Chapter XIII (2)

Originally called the “House of Fish,” as significant of the vocation of its ancient inhabitants, Bethsaida will ever live in the recollection of the pious as the birthplace of five apostles, who have stamped the world with their influence, and affected the opinions and destiny of mankind in all countries. Here Peter, and Andrew, and James, and John, and Philip spent their childhood, and here they engaged in the humble but honest calling of fishermen. It was probably on the shore of the small bay previously described that Jesus, walking by the Sea of Galilee, saw two brethren, Simon called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, and said unto them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men. And going on from thence, he saw other two brethren, James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother, and he called them, and they followed him.”[596] And here, no doubt, is the scene of that miraculous draught of fishes, which astonished the disciples, and convinced them of the divine character of our Lord.[597] But this Bethsaida must not be confounded with the one east of the Jordan, and which has already been noticed as having been enlarged and beautified by Philip the tetrarch. The latter being in Gaulonitis and not in Galilee, it could not have been the native city of the apostles, who were _Galileans_; and though it may appear unusual to find two cities of the same name in such close proximity, yet the singularity disappears when it is remembered that they belonged to separate provinces, and that Bethsaida Julias is not on the lake shore, but on the eastern bank of the Jordan, two miles from the mouth of the river. This distinction sheds much light upon a somewhat obscure passage by St. Mark. After our Lord had learned of the execution of John the Baptist, he left Capernaum, and, with his disciples, “departed into a desert place by ships privately.”[598] St. John, with greater exactitude, says that “Jesus went over the Sea of Galilee.”[599] The “desert place” is on the northeastern shore of the lake, where he fed the 5000, and is “over the sea.” Having dismissed the multitude, “he constrained his disciples to get into a ship, and to go to the other side before unto Bethsaida,” which is on “the other side;” and as it is only a mile from Capernaum, agrees with St. John, who records that “they went over the sea toward Capernaum.”[600] They embarked for Bethsaida, but the “wind was contrary,” and they were driven from their course to the southward. “About the fourth watch of the night” Jesus came “walking on the sea,” and, entering the ship, “the wind ceased.” With a minuteness that leaves us without a doubt, St. Matthew and St. Mark say, “They came into the land of Gennesaret;”[601] and St. John designates which portion of Gennesaret they came to in saying that “when the people saw that Jesus was on the other side, they took shipping and came to Capernaum seeking for Jesus, and that they found him there.”[602] Had the disciples sailed for Bethsaida Julias, it would have been impossible for them to have sailed “_over the sea toward Capernaum_,” as the former is not “over the sea,” and is not in the same direction with the latter, Capernaum being southwest and Julias northeast. Nor is the difficulty relieved by supposing that Tell Hum is the true site of Capernaum, as the argument drawn from the direction of the place remains in full force.

Having satisfied his mind touching the identity of a place, the traveler lingers about the spot with no ordinary delight. Such were the pleasing emotions I experienced as I stood amid the ruins of the home of Peter, James, and John, and watched the crystal waters flowing into the sea through banks lined with oleanders in full bloom. And the impression was overwhelming as the great fact rose up before my mind that in this retired quarter of the globe――in this Galilean village of humble pretensions, five inspired apostles were born, who from their fish-boats went forth commissioned to evangelize the world, and to be the biographers of the Son of God. It is an ancient suggestion, that the scenery of childhood gives tone to the character of a man and direction to his coming years. Few men whose acts fill so large a portion of the world’s history have evinced traits of character so opposite, and transitions in their emotional natures so remarkable as the “fishermen of Bethsaida.” Pure as they were simple, benevolent as they were sincere, they loved and hated, hoped and despaired; they were bold and fearful, joyful and sorrowful, firm and inconstant, as the surrounding circumstances were favorable to the development of their better natures, or to disclose the weaknesses of our common humanity. Looking out upon the scene before me, I fancied that their finer feelings and gentler traits were evoked by the deep blue skies, the transparent atmosphere, the mellow dawn, the golden sunset, the placid lake, the flowing fountains, the blooming flowers and shell-strewn shores, while the rugged mountains and boisterous storms at sea aroused their fiery and impetuous spirits. When composed they resembled their embowered lake, whose placid waters mirror the overhanging foliage along its banks; but when agitated, they were like their native sea during a storm, when the deep was troubled, when thunder answered thunder, and the roar of the waters responded to the howl of the winds.

Three miles to the northeast are the remains of the city of Chorazin. In the intervening space the hills approach the shore, exposing at intervals a rough bank, lined with a tangled thicket of a thorny shrub. In the spring-time the black tents of the predatory farmers dot the table-land, only one of which now remained, and around it a solitary shepherd was keeping his flock. It was while riding over this broad plateau that we were startled by one of those squalls peculiar to this inland sea. The air had been quiet, the lake calm, and the heavens were cloudless, but within five minutes the wind blew a gale, the sea became troubled, the waves rolled high and dashed wildly on the shore. It was a repetition of that scene when the disciples were sailing over the sea; when “Jesus was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow;” when “there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full;” and when, in the moment of danger, they awoke the Divine Sleeper, “who arose and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still.”[603] The natural causes operating and producing such effects in that distant age are still in force. The sea is 600 feet lower than the ocean; the mountains on the east and north rise to a great height, and their sides are furrowed with deep and wild ravines; and the temperature of this volcanic basin differing from that on the mountains above, these profound gorges serve as vast conductors, through which, at certain periods, the cold winds from above rush suddenly down, causing a tempest in an unexpected moment.

