Chapter X (1)

Northern Palestine. ―― Gibeah. ―― Birthplace of King Saul. ――
Historical Events. ―― Thrilling Story of Rizpah watching her
Dead Sons. ―― Identity of the City. ―― Field of the Arrow.
―― Parting of David and Jonathan. ―― Nob. ―― Massacre of the
Priests. ―― The View. ―― Birthplace of Jeremiah. ―― Geba. ――
Pottage. ―― Benighted. ―― Yusef Shang, of Beeroth. ―― A Night
of strange Experience. ―― Town of Beeroth. ―― Ancient Bethel.
―― Its Desolation. Site of the City. ―― Abraham’s Altar. ――
Parting of Abraham and Lot. ―― The Fountain. ―― Jacob’s Flight
and Dream. ―― Idolatry. ―― Prophecy fulfilled. ―― Route to
Shiloh. ―― Romantic Scenery. ―― Robbers’ Fountain. ―― Wild
Glen. ―― Robbers. ―― Their Dance. ―― Sinjil. ―― Shiloh. ――
Remains. ―― Site discovered in 1838. ―― Tower. ―― Damsels
of Shiloh carried off. ―― Death of Eli. ―― Approach of the
Robbers. ―― An Attack. ―― Resistance. ―― Again assailed. ――
Again resist. ―― Revolvers drawn. ―― Escape. ―― Overtaken.
―― Third Attack. ―― Revolvers in demand. ―― Sixteen against
Four. ―― Serious Moment. ―― One of the Party whipped. ―― Narrow
Escape. ―― Lebonah. ―― Ride to Nablous. ―― Grand View. ――
Evening on the Plain of Mukhrah. ―― Antiquity of Nablous. ――
History. ―― Its beautiful Situation. ―― Population. ―― Inside
View of the Town. ―― Character of the People. ―― Christian
School. ―― Origin of the Samaritans. ―― Remnant of the Nation.
―― Their Creed. ―― Their religious Peculiarities. ―― Their
High-priest. ―― Their sacred Writings. ―― Vale of Shechem.
―― Its Length and Beauty. ―― Cursings and Blessings of the
Law. ―― The Scene. ―― Great Congregation. ―― Twin Mountains.
―― Jacob’s Well. ―― History. ―― Sweet Water. ―― Evidence of
its Antiquity. ―― Jesus at the Well. ―― Woman of Samaria. ――
Accuracy of its evangelical History. ―― Well Sold. ―― Tomb of
Joseph. ―― Symbol of his Life. ―― Ascent of Mount Ebal. ――
Twenty Lepers. ―― Ascent of Mount Gerizim. ―― Almond-groves.
―― Ruins on the Summit. ―― Holy of Holies of the Samaritans.
―― Traditions. ―― Not the Scene of the Offering of Isaac. ――
Samaritan Passover. ―― Impressive Moment. ―― Lambs slain. ――
The Feast.

THE day was all that the most romantic tourist or thoughtful traveler could have desired, when, at three o’clock on Monday afternoon, in the month of April, we left Jerusalem for the last time, on our long tour through Northern Palestine. Passing out of the Damascus Gate, I ascended the rocky ridge over the grotto of Jeremiah, and looked down upon the Holy City with the fondness of one bidding adieu to the scenes of his childhood. A gentle breeze was blowing from the Western Sea, and the flag of our country floated from the summit of Zion. The clattering of horses’ hoofs on the pavements below told me my companions were coming, and, turning to the northwest, the “City of the Great King” faded forever from my view. Crossing the hill Scopus, we were soon on the great caravan route leading from Egypt to Damascus. For half an hour our path lay through an open and undulating country, when it passed between two conical hills――Shâfât on the west, and Nob on the east. Less than a mile beyond the latter is Gibeah, the birthplace of King Saul.[435] Called by the Arabs Tuleil el-Fûl――“the Hill of the Beans”――it resembles a perfect cone when viewed from a distance. Rising from a rich plain, it is an object of universal attraction. Terraced from base to summit, it presents to the eye a beautiful appearance, as the green circles of corn mingle with the white limestone soil. On the summit are the remains of a tower or palace, fifty-six feet long and forty-eight wide, and by some unknown force the huge blocks of stone have been thrown together in a form not unlike a pyramid.

Few places in the Holy Land fill so large a space in the inspired volume as Gibeah. Coming from Bethlehem on his way to Mount Ephraim, the unfortunate Levite at nightfall turned in hither, and was received into the house of a peasant. That night was committed an offense by the young men of the city, which resulted in one of the most terrible battles on record. To punish the offenders and avenge the insult, around this hill all Israel gathered for battle against the Benjamites, and, though the former were repeatedly repulsed, they at length triumphed and well-nigh exterminated the tribe of Benjamin.[436] Three centuries later, after the death of all the actors in that mournful tragedy, Gibeah rose to royal significance. Here resided Kish, unto whom was born Saul, than whom “there was not among the children of Israel a goodlier person than he; from his shoulders and upward he was higher than any of the people.”[437] From here his father sent Saul to recover the strayed asses, and, while looking for the asses, he found a kingdom. Returning from Rameh after his coronation, he chose Gibeah as the seat of his new government.[438] From this first royal city in Palestine he went forth to fight his first battle, which was against the Ammonites, who had besieged Jabesh-gilead.[439] After his rejection by Samuel at Gilgal, hither Saul returned in disgrace;[440] and it was here, in those dark days of disappointment which followed, that an evil spirit came upon him, and, to soothe his troubled soul by the soft music of his harp, the shepherd-boy of Bethlehem was summoned to the king’s presence.[441] Here the high-minded Jonathan conceived his more than woman’s love for the son of Jesse.[442] Forgetting earlier attachments and David’s well-earned renown, here, in a fit of passion, Saul threw his javelin at the youthful warrior.[442] Here he gave his daughter Michal in marriage to David;[442] and here the true-hearted wife rescued her persecuted husband from the murderous hand of her father, and deceived the king by placing an image in her bed.[443] Here the unwilling Michal was given to Phalti,[444] and from Gibeah Saul and his sons went forth to the fatal battle of Gilboa.[445]

