of the desert are.
It used to make my blood run cold to read Wm. C. Grimes' hairbreadth
escapes from Bedouins, but I think I could read them now without a tremor.
He never said he was attacked by Bedouins, I believe, or was ever treated
uncivilly, but then in about every other chapter he discovered them
approaching, any how, and he had a blood-curdling fashion of working up
the peril; and of wondering how his relations far away would feel could
they see their poor wandering boy, with his weary feet and his dim eyes,
in such fearful danger; and of thinking for the last time of the old
homestead, and the dear old church, and the cow, and those things; and of
finally straightening his form to its utmost height in the saddle, drawing
his trusty revolver, and then dashing the spurs into "Mohammed" and
sweeping down upon the ferocious enemy determined to sell his life as
dearly as possible. True the Bedouins never did any thing to him when he
arrived, and never had any intention of doing any thing to him in the
first place, and wondered what in the mischief he was making all that
to-do about; but still I could not divest myself of the idea, somehow,
that a frightful peril had been escaped through that man's dare-devil
bravery, and so I never could read about Wm. C. Grimes' Bedouins and sleep
comfortably afterward. But I believe the Bedouins to be a fraud, now. I
have seen the monster, and I can outrun him. I shall never be afraid of
his daring to stand behind his own gun and discharge it.
About fifteen hundred years before Christ, this camp-ground of ours by the
Waters of Merom was the scene of one of Joshua's exterminating battles.
Jabin, King of Hazor, (up yonder above Dan,) called all the sheiks about
him together, with their hosts, to make ready for Israel's terrible
General who was approaching.
"And when all these Kings were met together, they came and pitched
together by the Waters of Merom, to fight against Israel. And they went
out, they and all their hosts with them, much people, even as the sand
that is upon the sea-shore for multitude," etc.
But Joshua fell upon them and utterly destroyed them, root and branch.
That was his usual policy in war. He never left any chance for newspaper
controversies about who won the battle. He made this valley, so quiet now,
a reeking slaughter-pen.
Somewhere in this part of the country—I do not know exactly where—Israel
fought another bloody battle a hundred years later. Deborah, the
prophetess, told Barak to take ten thousand men and sally forth against
another King Jabin who had been doing something. Barak came down from
Mount Tabor, twenty or twenty-five miles from here, and gave battle to
Jabin's forces, who were in command of Sisera. Barak won the fight, and
while he was making the victory complete by the usual method of
exterminating the remnant of the defeated host, Sisera fled away on foot,
and when he was nearly exhausted by fatigue and thirst, one Jael, a woman
he seems to have been acquainted with, invited him to come into her tent
and rest himself. The weary soldier acceded readily enough, and Jael put
him to bed. He said he was very thirsty, and asked his generous preserver
to get him a cup of water. She brought him some milk, and he drank of it
gratefully and lay down again, to forget in pleasant dreams his lost
battle and his humbled pride. Presently when he was asleep she came softly
in with a hammer and drove a hideous tent-pen down through his brain!
"For he was fast asleep and weary. So he died." Such is the touching
language of the Bible. "The Song of Deborah and Barak" praises Jael for
the memorable service she had rendered, in an exultant strain:
"Blessed above women shall Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite be, blessed
shall she be above women in the tent.
"He asked for water, and she gave him milk; she brought forth butter in
a lordly dish.
"She put her hand to the nail, and her right hand to the workman's
hammer; and with the hammer she smote Sisera, she smote off his head
when she had pierced and stricken through his temples.
"At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down: at her feet he bowed, he
fell: where he bowed, there he fell down dead."
Stirring scenes like these occur in this valley no more. There is not a
solitary village throughout its whole extent—not for thirty miles in
either direction. There are two or three small clusters of Bedouin tents,
but not a single permanent habitation. One may ride ten miles, hereabouts,
and not see ten human beings.
To this region one of the prophecies is applied:
"I will bring the land into desolation; and your enemies which dwell
therein shall be astonished at it. And I will scatter you among the
heathen, and I will draw out a sword after you; and your land shall be
desolate and your cities waste."
No man can stand here by deserted Ain Mellahah and say the prophecy has
not been fulfilled.
In a verse from the Bible which I have quoted above, occurs the phrase
"all these kings." It attracted my attention in a moment, because it
carries to my mind such a vastly different significance from what it
always did at home. I can see easily enough that if I wish to profit by
this tour and come to a correct understanding of the matters of interest
connected with it, I must studiously and faithfully unlearn a great many
things I have somehow absorbed concerning Palestine. I must begin a system
of reduction. Like my grapes which the spies bore out of the Promised
Land, I have got every thing in Palestine on too large a scale. Some of my
ideas were wild enough. The word Palestine always brought to my mind a
vague suggestion of a country as large as the United States. I do not know
why, but such was the case. I suppose it was because I could not conceive
of a small country having so large a history. I think I was a little
surprised to find that the grand Sultan of Turkey was a man of only
ordinary size. I must try to reduce my ideas of Palestine to a more
reasonable shape. One gets large impressions in boyhood, sometimes, which
he has to fight against all his life. "All these kings." When I used to
read that in Sunday School, it suggested to me the several kings of such
countries as England, France, Spain, Germany, Russia, etc., arrayed in
splendid robes ablaze with jewels, marching in grave procession, with
sceptres of gold in their hands and flashing crowns upon their heads. But
here in Ain Mellahah, after coming through Syria, and after giving serious
study to the character and customs of the country, the phrase "all these
kings" loses its grandeur. It suggests only a parcel of petty chiefs—ill-clad
and ill-conditioned savages much like our Indians, who lived in full sight
of each other and whose "kingdoms" were large when they were five miles
square and contained two thousand souls. The combined monarchies of the
thirty "kings" destroyed by Joshua on one of his famous campaigns, only
covered an area about equal to four of our counties of ordinary size. The
poor old sheik we saw at Cesarea Philippi with his ragged band of a
hundred followers, would have been called a "king" in those ancient times.
It is seven in the morning, and as we are in the country, the grass ought
to be sparkling with dew, the flowers enriching the air with their
fragrance, and the birds singing in the trees. But alas, there is no dew
here, nor flowers, nor birds, nor trees. There is a plain and an unshaded
lake, and beyond them some barren mountains. The tents are tumbling, the
Arabs are quarreling like dogs and cats, as usual, the campground is
strewn with packages and bundles, the labor of packing them upon the backs
of the mules is progressing with great activity, the horses are saddled,
the umbrellas are out, and in ten minutes we shall mount and the long
procession will move again. The white city of the Mellahah, resurrected
for a moment out of the dead centuries, will have disappeared again and
left no sign.