The ruins of Chorazin lie upon the shore, covering a level tract half a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide. Consisting chiefly of the foundations and prostrate walls of dwellings, they are overgrown with a thicket of thistles eight feet high, and so dense that it is almost impossible to penetrate and examine the remains. The walls of a square tower 10 feet high are standing, and are composed of fragments of columns, capitals, and friezes, mingled with hewn stone of different dimensions. To the east of the tower we entered a structure, the object of which can not now be determined. Portions of the northern and western walls remain, the former measuring 105 feet long, and the latter about 80. Within this inclosure are strewn, in utter confusion, limestone columns, Corinthian capitals, sculptured entablatures, ornamental friezes, double columns, and immense blocks of stone nine feet long and five wide, with panels sculptured in their sides. This may have been a magnificent Jewish synagogue, a substitute in part for the noble Temple of Jerusalem. In the days of our Savior and five centuries after, Chorazin was a populous and wealthy city. Driven from their ancient capital, the Jews settled on the shores of this lake. Their Sanhedrim found a resting-place at Tiberias, and Magdala, Capernaum, Bethsaida, and Chorazin became their chief towns. In the wealth of her citizens, the grandeur of her architecture, and the influence of her religious institutions, the latter appears to have been as influential as magnificent. But the “woe” has fallen on Chorazin. What the “mighty works which were done” in her were we are not informed, but evidently they were of such a character as to give light to her people, in the rejection of which was involved her ruin. Rejecting that light, she has fallen with her sister towns; and without a single habitation, the most beautiful site for a city on all these shores is now a thorn-bed, where adders crawl and jackals hide. “Woe unto thee, Chorazin! woe unto thee, Bethsaida! for if the mighty works which were done in thee had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes.” And if the present small but thriving towns of Tyre and Sidon be compared to this “howling wilderness,” this “perfection of desolation,” the contrast can not fail to suggest to every impartial mind the marvelous and strangely exact fulfillment of our Lord’s solemn predictions.[604] Indeed, the Lake of Gennesaret is a beautiful desolation. Her villas are in ruins, her fisheries have failed, her ship-yards are silent, her commerce is destroyed, her manufactories are abandoned, and her waters, which were the rich possession of Naphthali, are without a keel to divide them, or a sail to fly before their mountain gusts.

Turning inland and following a path along the base of the mountain, an hour’s ride brought us to the mouth of the Jordan. Forty miles to the northeast, up the broad ravine through which the most illustrious of earthly rivers flows, appeared Mount Hermon, with his icy crown brilliant in the midday sun. For nine miles the path follows the river bank to ’Jisr Benât Yakûb, the “Bridge of Jacob’s Daughters.” It is the only bridge which at present spans the Jordan, and its three arches, with its well-paved roadway, are in good condition. Though traditionally marking the site where Jacob, staff in hand, crossed the stream, yet it is not easy to determine why the word “daughters” should be added. The Jordan is here a rapid stream, 25 yards wide and 10 feet deep, flowing between alluvial banks fringed with thickets of reeds and rank grass. From the bridge on the eastern bank of the river, a beautiful level tract of land extends northward for three miles to the foot of Lake Hûleh. Four and a half miles in length and three and a half in breadth, this charming lake is the first gathering together of the waters of the Upper Jordan as they descend from their perennial springs. Known in the Bible as the “Waters of Merom,” and called by Josephus Samochonitis,[605] it was on the shore of this lake that Joshua “smote Jabin, king of Hazor.”[606] Passing the probable site of Hazor, two miles to the west from the fountain of Mellâhah, and crossing the deep glen through which the Hasbâny flows to the Jordan, the path runs over undulating ground to Tell el-Kâdy, “The Hill of the Judge,” or the Dan of Scripture, situated 12 miles from the northern end of Lake Hûleh. Rising from the midst of a level plain, the hill on which the ancient city stood is 80 feet high and three quarters of a mile in circumference. It is covered with trees and bushes, which conceal the ruins of the old town. Placed by Josephus at the fountain of the Jordan, and located by Eusebius a quarter of a mile from Paneas, on the way to Tyre, there can be no question as to the identity of the place. Its history is as sanguinary as it is romantic. Captured by the princes of Mesopotamia, hither Lot was brought after the pillage of Sodom; and, inspired by a courage that was never blanched with fear, here Abraham overtook the captors of his nephew, and dividing his 318 “trained servants born in his own house,” he fell upon the foe by night, “and smote them and pursued them unto Hobah, which is on the left hand of Damascus; and he brought back all his goods, and also brought again his brother Lot,[607] and his goods, and the women also, and the people.”[608] Called in the days of the Judges Laish, its capture by the Danites forms one of the most romantic stories in the Old Testament. Unable to expel the more powerful Philistines who occupied a large part of their tribeship, 600 armed men from the cities of Zorah and Eshtool went up and smote the rich and careless Sidonians who inhabited the town, and, taking possession of the city, they called it “Dan, after their father.” On their way northward they had stopped at Mount Ephraim, where they pillaged the house of Micah of the holy symbols of his religion, and compelled a young Levite to accompany them, “to be to them a father and a priest.”[609] Though a trifling conquest when compared to the grand achievements of Joshua and David, the capture of Laish and its occupation by the Danites was the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy: “Dan is a lion’s whelp; he shall leap from Bashan;”[610] and from that time the city was regarded as the northern border of the Promised Land, and gave rise to that household expression, “From Dan to Beersheba.”[611]