Forty years after the death of the king the tragical history of Gibeah closed, as it had commenced, in a scene of blood. For an offense, the history of which is neither recorded by sacred or profane writers, the Almighty sent a famine of three years’ continuance upon the land, and when David inquired of the Lord the cause, he was informed, “It is for Saul and for his bloody house, because he slew the Gibeonites.”[446] Josephus supposes that Saul had violated the treaty which Joshua had made with the men of Gibeon, and had attempted to slay the entire population of the city. Wishing to relieve his kingdom from the miseries of a famine, David summoned the Gibeonites to his presence, to ascertain the nature of the redress they demanded. They demanded the surrender of seven of the descendants of Saul to be hung in Gibeah, and their request was granted. Five of the victims were the sons of Merab, whom Michal had brought up after her sister’s death, and the other two were the sons of Saul by his wife Rizpah.[447] On the same day the sons and grandsons of Israel’s first king were executed together, to expiate the offense of a father long since dead. Less fortunate than the offspring of Merab, the sons of Rizpah left a mother to mourn their untimely end. For tenderness of affection, for the depth of maternal grief, and for the lengthened period of watching and mourning, the story of Rizpah has no parallel in the literature of any nation. David’s sorrow for Absalom was sincere, keen, and overwhelming, but the grief of Rizpah was the sorrow of a mother. “And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest upon them by day, nor the beasts of the fields by night.” Such was the mournful spectacle that that broken-hearted mother presented to all who passed by, sitting beside the bones of her dead sons all through the long Syrian summer, from April till October, neither permitting the vulture to prey upon them by day nor the hyena by night. Time had assuaged her grief, and David ordered that the bones of her sons should be interred with those of Saul and Jonathan, in the country of Zelah, in the sepulchre of Kish.[448]

The identity of Gibeah as the scene of so many important events is sustained by evidence no less abundant than indubitable. In his description of the march of Titus to Jerusalem, Josephus informs us that the Roman general halted at Gibeah, thirty stadia from Jerusalem, which exactly corresponds with the distance between this hill and the Jewish capital. During the night a Roman legion, coming from Emmaus, joined the main army here, where is the point of junction between the two great routes from the north and west, and on the following morning the combined forces moved on to Scopus, from whence they beheld the Holy City. Three centuries later, Jerome, in describing the journey of Lady Paula to Jerusalem, represents her as coming up from Joppa _via_ the two Bethhorons, with Ajalon and Gibeon on the right, and stopping at Gibeah, where “she called to mind the old story of the Levite and his concubine.” Thus the crimes of a city perpetuate the memory of its site.

South of Gibeah is the field which contained the stone Ezel, where occurred the affecting interview between David and Jonathan, and where the latter discharged the signal arrow for the escape of the former. Behind one of the many jutting rocks which here lift their naked crowns on high the fugitive found a hiding-place, where he remained till, according to a previous agreement, Jonathan came, shot an arrow beyond a little lad, and cried, “Is not the arrow beyond thee?” which was the signal that Saul was intent on killing David. The two friends met, embraced, and wept; and, after renewing their covenant, Jonathan returned to Gibeah, and David fled to Nob. His presence excited the fears of the priest Abimelech, which he soon, however, allayed by a plausible story, and from his hand received the sword of Goliath, and the shew-bread to which our Lord alludes.[449] It was because of this kindness to a public enemy that Abimelech was summoned to the presence of the enraged king, and sentenced to death by him, with all of his father’s house. Revering the sacred person of a priest, no Israelite would execute the royal sentence. The work of executioner fell to the lot of Doeg, the stranger, the shepherd, and the spy. Unappeased by the slaughter of eighty-five innocent priests, Saul smote the city of Nob with the edge of the sword.[450] Two places are designated as the probable site of this ancient Levitical city――one containing the famous tomb of El-Messahney, near the Tombs of the Judges, and the other a conical peak less than a mile to the south from Gibeah. The former has the advantage of an acknowledged Jewish sepulchre, while the latter has that of location.

The view from the summit of Gibeah is as interesting as it is commanding. Three miles to the southeast is Anâta, the Anathoth of the Bible and the birthplace of Jeremiah. Never large, it still retains its diminutive proportions. Standing on a low, broad ridge, surrounded by green fields, twenty huts occupy the site of this once priestly city. Of the ancient town all that now remains are portions of an old wall, a spacious cistern, and fragments of marble columns. It was hither Solomon banished Abiathar for attempting to raise Adonijah to the throne of his father David.[451] But Anathoth is chiefly significant as the native city of the greatest of prophets, whose courage was equal to his danger, whose fortitude never forsook him, and whose zeal for God was only excelled by the terribleness of his persecutions. In the darkest hour of his country’s history, Jeremiah was called to lament the desolations of Zion, to reprove kings, and to die for the truth. Offended at the severity of his denunciations, his townsmen drove him from the place of his birth, and, flying to Jerusalem for refuge, his fidelity to God, his unblanched courage in reproving royal crimes, and his horrid pictures of coming ruin, evoked the angry passions of those whom he would have reformed, and the plaintive bard of Israel was added to the long but honored list of martyrs.

