196

FOUNTAIN AND INN.

southeast. The whole region is formed of limestone rock, commonly broken and precipitous, and shooting out spurs into and athwart the straitened way, so as to make our progress slow and laborious. We were perpetually clambering over rocks and going down broken, precipitous declivities, which, though really productive of no other evil than delay and fatigue, often threatened more serious dangers. A little grass and a few stunted trees appeared in the valleys and on the hillsides upon the first part of the route, just enough to relieve this dreary region of the aspect of absolute sterility which characterizes the Deserts of Arabia.

There is a fountain and a khan about half way between Jerusalem and Jericho. It is close to the road upon the right, at a point where the valley expands into a more considerable breadth. Here is a stone basin for watering animals, and it seems to be customary for travellers to halt for refreshment and repose. There was plenty of water of, I thought, an indifferent quality. The khan is built of rough stones, and has a ruinous and ancient appearance. This must always have been a noted stand upon the route between Jerusalem and Jericho. It divides the distance almost equally; and this circumstance, as well as the expansion of the valley and the presence of the fountain, must always have rendered it the most eligible situation for an inn, as it is now the actual one for the only khan upon the route. I did not see the place which the monks point out as the scene of the robbery mentioned in the parable of the good Samaritan, though they profess to show the precise spot, in a small grassy nook or valley, to which they have given the name of the Field of Blood. No part of the world could be better adapted to the perpetration of robberies than the region bordering upon this road, which, indeed, is still accounted the most

dangerous part of Palestine; and the old khan might claim the honour of occupying the site of the inn, or of being itself the inn referred to in this transaction, with a show of probability which does not always belong to the traditions current in this country.

The valley beyond the fountain is sparingly supplied with verdure. A species of grass resembling stunted barley abounds, and here and there is a small thorntree. The soil, though encumbered with small stones, is far from steril, and might easily be brought under cultivation. The stony channel of a winter torrent, now dry, runs along the bottom of the valley. The surplus and rather abundant water of the fountain does not form a rivulet, but, as everywhere else in this country, is at once drunk up by the thirsty ground. The mountains on either hand are bare and exceedingly dreary.

At the end of, perhaps, an hour and a half we left the valley to the right, and entered upon a region far more rugged and mountainous than that through which we had previously passed. The verdure gradually diminished, till at length not a shrub or blade of grass was visible. Still there was less of bare rock than be. fore, nor was it of so dark a hue. The surface of the stone was more loose and shelving, and in many places reduced to debris. The road runs along the edge of steep precipices and yawning gulfs, and in a few places is overhung with the crags of the mountain. The aspect of the whole region is peculiarly savage and dreary, vying in these respects, though not in overpowering grandeur, with the wilds of Sinai. The mountains seem to have been loosened from their foundations, and rent to pieces by some terrible convulsion, and then left to be scathed by the burning rays of the sun, which scorches this naked land with consuming heat.

At a little distance from the road, on the left, and about half way up a steep and high ridge which we were laboriously ascending, are some rather extensive ruins. It was impossible to determine to what structure they may have belonged; but probably they were the habitations of monks, as none but men who courted solitudes and seclusion from the world would ever have chosen this dreary spot for a residence. A less ruinous structure, of large dimensions, occupies the summit of the mountain. This may have been a monastery, or, perhaps, a military tower, erected for the protection of this exposed but very important route, and to overawe the daring banditti who, from time immemorial, have infested this part of the country. Near the dilapidated edifice are several excavations in the rock, which seem to have been occupied as human dwelling-places, probably by monks. Some of them may have been cisterns for collecting and preserving rain-water for the use of the occupants, military or monastic, of the ruined structure.

A few minutes farther on are extensive remains of an aqueduct, also in a very ruinous state, which probably conducted the water of some fountain that rises among these lofty summits to the plain of Jericho. There was no appearance of water in sight of the road. Everything, on the contrary, had the aspect of being parched with drought, or, rather, of being burned to a crisp with fiery heat. From the higher parts of the mountain in this vicinity we had a commanding view of the Dead Sea, the extensive plain of Jericho, of the Valley of the Jordan, with the verdant strip of wood or copse that borders the stream and conforms to all its sinuosities, and of the vast field of mountains beyond the river and the sea-the land of Ammon and Moab.

Soon after passing the ruined aqueduct we com

DESCENT TO THE PLAIN.

199

menced descending rapidly towards the plain, which cannot be less than 1500 or 2000 feet below the summits of the mountain. It seemed to me the most fatiguing part of the journey. I had suffered much from the motion of my horse in clambering up and down the rugged steeps, which had formed by far the largest part of our way from Jerusalem, unable to relieve myself, as at other times, by an occasional walk; and now, every step of the jaded animal, as he dropped his feet deliberately and heavily from rock to rock, jerking and jolting my lame back, inflicted absolute torture. Fatigue and the violence of the heat had occasioned a good deal of irritation and fever, and it was with some difficulty that I maintained my position in the saddle for the last half hour previous to reaching the foot of the mountain.

The desolate region which I have described, and which stretches still farther to the north, overlooking the vale of the Jordan, is believed, and I presume with good reason, to be the wilderness where, after his baptism in that river, "Jesus was led up of the Spirit, to be tempted of the devil," and where he "fasted forty days and forty nights."* The particular summit which the prevailing tradition teaches us to regard as the scene of the temptation is about three miles north of the point where we reached the lower ground. It became a very conspicuous object as we advanced across the plain towards Jericho, being, as I conjectured, nearly two thousand feet in perpendicular height; certainly one of the highest, and, I think, the highest summit of the whole immense pile, and distinguished for its sere and desolate aspect, even in this gloomy region of savage and dreary sights. Its highest summit is crowned with a chapel, still occasionally resorted to by the devouter pilgrims, while the eastern face, which * Matt., iv.. 1, 2.

200

RUINS OF A TOWN.

overhangs the plain, and commands a noble view of the Arabian mountains, is much occupied with grots and cells, once the favourite abodes of pious anchorites.

Being in advance of our train upon reaching the foot of the mountain, I halted to view some ruins that occupy its lower slope, just upon the western confines of the plain. They extend a considerable distance both north and south of the road. There is nothing massive or imposing in these remains, though they, no doubt, mark the site of a very considerable ancient town. The stones are small and unwrought, and have the appearance of being merely the refuse, which were left as worthless by those who bore away the more valuable materials to be employed in the erection of new buildings. A number of old foundations and the vestiges of an ancient wall are easily traceable. Upon the bank of a ravine north of the road is a mound of considerable elevation, which seems to be a work of art, and is, perhaps, an ancient tumulus or sepulchral monument. I did not reach the limit of these ruins, either north or south, but they are quite extensive, and, from the best observation I was able to make, cover a tract half a mile or more in length.

The modern village of Jericho is about two miles from these ruins, in a direction nearly east. A small brook of clear water runs in the bottom of a ravine, along whose southern bank we prosecuted the remainder of our journey to that point. We found a vast company encamped upon the plain, opposite to Jericho, which, though scarcely three hundred yards distant, was completely masked by an impervious thicket of thorns. A beautiful stream, which runs over a rocky bed towards Jordan through the midst of this grove, increases the difficulty of reaching the village on this side. Travellers usually cross this stream higher up, and proceed to