But the city of Dan is no less celebrated for its waters than for its interesting history. At the western base of the hill there is the largest fountain in Syria, and among the largest in the world. Bursting forth from the rocks, the water first forms a small lake, from which it rushes southward a rapid river, called the Leddân. Four miles below it forms a junction with a large stream from Baniâs, and a mile beyond the confluence it is joined by the River Hasbâny, which gives its name to the stream down to the Lake Hûleh. Thus gradually the Jordan is formed.

Winding through oaken groves, and lined with myrtle and oleanders, the road diverges to the northeast, and four miles from Dan is Cæsarea Philippi. Occupying a broad terrace in the mountain side, it is bounded by two sublime ravines, one on the north and the other on the south, between which, and in the rear of the site, rise the castellated heights of Subeibeh 1000 feet high. The terrace is adorned with groves of oaks and olives, and carpeted with the richest verdure. A site so remarkable for its Alpine scenery did not fail to attract the earlier Phœnicians, and, at a later period, the Greeks and Romans. Supposed to be the “Baal Gad” of Scripture, it was early consecrated by the Canaanites to the idolatrous worship of one of their Baals.[612] Chosen by the Greeks to be the shrine of Pan, it retains the name of Bâniâs, the Arabic form of Paneas. Coming into the possession of “Philip, tetrarch of Iturea and Trachonitis,” it was rebuilt and enlarged by the son of Herod the Great, who named it Cæsarea, in honor of Tiberius Cæsar; and to distinguish it from Cæsarea on the Mediterranean coast, and to perpetuate his own name, he called it Cæsarea Philippi. Among its mighty ruins is a citadel of quadrangular form covering four acres, and surrounded by a massive wall with heavy towers at the angles and sides. Guarded on the east by a deep moat, it is washed on the north and west by a large stream, and on the south it is protected by a profound chasm, which is spanned by a bridge, from which a noble gateway opens into the citadel. Within this inclosure, and surrounded by granite columns and limestone shafts, are the 40 dwellings of the modern town. To the north of the ruins, and at the base of a cliff of ruddy limestone 100 feet high, is a cave of vast dimensions, and as dark as vast. Within are the fragments of noble edifices, and around its mouth are heaps of broken rocks and portions of ancient buildings. In harmony with Grecian mythology, this deep cavern was selected as the temple of the sylvan Pan, and on the face of the cliff a Greek inscription records the sacred history of the cave. The Romans succeeding the Greeks, Herod the Great erected a splendid temple of white marble to Augustus near the place called _Panium_.[613] Destroyed by some unknown power, the ruins of this temple are entombed in the cave, excepting a fragment clinging to the rocks above, and now dedicated to a Moslem saint. Near this spot is the great fountain of Bâniâs, which is one of the principal sources of the Jordan. Bursting forth from beneath heaps of rubbish, the water flows in a rapid, foaming torrent over a rocky bed, and, plunging over a precipice, falls into a dark ravine, through which it runs southward and joins the Hasbâny.

As the northern limit of our Savior’s wanderings, Cæsarea Philippi was the scene of one of the most interesting incidents in our Lord’s life. Having restored a blind man at Bethsaida Julias, he and his disciples passed up this same route, and, coming into the towns of Cæsarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Whom do men say that I am?” Receiving their reply, he tested their faith by the more personal question, “But whom say ye that I am?” Ever ready with an answer, and acting as the mouth-piece of his brethren, St. Peter uttered that extraordinary confession, “Thou art the Christ, the son of the living God.” Satisfied with an answer no less satisfactory than true, he returned southward, and “after six days” he was transfigured on the summit of Tabor, commanding a view of his native hills.[614]

Illustration: UPPER JORDAN.

Passing on the east the castle of Subeibeh, the road to Hasbeiya is through a region as wild as it is picturesque. Eighteen miles from Cæsarea Philippi is the fountain of Hasbâny, the principal source of the Upper Jordan. At the foot of a volcanic bluff the waters burst forth, and by means of a strong and permanent dam are collected into a pond, from which they are turned into a wide mill-race. Escaping therefrom, they commence their long descent, and, augmented by vast tributaries, they flow on through two successive lakes, to be received into a third, where they are evaporated by the intense heat of the Vale of Siddim. Thus formed, the River Jordan is at once remarkable for its length and descent. Though, as the crow flies, it is not more than 120 miles long from its highest source at Hasbeiya to the point where it enters into the Dead Sea, yet, owing to its tortuous channel, it can not be less than 300 miles in length; and it is an equally extraordinary fact that in its descent from Lake Huleh to its southern termination, which in a straight line is but 80 miles, it has a fall of more than 1300 feet.