Turning to the northwest, the tower of Geba of Benjamin was visible,[452] and three miles beyond were the rocks of Michmash, where Jonathan surprised and defeated the Philistines, and where are still to be seen the famous rocks Bozez and Seneh.[453] After glancing at other memorable places, which, together with those mentioned, we had previously visited, we descended from the summit of the hill, and at its base entered a noble field of lentiles or pottage, such as Esau sold his birthright for.[454] When young it resembles a pea-vine. It grows to the height of eight inches, and when harvested it is pulled like flax. It is cooked like beans, with the exception that the water is allowed to evaporate, when the softened grain is stewed with butter and onions, making a delicious dish, and one worth a birthright to a famishing hunter.

The sun was setting, and the shadow of the mountains darkened the plains when we resumed our journey. The lateness of the hour required dispatch, and Beeroth, the place where we were to spend the night, was six miles to the north. Unfortunately we were without a guide, and our path was simply a camel track, devious, stony, and uncertain. Though we knew the general direction of Beeroth, yet the number of small villages in the vicinity, the growing darkness, and the uncertainty of the road, baffled all effort to find the place. Overtaking an Arab belonging to Beit Untâh, he agreed for a present to serve us as guide. Not suspecting deception, we followed him nearly to his own town, which he assured us was the desired place. But knowing from our maps that Beeroth was to the right of the path, and Beit Untâh to the left, we refused to follow him farther. Truth is an unknown virtue in the Arab character, and he who confides in it leans upon a broken reed. For the paltry sum which a night’s lodging would bring, this man was leading us astray.

A solitary light shone from a hut in Beeroth, when, turning eastward, we traversed plowed fields, leaped ditches, crossed ravines, and rued the day we had presumed to travel without a guide. Reaching a fountain, the waters of which sparkled in the starlight, we regained the path. Having a letter of introduction from Dr. Sandreczki, of Jerusalem, to one Yûsef Shang, a Christian Arab, and the scribe of the town, we inquired for him; but, to add to our mishaps, Yûsef was not at home. There we were, homeless, foodless, friendless, and in the dark. An old Arab dame, however (heaven pity her homeliness and reward her kindness!), knew where Yûsef was, and called him to our aid.

Yûsef Shang was a noble specimen of the Arab race. He was of medium height, well built, of full habit, with towering brow, large black eyes, handsome nose, a large, joyous mouth, and a heavy, flowing beard, which was white as snow, and beautifully contrasted the deep olive hue of his manly face. His countenance was at once benignant and intelligent. Besides, Yûsef was a clean Arab――a rarity worth a pilgrimage to see. His red boots, light-colored petticoat-trowsers, embroidered jacket, broad girdle, flowing robes of yellow Broussa silk, and a bright checkered turban, were neat enough for a picture. In his silken girdle he wore a brass inkhorn, a foot in length, with a small square bulb of the same material on the side near the end, rendered perfectly tight by a thin plate of the same metal, and containing in the long part a case for the reed pens, which are secured by a brass cap. His appearance recalled Ezekiel’s description of the man clothed with linen, with a writer’s inkhorn by his side.[455]

In the East there is a class of men, called scribes, who write for the common people. They sit at the corners of the streets, and persons wishing a letter written dictate the matter, while the scribe performs the penmanship. Deeming it an inelegance to write upon a table, the paper is placed upon the left hand, and the writer forms the graceful characters of the Arabic language, writing from right to left. Yûsef was such a scribe, and had risen to eminence in his profession. Having read our letter with an air of great consideration, he saluted us in the most gracious manner, and invited us to his abode. Following him through a narrow lane to the gate of his court, we dismounted, and, after removing saddles and saddle-bags, led our horses through a covered stone passage-way to the entrance of his dwelling. Yûsef’s superb dress and elegant bearing had prepared us to expect an entertainment not unlike the festive scenes so wondrously described in the Arabian Nights. But never were two things more unlike, and never was the outside of the plates cleaner nor the inside filthier. His house was a wretched stone hut, entered by a low doorway. The interior consisted of a single room, divided into two apartments by a raised platform a foot high. The platform served the triple purpose of kitchen, chamber, and parlor, the walls and ceiling were dingy with smoke and dirt, and a few old mats spread upon the floor were the only furniture of his home. At the foot of the platform, beneath the same roof, was his stable, and in one corner stood Yûsef’s favorite ass.