The village of Hasbeiya is situated on both sides of a deep glen, which descends from a side ridge of Hermon westward into Wady et-Teim. The head of the ravine being but a little east of the town, the latter is inclosed on three sides by high hills, which are regularly terraced and planted with vineyards, olive-groves, and fig-orchards. Of its 5000 inhabitants, 4000 are Christians, and the remainder Druzes. Aside from its great fountain, the only object of interest is a group of Druze chapels, the most celebrated of all the sanctuaries belonging to that sect. Crowning some of the lofty summits, they are strongly built, and the only architectural peculiarity they possess is the smallness of the windows. Constituting a secret society, the Druzes select the most solitary places for their temples, to which no stranger may intrude.

But the commanding feature in the natural scenery of this region is Mount Hermon. From Hasbeiya it requires six hours of hard climbing to reach its lofty summit. The path first ascends a high wooded ridge; then, crossing a deep ravine, it winds upward over loose stones and amid tufts of coarse grass. A part of the anti-Lebanon range, Hermon is a vast limestone mountain, consisting of three principal summits. The northern one is the highest, and has the appearance of an obtuse truncated cone; the ascent is but 900 feet south from the parent range, and directly beneath its summit, some 5000 feet, in a basin-like glen, are the sources of the River Pharpar, near a small village called ’Arny. The third peak is a quarter of a mile to the west from the latter, and is the lowest of the three.

The second highest mountain in Syria, Hermon is 10,000 feet high. From its loftiest summit the eye sweeps over a landscape of extraordinary grandeur. The two parallel ranges of Lebanon and anti-Lebanon stretch far away to the “entering of Hamath” in the north, with the great valley of the Bukâ’a between them. Turning southward, the eye follows the sacred river, now resting in the basin of Hûleh, now expanding into the Sea of Tiberias, and beyond pursuing its infinite windings through the Jordan valley to the shining waters of the Dead Sea. Along its eastern banks appear in regular succession the rich pastures and “oaks of Bashan”, the Mountains of Gilead, and those of Ammon and Moab, and opposite, the Hills of Samaria, of Benjamin, and Judah. Turning westward, there is Carmel and Tabor, and the Hills of Galilee; and on the white coast-line, ’Akka, Tyre, and Sidon; and far out into the “great sea,” its waters mingling with the western horizon, is the Isle of Cyprus――the Chittim of the Phœnicians, and the scene of the ministry of Paul and Barnabas. Turning eastward, there is the Hauran, with its unvisited cities; and beyond, the Arabian Desert, from whose burning sands the sun comes forth, to descend at night into the cooling waters of the Mediterranean.

The southern peak of Hermon is crowned with curious ruins. Around the rocky crest is a circular wall, some of the large stones of which are beveled, while others have a plain moulding around the edge. Here are the remains of some grand but unknown temple, one of the columns of which stands upon the brow of a steep declivity. It is supposed that the ancient inhabitants of the land, being worshipers of the sun, here built their altar to that shining orb who is seen running his course in the heavens from the desert to the sea.

Around the base of this noble mountain vegetation is luxuriant, and on the lower ridges radiating from it are forests of oaks, interspersed with mountain shrubs; but the peaks are naked, and are covered with small limestones, rendering them smooth and bleak. Perpetual winter reigns upon their summits. The snow never disappears. All through the springtime to early summer, they resemble white domes standing out against the purple skies. In midsummer and in autumn the intense heat melts the snow from the tops of the ridges, but, owing to its greater depth, does not affect that portion which fills the ravines. And thus Hermon appears, alternately streaked with light and dark lines, till hoary winter comes again to weave his mantle of white, and cover therewith those majestic summits, the symbols of a purer world.

In every age it has had a name significant of some physical peculiarities. Its “lofty conical peak” suggested the name of Hermon; its rounded top, covered with snow and ice, and glittering in the sunlight, appeared to the Sidonians and Amorites like a massive “breast-plate,” and by the former it was called “Sirion,” and by the latter “Shemr.”[615] Towering above its fellows, it is named by Moses “Sion――the Elevated;”[616] and, impressed with its majesty, the Arabs call it “Jebel esh Sheikh――the Chief Mountain.”

In the poetry and geography of the Bible it is the image of grandeur and the landmark of national domain. Joshua conquered all the land east of the Jordan, “from the River Arnon unto Mount Hermon.”[617] Visible from almost every tribe’s possession, Hermon was not only the terminating point of view northward, but to the inspired writer, whether prophet or poet, it was “the image of unearthly grandeur, which nothing else but perpetual snow can give, especially as seen in the summer, when the firmament around it seems to be on fire.”[618] In his exaltation of the Creator the Psalmist exclaims, “The north and the south, thou hast created them; Tabor and Hermon shall rejoice in thy name.”[619] The summit snows, condensing the vapors which, during summer, float around it in the higher regions of the atmosphere, produce abundant dew, which is a source of unfailing moisture to the adjacent country, while other portions of the land remained dry and parched. As the source of perpetual verdure and refreshing coolness, it was the image to the Hebrew poet of the enduring blessings of unity among brethren to the whole community. “As the dew of Hermon, and as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion;[620] for there the Lord commanded his blessing, even life for evermore.”[621]