“Come in, come in, gentlemen,” cried our host, “and bring your horses with you; there is plenty of room, and you are welcome.” Leading my horse, I entered; but the ass brayed so furiously, and kicked with such rapidity and violence, that I was compelled to retreat. Despite my protest, Yûsef refused to turn his ass into the cold, and calmly suggested that I could take my horse on the platform with me. Refusing to turn Arab, I declined, and turned to procure quarters elsewhere. The power of money upon an Arab’s soul is above calculation. Fearing that he might lose the customary present in return for his hospitality, Yûsef led his ass forth, braying and kicking as it went. Our host had previously sent the female members of his family away, lest the eye of a stranger should fall upon them, and left us the sole occupants of his dwelling. Spreading our blankets upon the platform, we commenced our frugal repast, but the fleas of Beeroth came upon us in such numbers as to force another retreat. We were again houseless. The sky was clear and the stars shone softly upon us, and we determined to sleep beneath the pure starlit heavens. Yûsef, however, succeeded in procuring for our use the council-room of the town, which was a large square apartment, with heavy arched ceiling, fireplace, and niche. The walls were black with the smoke of years, and the atmosphere stale and noisome. Here we spread our mats, and, with a saddle for a pillow, spent the night. The ground floor of the building was occupied by a family, who, for a few piastres, sheltered my horse. It was here I had an illustration of the story of Bethlehem. The same room served as a dwelling and a stable, divided by a platform, on which an Arab woman was kneading bread and a lad was tending an infant child. The occupants’ ass having been turned out, I led my horse in. In one corner of the stable was a large stone manger, excavated in the living rock. Such, probably, was the internal arrangement of the inn at Bethlehem; and as the platform was occupied by other guests, Joseph and Mary lodged in the stable, and cradled the infant Savior in the stone manger.

Beeroth is situated on a rocky ridge, and contains a population of 800 Moslems and thirty Christians. It is mentioned in connection with the league formed between the embassadors of Gibeon and Joshua, but aside from this it has no scriptural significance. During the reign of the Latin kings it rose to importance, and the remaining ruins attest the antiquity of the site and the former elegance of the place. In the northwest part of the village is the old Gothic church, built by the Knights Templars centuries ago. It is a beautiful ruin, and reminds one of the ruined abbeys of Southern Scotland. The walls, the eastern apse, and the sacristy are standing, and inclose an area 100 feet long and sixty-three wide. The material is limestone well dressed, and the interior may have consisted of a nave, two lateral aisles, and three recesses in the eastern end. The finish of the architecture is exquisite. The apses are crowned with beautiful domed roofs, and the partition walls are ornamented with pilasters, the capitals of which are well preserved. The side walls are divided into sections by pilasters, and are decorated with a rich cornice. But it is now a green ruin. The grass grows where, of old, knights knelt in prayer, and where robed priests chanted their Ave Marias.

On leaving the church I witnessed a beautiful illustration of our Lord’s parable of the “good shepherd.” Three shepherds were leading their flocks to pasture, and, though near each other, there was neither confusion nor intermingling. Such is the richness of the native language in adjectives, that a shepherd gives to each member of his flock a name descriptive of some characteristic, which is as familiar to the sheep as to himself. A lamb had lingered behind picking the fresh grass of spring, and, though other voices were sounding at the time, the truant lamb heard its shepherd’s voice and ran to the fold. “The sheep hear his voice, and he calleth his own sheep by name.”[456]

Three miles to the north is ancient Bethel. As we advanced the country grew in richness and beauty, reminding us that we were approaching the favored inheritance of Ephraim. Passing a small fountain gushing from the foot of a cliff, in less than half an hour we knelt in prayer where, twenty-five centuries ago, Jacob slept to dream of angels. The silence of desolation now reigns where once was heard the voice of gladness. Quietly a few maidens came to the fountain, as in the days of the patriarchs, whose homes stand amid the débris of former glory. The ancient city occupied a low ridge between two small valleys, which converge on the southeast and run into Wady Suweinît, the great thoroughfare to Ai and Jericho. Portions of foundations, fragments of walls, and heaps of hewn stone cover an area of four acres. On the summit of the hill are the remains of a square tower, and to the south of it are the walls of a Greek church. Beyond the town, to the east, is the mountain on which Abraham pitched his tent and built an altar unto the Lord, having Bethel on the west and Ai on the east;[457] and there, three years later, he and his nephew stood, choosing different portions of the land for their respective flocks.[458] From the summit of that ridge, the whole plain of the Jordan, which so charmed the eyes of Lot, is seen; and the possessions of six of the tribes lay before the vision of Abraham, to whom the Lord on that occasion repeated the promise to give the whole land to his servant.

A few feet from the hill, located in the western valley, is the great Fountain of Bethel. It is inclosed with an oblong basin 314 feet long and 217 wide, which is constructed of large stones, many of which are yet _in situ_. The southern wall is still entire, but, owing to long disuse, the others are nearly gone. Grass now covers the bottom of the reservoir, and beautiful flowers bloom around the crystal spring.

It was probably in this lovely valley that Jacob had his wondrous vision. He had come from Beersheba, a distance of seventy miles. This long journey, however, is not in harmony with the common belief that the dream occurred on the first night after leaving his father’s house. Urged on by the dread of an injured brother, he slept the first night beside the graves of his ancestors at Hebron, thirty-six miles from the patriarchal groves of Beersheba; rising early and passing through the vineyards of Eshcol, he rested at noon the next day at Bethlehem, seventeen miles from Hebron, and near the spot where, twenty years later, he buried his beautiful Rachel; six miles beyond he passed Jerusalem on the right, the future capital of his mighty posterity; and late in the evening of the second day, the stranger and weary traveler reached Bethel, eleven miles farther northward. The gates of the city were closed, and, like the pilgrim Arab of to-day, he selected a stone for his pillow, and, wrapping his capote or cloak about him, lay down to peaceful slumber. In a land where customs never change, such beds and pillows are not uncommon now, and thus are explained not only the story of the fugitive, but also our Lord’s command to the sick of the palsy, “Arise, take up thy bed, and walk.”[459] The bed was simply a coarse thick cloak of camel’s hair.

In this retired vale, and beside this same fountain, Jacob dreamed of the Invisible, and awoke exclaiming, “How dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.” Here the shining ones came down, and here Jehovah calmed the troubled spirit of the sleeper by the promise of protection. Cheered by the gracious promises of the Almighty, Jacob awoke, and, as a memorial monument, set up the stone that had served as a pillow, and anointed it with oil to seal the covenant he had made. Whether he was the first to conceive of building a church to God, and whether that is the sense of the text, Bethel became a sanctuary for his descendants.[460] When he returned after an absence of twenty years, here the faithful Deborah died, and he buried her under an oak, to which he gave the name of Allon Bachuth――“the oak of weeping.”[461] Destined to live in history in all coming time, Bethel became the scene of many great and thrilling events. It was the place where Samuel held his circuit court, in connection with Mizpah and Gilgal.[462] Subsequently to the death of Solomon, and the rending in twain of his vast empire, Bethel became the imperial rival of Jerusalem, and was polluted with an idol temple, in which Jeroboam placed a golden calf. It was against this abomination the prophet cried: “O altar, altar, thus saith the Lord, Behold, a child shall be born unto the house of David, Josiah by name; and upon thee shall he offer the priests of the high places that burn incense upon thee, and men’s bones shall be burnt upon thee.”[463] Offended at the boldness of the seer, the king sought to smite him, but in the attempt his arm was smitten with paralysis.[464] On this slope lived the old prophet who over-persuaded the Lord’s servant to enter his house, contrary to the divine injunction, and by the wayside is the tomb in which both were interred.[465] Chosen for its central location, years later Bethel became a school for the prophets, and hither Elijah came on the day of his translation.[466] And three centuries and a half after the utterance of the prediction, Josiah destroyed the temple and altar of Jeroboam, but spared the tomb of the Judæan seer.[465]

To-day Bethel is a witness against herself. Her hills and valleys are barren, and her ruins are the evidences of her decay. God has forsaken her; his will is done; his word is fulfilled. “Seek not Bethel, nor enter into Gilgal; for Gilgal shall surely go into captivity, and Bethel shall come to naught.”[466] The roll of twenty-five centuries has confirmed the prophetic announcement, and time and ruins are the credentials of the prophet. In vain we searched for the memorials of the past. Neither Abraham’s altar, nor Jacob’s pillar, nor Deborah’s oak, nor Jeroboam’s temple, nor the school of the prophets, could be found. These all have perished, and Bethel mourns her departed glory. The heavens are sealed; the ladder is withdrawn; the angels descend no more; and faith, hope, and charity are the only remaining steps by which to reach the heavenly world.

From the brow of a western hill, and through the dim distance of twelve miles, I saw the dome of Omar’s Mosque, the lofty minaret of the Haram, and the Tower of Hippicus. With this last and unexpected view of Jerusalem we resumed our tour to the north. For a mile the country was broken, but beyond were olive-groves and fig-orchards, extending for miles on either hand. The path soon descended a steep, narrow, and rough torrent-bed, and, after an hour’s ride, it entered the charming valley of El-Jîb. Unsurpassed for the beauty and romantic character of its scenery, it abruptly contracts into a wild gorge, and, two miles from its mouth, it contains a gem of a fountain, called ’Ain el-Haramîyeh, or “The Robbers’ Fountain.” Here the glen is as lovely as it is wild, and as bloody in its history as it is dangerous to the unwary traveler. The mountains rise in solemn grandeur on the right and left, shutting out the world, and casting a melancholy shade on the scene below. High up on a jutting cliff is an old castle, gray with age, and covered with moss and creeping vines. Through the bottom of the glen a fierce winter torrent has cut a deep and narrow channel, leaving a broad level space on either side. On the right runs the road to Shiloh; on the left is a small plateau, level and green, and extending inward to the mountain’s base. Down the sides of the western cliff the water trickles, through trails of fern and over beds of velvet moss, into an artificial basin. The plateau is covered with grass, and beneath it is a large reservoir, now a garden. Charmed with the spot, desire inclined us to linger, but prudence warned us to depart. The waters of El-Haramîyeh have washed the bloodstained hands of many a highwayman, and the native of to-day hurries on conscious of danger nigh. A band of robbers were encamped upon the lawn when we reached the fountain. Some were whiffing their narghilehs; others were testing their strength in gymnastic sports, while around the captain of the band two girls were dancing to the music of timbrel and castanets. They returned our salutations, and, after drinking of the cool, sweet water, and plucking a few ferns as mementoes, we recrossed the channel, and began to ascend toward Shiloh. As we advanced the scenery assumed higher forms of sublimity. The mountains approached each other, and rose to the clouds; but when, in turn, the hills receded and the valleys opened, the former were terraced and clad with vineyards, and the latter planted with wheat and corn. Attired in gay costumes, peasant-girls were at work on the terraces, singing merrily; shepherds, with long guns thrown across their shoulders, were winding with their flocks around the loftier cliffs; while far away to the northwest, following the devious mountain-paths, were trains of camels and asses, whose tinkling bells awakened the echoes of the everlasting hills. More than once we dismounted to gather the tempting wild-flowers, and press the pretty anemones, poppies, amaranths, and white-thorn roses.