Returning to Magdala _en route_ for Nazareth, we entered “The Valley of the Pigeons,” one of the wildest glens in Northern Palestine. Bearing the Arabic name of Wady el-Hamân, it leads up from the Plain of Gennesaret to the Mount of Beatitudes. Its mouth is a mile to the west from the home of Mary of Magdala. At its entrance the ravine is broad, but contracts to a narrow mountain defile. The cliffs on either side are naked and broken, and rise to the height of a thousand feet. The one on the north is not as high as it is massive; the one on the south is bolder and more precipitous. Far up the gorge, and directly in front of the path, is a perpendicular bluff, terminating in a triangular point, and not unlike in appearance a venerable castle. Near its ancient base is a small but pretty spring, sending forth a soft murmur on the quiet air of Hamân. In the face of the rocks are immense natural and artificial caverns, the resort of pigeons, from which the vale takes its name. During the reign of Herod the Great these caves were filled with robbers, who were the scourges of the whole surrounding country. After the battle of Sepphoris Herod besieged this strong-hold. Failing in his attempt to scale the cliffs, he let boxes filled with soldiers down the face of the precipice, and landed them at the entrance of the caverns. Attacking the bandits with fire and sword, he succeeded in dislodging them, killing some, and dragging others out with long hooks, and then dashing them down on the rocks below.[622]

Illustration: “VALLEY OF THE PIGEONS.”

At the western end of this wild glen is the green plateau of Hattîn. Of irregular form, it is a mile in its greatest breadth. Every where well cultivated, it is bounded on the east, north, and south by low hills, and on the west by the Mount of Beatitudes. Ascending the “Mount,” I found it to consist of two low summits, which suggested its present name, Kurûn Hattîn, “The Horns of Hattîn,” from a fancied resemblance to the two horns of a camel’s saddle. Being a quarter of a mile long, the adjacent ground rises gradually to its base, and the hill forms a crest less than 100 feet high. Relying upon an earlier tradition, the Crusaders revered Kurûn Hattîn as one of the sacred mountains, and, so far as they furnish any proof on the subject, the evangelists confirm the earlier and later traditions. Their simple story is that “Jesus went about all Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people. And there followed him great multitudes of people from Galilee, and from Decapolis, and from Jerusalem, and from Judea, and from beyond Jordan. And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain; and when he was set, his disciples came unto him; and he opened his mouth and taught them.”[623] The region of country, the distance from the sea, the magnificence of the surrounding scenery, the city of Safed “set upon a hill,” the sloping sides of the mountain, and the lovely Plain of Hattîn at its base, combine to render this a befitting place for the delivery of our Lord’s “Sermon on the Mount.” Around it are the Hills of Galilee, to the east is seen the sea, and beyond it are Bashan and Bozrah; while to the north, surmounting one of the highest and grandest of the Galilean mountains, is the old Jewish city of Safed, to which, no doubt, the Savior pointed when he compared his Church on earth to “a city that is set upon a hill, that can not be hid.” Only those who have seen Safed can appreciate the beauty and appropriateness of our Lord’s allusion. From its moss-grown castle is not only obtained a view of the most glorious panorama in Palestine, stretching from the “Mountains of Samaria” to the Arabian Desert, but the allusion amounts to almost absolute truth that the “city can not be hid.” Through all my journeyings for a week it followed me, and the “city set upon a hill” was ever suggesting the sublime lessons of the “Beatitudes.” Whether on the shores of Tiberias, or on the Plains of Hattîn, or on the Hills of Nazareth, or by the Fountain of Seffurieh, or on the green fields of El-Buttauf, the city of Safed was before me, rising up from earth like a beacon-light, at once the confirmation of the Savior’s words, and the impressive symbol of a living Church.

But Kurûn Hattîn has a history other than that of having been the scene of the mild and life-giving teachings of Christ. It has a record of blood. On its heights and around its base was fought one of the saddest and most bloody battles in mediæval times, and the one which sealed the fate of the Crusaders in Palestine, and opened the gates of the Holy City to the profane and tyrannical rule of the Turks. Here, on the fifth of July, 1187, the flower of the Christian army, under Guy of Lusignan, met the barbarous hordes of Mohammedans, led on by Saladin, the mighty prince.

The Christians had succeeded to the full occupation of the Holy Land from ancient Gaza to the venerable city of Antioch. The weak-minded Guy of Lusignan had been elevated to the throne of Jerusalem as the successor of Baldwin V.; and as the powerful vassals of the king, Raynald of Chatillon was Lord of Kerak, and Count Raymond was Lord of Tiberias and Galilee. The Christians were enjoying a period of repose, under a truce which had been concluded with Saladin, the nephew of Nourreddin, and the new Sultan of Egypt. But Raynald of Chatillon, proving faithless to the compact, had plundered a caravan of merchants passing from Damascus to Arabia, and had even threatened the distant cities of Mecca and Medina. Saladin condescended to remonstrate, and demanded the release of the prisoners whom the Lord of Kerak held in chains. His demand rejected, the sultan swore to dispatch the perfidious Raynald with his own hand should he ever fall into his power. To revenge this breach of faith, Saladin lost no time in marshaling a mighty army. Damascus was the appointed rendezvous, and the warriors of the Crescent assembled in thousands, not only from the Assyrian provinces, but also from Egypt, Arabia, and Mesopotamia.