Reaching the head of the valley, we left Sinjil on the west to visit ancient Shiloh. Before us lay a broad fertile plain, running toward the Jordan, and in the midst of which stands the Arab town of Turmus ’Aya. To the north of the village the path leads up a gentle acclivity, and then, descending into a narrow valley, it gradually ascends through cultivated fields to the hill on which the renowned city of Samuel stood. At the southern base of the hill stands an old square tower, originally a mosque, and over it a large oak spreads its ample branches. The surrounding hills are round and naked, the valleys narrow and stony, and the landscape featureless and forbidding. Covering a low ridge, projecting from the central chain of mountains, are the scattered ruins of Shiloh. Consisting of heaps of hewn stone, with now and then a broken column, the remains are embedded in rank weeds and tall grass, and destitute of the ordinary attractions of a fallen city. Near them is an old ruined church, which, in the age of the Crusaders, served as a fortress. The walls, four feet thick, are supported by buttresses. Over the entrance is a sculptured _amphora_, between two wreaths, and within the inclosure are a few fallen Corinthian columns. Half a mile to the east, in a wild glen, is the famous fountain of Shiloh, issuing from the rocks, and flowing into a deep reservoir, where shepherds water their flocks.

From the days of Jerome to the year 1838 the site of Shiloh remained unknown, when the analogy between the ancient and modern names, together with a single verse in the Book of Judges, enabled a distinguished American traveler[467] to determine its long-lost site. Called by the Arabs Seilûn, he judged it the Arabic rendering of the more euphonious name of Shiloh, and, guided by the minute and accurate description of the location by the elders of Israel, he succeeded in identifying the place. Nothing can be more artless and correct than that remarkable passage, “Behold, there is a feast of the Lord in Shiloh yearly, in a place which is on the north side of Bethel, on the east side of the highway that goeth up from Bethel to Shechem, and on the south of Lebonah.”[468] Though destitute of those monuments which have given historic significance to its name, the pleasures of a visit to this celebrated city are to be derived from the recollections of the past rather than from the grandeur of its antiquities.

Memorable as the place where the Tabernacle was first permanently set up in Canaan, and where the Ark remained from the days of Joshua till near the close of Eli’s life, it was here the Israelites assembled to divide the land into tribal possessions according to lot.[469] To fulfill a solemn vow, hither the pious Hannah brought her infant Samuel from Ramah to serve in the Tabernacle.[470] As the custodians of the Ark, from here Hophni and Phinehas went forth to the fatal battle of Ebenezer, and here by the wayside the venerable Eli expired when he heard of the capture of that Ark and the death of his sons.[471] Here the son of a mother, overwhelmed with grief at such calamities, received the name of I-chabod, “The glory is departed from Israel.”[471] In a glen to the east of the town was held that feast at which the daughters of Shiloh were dancing when the 200 Benjamites rose suddenly from the encircling vineyards, and, rushing on the unsuspecting damsels, captured each man a bride, whom he bore in triumph to his home.[472] Disguised like a peasant, hither came the wife of Jeroboam from Tirzah to inquire of the Prophet Ahijah concerning the life of her son.[473]

Having become the seat of impiety, the city fell under the curse of the Almighty, and, in the words of Jeremiah, it was doomed to its present shapeless and desolate condition: “Go ye now unto my place which was in Shiloh, where I set my name at first, and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people Israel.”[474]

It was amid the recollection of such events that the robbers of Shiloh made their appearance and commenced an unprovoked assault upon our party. We had been forewarned of the turbulent character of the people, and of the danger a visit involved. At Sinjil we had discussed the prudence of a detour to this place, and, though it was a bold and hazardous step, as the sequel proved, yet we resolved to advance. We were in search of the most important knowledge, and, trusting to a gracious Providence, we felt justified in making the attempt. Unfortunately, our servant at the time was at Nablous, awaiting our arrival there, and, being without escort or guide, we were compelled to employ a peasant whom we had chanced to meet in a neighboring field. He was a simple, inoffensive, unarmed man, and was of no advantage to us except to guide us to the site of Seilûn. Having seen us from their mountain fastnesses, the robbers rapidly congregated around the old stone tower, where, at the moment, we were reading the inspired story of the place, and recording those reflections suggested by the hour.

Such another band of villainous-looking men Nature has scarcely ever suffered to dwell upon the earth. Some were without a nose, others without an eye, while all bore scars of previous fights, and wore a vicious countenance which promised us no good. Each ruffian was armed with a long gun and a missile not unlike an Indian tomahawk. One, more reckless than the rest, began the fray by plundering my saddle-bags; but, seeing with what determination I drew my revolver, he immediately desisted. Wishing, if possible, to avoid another collision, we attempted to cross a corn-field to the hill on which Shiloh’s ruins lay scattered, but they seized us and drove us back. Knowing that every moment’s delay diminished our chances of escape, we concluded to resume our journey――peaceably if possible, but forcibly if we must. But we had no sooner mounted our horses than the brigands seized the bridles and demanded our money. Another exhibition of our well-conditioned revolvers――which by them is a dreaded weapon――again saved us from their hands, and, putting spurs to our horses, we descended a narrow valley on the south of Shiloh, keeping an eye upon the robbers, who were after us at full speed. But the bottom of the valley soon became so rough that it was impossible to proceed faster than a walk. Having overtaken us, they still clamored for money, and evinced their purpose to renew the attack. At that moment my horse stumbled, throwing me on his head; but, springing back into the saddle, and jerking the reins with all the strength at my command, I saved him from going down. My haversack, however, had fallen off, and one of the ruffians, having picked it up, refused to return it without a reward. Fortunately, the small amount I gave him satisfied him, and to that man I owe my life. Among the plants I had gathered at Shiloh was one of curious structure, which I desired to preserve. Its large bright green leaves were so folded as to resemble an embossed star, but it was a deadly poison. Having dropped it, I called to the Arab to pluck another, but he refused, assuring me in Arabic that it was poisonous.