Alarmed by such stupendous preparations, the Crusaders in turn prepared to resist the foe and defend the sacred soil. Five miles to the southwest from Hattîn is the large fountain of Seffurieh, which was the gathering-place of the Christian army. As if impressed with the finality of the struggle, the defenders of the Cross came from their mountain castles and their most distant fortresses to conquer or to die. From the banks of the Kadîsha and of the Orontes, and from the shores of Tiberias, Raymond came with his faithful followers; from the fortresses of Kerak and Shobêk, Raynald led his well-trained knights; lesser barons advanced from Ascalon, Cæsarea, and Sidon, while the King of Jerusalem led in person a numerous army of Templars and hired troops. To add significance to the hour, the venerable bishops of Ptolemais and Lydda brought the Holy Cross which St. Helena had recovered, and elevated it amid the embattled host as the symbol of their faith and the inspiration of their courage.

More than a month had elapsed before the Moslems appeared. At length Saladin, with 80,000 horse and foot, swept around the head of the Lake of Tiberias, and took possession of the heights above the town. Encamped upon the Plains of Hattîn, and hoping to bring on a speedy and general engagement on his well-chosen field, the sultan sent out light detachments to lay waste the country from Jezreel to Tabor, and thence to Nazareth, within four miles of the enemy’s camp. Unsuccessful in this attempt, he then seized Tiberias, and compelled the wife of Count Raymond to retire with her children to the castle of the city.

The intelligence of the capture of the capital of Galilee, and of the imminent danger of the wife and children of the Count of Tripolis, reached the camp of the Christians on the 3d of July. That night a council of war was held to decide upon the action of the coming day. Inspired by the misfortunes of a woman and confident of success, the king and his barons resolved to march in close array for the deliverance of Tiberias. Though unquestionably the most interested party, yet, from motives which have never been explained, Count Raymond opposed the decision of the council, and, having shown the folly of offensive movements in the heat of midsummer, in a region destitute of water and far from the base of their supplies, his policy was unanimously approved of by the king and the other members of the council. But, regarding the decision as unworthy the army of the Cross, the Grand Master of the Templars repaired to the royal tent, and overwhelmed the king with reproaches for having listened to the advice of a traitor, and conjured him not to suffer such a stain of cowardice to rest upon the Christian name. Overpersuaded, the king gave orders to arm, and at midnight the trumpet sounded, while heralds flew throughout the startled camp proclaiming the royal decree.

At dawn on the 4th of July the Christian army was in motion. His scouts had brought Saladin intelligence of the movement, and immediately he dispatched his light troops to harass the Crusaders on their march, while with consummate skill he posted his main army on the plain and along the crest of Hattîn. His ardent wishes were about to be gratified, and his long-maturing plans were on the point of consummation. Late in the afternoon of the same day the King of Jerusalem reached the field of El-Lubieh, two miles to the southwest from the “Horns of Hattîn,” where a desperate battle occurred. Night closed around the belligerent armies without decisive result. That was a dreadful night. The wisdom of Raymond’s advice now became apparent. The heat was intense; and, besides being harassed by the fierce Arabs, the Christians were dying for the want of water. Too weak-minded to take advantage of the darkness and order a midnight attack, and at least gain the shores of the lake, the feeble Guy determined to defer the conflict till the morrow. Whether to revenge the insult offered to his prudent counsels, or conscious of the impossibility of success in attempting to force the ranks of the foe, Raymond of Tripolis advised the course pursued. But it was the fatal step.

At length the morning came. It was the 5th day of July, 1187 A.D. The sky was cloudless, and the sun rose amid a fiery haze――the presage of consuming heat. It was a Syrian midsummer day, and the heavens were on fire. Led by their mighty prince, the followers of the Prophet were no less hopeful than brave. But, posted on a rocky plain without water, and with their tormenting thirst increased by the smoke and heat arising from the shrubs and trees which the enemy had set on fire, the Christians received the first shock of battle with a despondency preintimating the defeat that terminated that dreadful struggle. Yet on no previous field had they displayed a truer devotion, nor evinced a loftier courage. With varied fortunes, the battle raged from early dawn till late in the day. Now the Holy Cross was raised in momentary triumph, now the banner of the Crescent waved in transient victory. But in vain did the Knights of St. John launch their burnished spears at a foe they justly hate, and with equal courage receive in return the arrows and javelins of the Saracens. At length, driven to the highest summit of Hattîn, the king and a handful of Templars gathered around the Holy Cross. Again and again they drove back the enemy, and as often repulsed the terrible attacks of Saladin’s cavalry. Manfully the bravest of the knights fell wounded around the symbol of their faith, and the Bishop of Ptolemais, who bore the Cross, was pierced with an arrow, and, falling bleeding to the ground, for a moment the sacred ensign disappeared, but, springing forward, the Bishop of Lydda grasped the Cross and bore it on high. But the battle was lost. The Crescent of Mecca shone triumphant. Saladin was the victor. The fields of Lubieh and the hill-sides of Hattîn were covered with the dying and the dead; Count Raymond, with the remnant of his followers, had fled, and safely reached ’Akka; while the defeated king, the Grand Master of the Templars, Raynald of Chatillon, and the Bishop of Lydda, with the Holy Cross, fell into the hands of the Moslems.

Conducted to the pavilion of Saladin, the distinguished prisoners were received with the respect due their rank, and with a kindness of demeanor worthy a great warrior. Glancing at each as the group stood before him, he seemed to pity their misfortunes, till his eye fell on Raynald, on whom he bent a look of mingled rage and scorn. Having ordered sherbet, cooled with ice, to be presented to the king, and the latter having passed it to Raynald, Saladin said, “Thou givest him to drink, not I;” which proverbial saying was equivalent to a sentence of death. Fixing his eye on the doomed count, and reminding him of his perfidy, he offered him pardon if he would embrace the doctrines of the Prophet; but, on Raynald refusing to renounce his Christian faith, the sultan drew his cimeter, and, piercing him through, the guards rushed upon him and dragged him lifeless from the imperial tent. Guy, with the captive princes, was sent to Damascus for imprisonment, and 230 knights, both of the Hospital and the Temple, were beheaded in cold blood and without mercy. Taking advantage of the destruction of the Christian army and of the capture of the king, Saladin advanced, and, after capturing the larger sea-port towns from Ascalon to Beirut, excepting Tyre, in less than three months from the battle of Hattîn he was master of all Palestine, and on the 3d of October, 1187, he entered the Holy City in triumph.[624]

From a scene so ghastly, yet so lovely, we journeyed from the Mount of Beatitudes to Nazareth. The path mounts the northwestern shoulder of Hattîn, and descends to the Plain of Lubieh, where, on the summit of a low hill, is a village of the same name. Passing to the southwest, we entered a larger and richer plain, opening into El-Buttauf, and forming one of those fine plateaus which distinguish the mountain scenery of Galilee. A mile in width, it is a vast field of wheat and corn, and through its centre runs a noble road, which was thronged with pilgrims. From its western edge a path leads up to Kefr Kenna, the monkish “Cave of Galilee.” Reaching the summit of the ridge at sunset, the Carmel range was overspread with a pink haze, while the castellated heights of Seffurieh reflected the last rays of the setting sun. Nazareth lay at our feet, surrounded with its ancient hills, and, descending the steep declivity, we entered the town amid the deepening shadows of evening, and were kindly received by the monks of the Latin convent.

It is a fact no less true than remarkable, that Nazareth is without an authentic history older than the Christian era; and though, at the time of the occurrence of the great event which has given immortality to its name, it was a considerable village, it is neither mentioned by Josephus nor the writers of the Old Testament. That it was known and generally held in contempt by the people prior to the Annunciation is evident from the significant question of Nathaniel, “Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth?”[625] Encompassed by 15 naked hill-tops, it occupies the western side of an oblong basin, which is a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide. Here, filling portions of the three ravines which penetrate the highest of the hills, the town is built. Constructed of limestone, the buildings are cleaner and neater than those of any other Syrian village. Out of a population of 4000 souls, more than three fourths are Christians. Under their enlightened influence Nazareth is increasing in wealth and numbers, and is now the capital of the district. As if conscious of their superior numbers, intelligence, wealth, and piety, the Christians assert and defend their rights. In nearly all other parts of Palestine the Christians are cringing and fearful, but the Nazarenes are not afraid either to measure swords or creeds with the followers of the Prophet. The whole town wears an aspect of genuine thrift and business prosperity, and the number of thriving schools, filled with pupils, is the best evidence of a free and enlightened Christianity. Supported by the Protestant Mission of Jerusalem, these schools are furnished with all the appliances requisite to success; and the hundreds of children annually educated can not fail to change the sentiments of the public, and heighten the tone of morals and piety in the city of our Lord’s childhood.

Illustration: NAZARETH.

The chief objects of interest in Nazareth are the legendary sites connected with the history of the holy family. Strangely enough, the Greeks and Latins contend for separate and rival localities as the scene of the Annunciation. In the southeastern portion of the town is the Latin convent, covering the traditional grotto where Mary stood when she received the salutation of the angel. The monastery is a square, heavy building, encompassed by a high stone wall, and is entered through a massive gate. Along the sides of an interior court are the school-rooms, the pharmacy, and the apartments of the superior. The interior of the church is a square of 70 feet, and consists of a nave and aisles formed by four large piers, on which rests the vaulted roof. The columns and walls are covered with canvas, painted in imitation of tapestry, and illustrative of Scripture scenes. Among the pictures is one representing the marriage of Joseph and Mary, and another portraying the appearing of the angel to the husband of the Virgin. A flight of 15 steps leads down to the sacred grotto, which is 20 feet long, as many wide, and 10 deep. The sides are incased with marble, and on the altar, which is of the same material, are seven vases of flowers, and over it are nine silver lamps, which are kept perpetually burning. Behind the altar is a large and excellent picture of the Annunciation, a gift of the Emperor of Austria. To the right of the altar a small door opens into the remaining portion of the grotto, which has been left in its natural state, and from this apartment a staircase leads up into a low rude cave, called the “Virgin Mary’s Kitchen.” This grotto is said to have been beneath the house and home of Mary.

Not content with the possession of a site so precious, the Franciscan monks pretend to have rescued from oblivion the “Workshop of Joseph.” It is a small arched chapel, plain and neat, and, though a modern structure, is sanctified by a fragment of an old wall, a portion of the veritable “shop.” Above the altar is a good painting representing Joseph at work. He is represented as leaning upon the handle of his axe; the youthful Savior is sitting near him reading from the Prophets, while Mary occupies a less conspicuous place. Still another picture adorns the walls of this humble chapel. Joseph is at work at his bench; Jesus is assisting his father by holding one end of the chalk-line while the latter is snapping it; and Mary is sitting opposite them, industriously at work with her needle.