We now dismissed the peasant previously employed, giving him the promised sum. This proved our misfortune, as the robbers, becoming exasperated at the favor shown their neighbor, came upon us with renewed fierceness in a solitary mountain pass. They had the advantage in numbers, and a base indifference to human life. Sixteen against four gave us but little hope of successful resistance; but, unwilling to yield even against such odds, we determined to resist to the last. Rushing upon us with the utmost fury, they seized our bridles, and, raising their tomahawks over our heads, demanded our money or our lives. Refusing to give the former, we resolved to protect the latter. Having never seen the countenance of a bandit in the act of violence, I shall never forget the expression of the ruffian who assailed me. His face was livid with rage, and his solitary eye blazed with murderous intent as he grasped the bridle firmly with one hand and with the other raised the weapon of death over me. Undaunted either by his rage or threats, I held a parley with him for several minutes, he demanding, and I, in turn, refusing. Trying the power of religious fear, I pointed him to heaven, and repeated the sacred name of “Allah,” but he smiled like a demon, and fiercely replied, “Give me your money!”

Our firmness would have saved us from violence had not a member of our party, in an unguarded moment, struck one of the brigands with a riding-whip, which precipitated the assault, and it was now baksheesh or death. Aware that by this act we had become the aggressors, we concluded to give each a few piastres. Happily for myself, I had not a piastre in change, but, borrowing half a one (two cents) from a companion, I gave it to the villain, whose fury had been cooled by firm looks, strong words, a Damascus blade, and a good revolver.

Grouping together, they counted the spoils, but, finding the booty less than they had expected, they attempted another pursuit, but we had eluded their grasp. Dashing down the glen, we reached in safety the small village of Lubbân――the Lebonah of the Judges,[475] grateful to divine Providence that, through Arab cowardice and Christian grace, no blood had been shed.

The day was now far spent. Three hours of hard riding were before us, and it was necessary to reach Nablous before sundown or the gates would be shut. Riding through ancient towns, over plantations of figs, and amid the most enchanting scenery, we passed, in less than half an hour, the hamlet of Sâwieh, perched on a lofty ridge on the left, and a short distance beyond we came to an old castle on the right, shaded by a noble oak, whose vast dimensions and majestic form recalled the famous oaks of Mamre. Descending into a deep valley running at right angles with the great northern route, on the north was Kubalân, and on the south Yetna, high up in the eternal hills, amid gardens of figs and olives, as if suspended in the air. Such a view is worth a pilgrimage to see. Toiling up the opposite side of the valley, in half an hour we gained the summit, and the beauties of Ephraim lay like a landscape of glory before us. Interjections were faint symbols of the joyous emotions awakened by the scene. The white limestone rocks and verdureless mountains of the south had given place to the vine-clad hills of the north, crowned with the benediction of the dying patriarch, “God make thee as Ephraim.”[476] At our feet lay the great plain of El-Mukhnah, unbroken by fence or tower, dotted with groves, and rich in fields of wheat and corn. Spreading out more than a mile and a half in breadth, and extending more than seven miles north and south, it is bounded on the east by a range of low, dark hills, and from its western border rise Gerizim and Ebal, the former crowned with a small white chapel reflecting the setting sun. Far away to the northeast, rising like a column of alabaster against the calm blue sky of Damascus, was Mount Hermon, the symbol of a purer world. Rapidly descending into the plain below and turning northward, we soon passed the large town of Hawâra, built on the mountain slope, and inhabited by a turbulent community. Just beyond the village the road branches; the path to the left, after winding round the base of Gerizim and crossing a mountain spur, enters the Vale of Shechem near Nablous; the other path, continuing up the plain, leads to the city by way of Jacob’s Well. Choosing the latter, we found it the best road in Palestine. After following the base of the mountain for a while, the path diverges to the centre of the plain and passes through the most enchanting scenery. Like a thing of beauty, the memory of that evening’s ride still lingers in my mind. The deepening shadows of Gerizim had thrown their lengthened forms over the plains; shepherds were returning with their flocks; peasants were plodding homeward their weary way; and in the dim twilight of departing day, and amid that solemn silence which awakens profound reflections, we reached the patriarchal well. Intending to visit this interesting spot again, we ascended the Vale of Nablous and entered the ancient city of Shechem just as the old gate-keeper was turning the ponderous key. Gladly dismounting after the exploits of such a day, we led our jaded horses over the flag-paved streets of the city, exciting the curiosity of an idle crowd of Shechemites, and affording them fresh materials for village gossip. It was nine o’clock when we found our host, who was the Christian school-teacher of the Protestant Mission. Receiving us with great politeness, he led us up a long flight of stone steps into a large clean room, where, after a simple repast, we spread our mats and blankets for the night.