As the rivals of the Latins, the Greeks have identified the site of the angelic salutation on the eastern side of the town, and over the “Fountain of the Virgin” have erected their “Church of the Annunciation.” Without exterior elegance, it is a low structure, with arched ceiling supported by small square piers. In the east end is an altar-screen of wood, elaborately carved, on the panels of which are painted Bible scenes. In the opposite end is a large latticed screen, separating that portion of the church which is allotted to women from the main part of the edifice. In the north end is a recess occupied by the nuns, and over the entrance is a splendid picture of the Annunciation. Mary is represented as standing by a fountain, modest and attentive, and of a lovely form; near her is the Angel Gabriel, in the act of salutation; while above them is the august form of the Divine Father, with outspread hands, bestowing his gracious benediction.

Near this church, and at the base of a hill, is the outlet of the sacred fountain, which the Greeks claim to be the veritable spring to which Mary was accustomed to come for water, and where she was saluted by the angel. Having its source beneath the church, the water is conducted to this spot through a stone aqueduct, where, from under a rude arch, it flows into a marble trough. Though not perennial, yet, as this is the chief fountain of the city, and as it probably existed during the residence of the holy family, it was, no doubt, often visited by the mother of our Lord. The legend that the salutation was given at a spring is derived from the apocryphal Gospels, especially the one bearing the name of St. James. Following the example of Mary, the beautiful maidens of Nazareth resort to this famous fountain not only for water, but for the more agreeable objects of conversation and courtship.

Coming from the “Church of the Annunciation” at the hour of vespers, I witnessed a scene here as novel as it was interesting. From twenty to thirty maidens were waiting to fill their long earthen pitchers from the crystal spring. Attired in a style as neat as it was elegant, they wore close-fitting jackets of different colors, long pointed veils of perfect whiteness, and head-dresses of silver coins. Their forms were straight and symmetrical, their features regular and handsome, their hair full and black, their eyes dark and lustrous, and their complexion of a soft brunette. Waiting their turn to the fountain, they laughed and chatted merrily together, and, gracefully poising the pitcher on head or shoulder, they seemed to regard the labor a delight rather than a task. Celebrated for their beauty, an old writer ascribes it to the special favor of Mary.

The only other great event connected with our Lord’s life in Nazareth, and which could have had “a local habitation and a name,” is his sermon in the synagogue, and the subsequent attempt of his townsmen to thrust him from the brow of the hill. Unwilling that any site should perish, the Latins pretend to have identified the one and the other. That which is shown as the site of the former may possibly be correct, but the “inventors of sacred places” have displayed less discrimination in the selection of the latter than in their choice of other localities. Selecting it for its precipitous appearance, as it overhangs the Plain of Esdraelon, the monks have designated a rugged mountain two miles to the southeast from Nazareth as the “Mount of Precipitation.” But while the height and steepness of this mountain might have answered the murderous purpose of the Nazarenes, yet it is too distant to be in keeping with the letter of the text. With his accustomed minuteness, St. Luke gives a simple narration of the facts of that premeditated tragedy: “And all they in the synagogue, when they heard these things, were filled with wrath, and rose up and thrust him out of the city, and led him unto the brow of the hill whereupon their city was built, that they might cast him down headlong.”[626] The lofty hill to the west of the town corresponds, in its relative location, to that of the city, and is more in harmony with the inspired narrative. With Nazareth at its base, covering its lower spurs and creeping up its ravines, it rises to the height of 500 feet. Its sides are steep and covered with white limestone rocks, and, though not smooth, it is not sufficiently uneven to arrest one’s fall. Once started downward by a violent push, no human power could resist the force or avert the catastrophe. Desiring to test the difficulty of the descent, I found it impossible to descend with safety except by placing my feet in the fissures of the rocks. With a meekness which was the more remarkable because of its exalted purpose, the Master suffered the infuriated mob to hurry him through the crowded streets, and up through one of the ravines, to the brow of the hill, where, by a display of his wondrous power, he released himself from their grasp, and, “passing through the midst of them, went his way.”

From the summit of this hill not only is one of the noblest views in Palestine obtained, but it is the best place for pious reflection. Reaching the highest point in half an hour, we found thereon the ruined wely of Neby Isma’il, and around it were growing the beautiful amaranth and other kinds of Syrian flowers. The wind blew strongly from the sea, which, together with a hazy sky, lessened the enjoyment of the hour; but the wide and glorious prospect was before us. There was Tabor, with its oaken groves; the “Mountains of Gilead,” with the brown plateau of Pella; the Plain of Esdraelon, with its graceful undulations and memorable cities; the Hills of Samaria, green and rolling; the long range of Carmel, crowned with its wealthy convent, and casting its deep shadow into the Bay of Haifa, where the navies of Europe were riding at anchor; the Plain of ’Akka, where “Asher dipped his foot in oil, and yielded royal dainties;” the wide sea, “dotted with many a sail;” the intervening hills, all wooded and sinking down in gentle slopes into winding valleys of the richest verdure; the Plain of El-Buttauf, and the Crusaders’ Castle of Seffurieh; the long ridges of the Galilean Hills running up toward Safed, “the city set upon a hill;” and rising above them all in grandeur was Hermon, with its mighty dome of snowy whiteness sparkling in the sun like a crown of glory.