Illustration: NABLOUS.

Ranking with Damascus, Hebron, and Jerusalem in the antiquity of its origin and the importance of its history, Shechem, or the modern town of Nablous, is among the oldest cities in Palestine. Coming from Chaldea, Abraham pitched his tent on the fertile plains of Mukhnah, “in the place of Sichem, in the plain of Moreh.”[477] Nearly two centuries later his grandson Jacob came from Mesopotamia to “Shalem, a city of Shechem, and pitched his tent before the city, and bought a parcel of a field, at the hand of the children of Hamor, for one hundred pieces of money, and erected there an altar, and called it El-Elohe-Israel.”[478] Here Simeon and Levi plotted the murder of the whole male population of the town to avenge their dishonored sister, and, exposed by this act of indiscretion to the insults and attacks of the adjacent villagers, Jacob was compelled to remove to Hebron.[479] Retaining possession of these pasture-fields, hither he sent Joseph to search for his brethren, whom “a certain man found wandering in a field,” and directed him to Dothan.[480]

Four hundred years afterward, having achieved the conquest of Ai, Joshua led his triumphant hosts over the Jordan into this vale; upon Ebal he reared the first Jewish altar in Samaria; and from this and its companion mountain caused to be read the blessings and cursings of the Law.[481] Two and a half centuries later, Abimelech seized this city and was proclaimed king, which gave rise to the beautiful parable of Jotham.[482] Hither came Rehoboam to be crowned king of Israel; and in the same year here occurred the coronation of Jeroboam, under whom the twelve tribes revolted, and Shechem became the royal city of the new monarchy.[483] During the long captivity of the Jews in Assyria, Nablous rose to be the chief city of the Samaritans, who were destined to act such a conspicuous part in sacred history. Being instructed in the Jewish religion, they reared upon the summit of Mount Gerizim a rival temple to that in Jerusalem, and became the religious and political enemies of the Jews. Four hundred and fifty years after the erection of this temple, the Vale of Shechem was hallowed by the presence and teachings of Jesus and his twelve apostles. In the year 89 A.D. it was the birthplace of Justin, the philosopher and martyr, one of the earliest and most learned of the Christian fathers. From the days of the Roman conquest to the present time it has shared the varied fortunes of the Crescent and the Cross, and to-day is subject to the sceptre of the False Prophet.

Nablous is situated in one of the most delightful vales in Palestine. A garden-like valley opens from the Plain of Mukhnah and runs nearly east and west, with Ebal on the north and Gerizim on the south. Standing less than two miles up the vale, the city covers the roots of Gerizim, extending toward the opposite mountain. Of its 8000 inhabitants, 50 are Jews, 150 Samaritans, 500 Christians, and over 7000 Moslems. Its narrow streets, thronged with a busy multitude――its stone dwellings, crowned with small domes――its mosques, with their graceful minarets――and its numerous bazars, filled with fruit and other commodities, remind the traveler of Jerusalem; but the streets are less light and airy than those of the Holy City, as the buildings, projecting over them, supported by arches, impart to them a tunnel-like appearance. Except a spacious Saracenic doorway, now the portal of a mosque, a marble sarcophagus, now a water-trough, and a few prostrate columns of granite, limestone, and marble, there are no antiquities worthy of a moment’s attention. The modern Shechemites are the chief cotton-growers, oil-makers, and soap manufacturers of Palestine. The valleys and hill-sides are covered with olive-trees, from the berries of which is extracted the precious oil. In the adjacent fields cotton is raised in large quantities for home consumption and exportation. Regarded as the best quality grown in the dominions of the Turkish empire, thousands of bales are yearly exported to Europe. The present citizens of the town afford another illustration that the character of a people, no less than their names and social customs, are handed down from generation to generation. They are infamous for their turbulent and fanatical reputation in the past, and more street-fights occur in Nablous than in any other Syrian city. The rebellious spirit that rose three thousand years ago against the government of Rehoboam is still dominant, and the Shechemites are among the most troublesome of the sultan’s subjects, obeying or rebelling as interest dictates or passion inclines. It required the powerful and cruel arm of Ibrahim Pasha to crush them, though not without a long and bloody struggle. Jews, Samaritans, and Christians live among those turbulent children of the Prophet only by sufferance, and the crimes of theft and murder perpetrated on them are seldom punished by the weak and timorous Turkish officials.

The Jews have a small synagogue within the walls, the picture of poverty and wretchedness. Of the 500 Christians, most are of the Greek Church, and worship in an edifice at once old and filthy. The Protestant Christian Mission is under the protection of the English and Russian governments, and is accomplishing much good in the education of the young. The mission school, under the care of our host, was held in a room adjoining the one we occupied. Accepting his invitation, we spent an hour with his pupils: there were present from forty to fifty boys, from three to fifteen years of age. Attired in Syrian costume, they were clean and pretty in their appearance, and modest and obedient in their behavior. Sitting on their heels, they were engaged in writing with a reed not unlike, in form and size, our common pencils. Calling up one by one, from the least to the greatest, the master exhibited specimens of penmanship which, as far as I was capable of judging of the graceful Arabic characters, were creditable to the young penmen. As they seemed anxious to know about the schools and children of America, I made them a brief speech, which was interpreted by our polite host.