262

A STATELY RUIN.

Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God. And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven. And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."

From here we again passed onward and upward. The rise was very sharp. At our left stood hoaryheaded Hermon, steep, rugged, and grand. In two hours we were at the foot of a tall, isolated mountain, which is crowned by a Phoenician castle, the castle of Banias. This is said to be the stateliest ruin of that kind on earth. It is a thousand feet long, and two hundred feet wide, all of the most symmetrical, and, at the same time, the most ponderous, masonry. The massive towers and bastions are more than thirty feet high, and have been more than sixty. This castle is of such high antiquity that no man knows when or what its origin was.

The up-grade becomes steeper and steeper, and our patient mules find it almost impossible to bear their burdens of camp-equipage. We dismount, and lead our own horses. We pause at every shade-tree and every rivulet. We are in a wild, strange country. We look up to the mountains of snow, and down to the valley of vines. We reach the crest of the mountain spur over

THE SUN IS DARKENED.

263

which our track lies, and stand still. To the rear stretches out the broad plain of Merom; and below that are the sea and the river which have to the Christian world the most sacred associations. But the evening drew nigh, and we turned from this captivating scene as one would turn from the home of his childhood. A half-mile farther on over the ridge, we came to our campground. It was a smooth plat, carpeted with spring verdure. In near proximity was the bright little village of Mejdel, clinging to the steep declivity like bees to a hive. The villagers hovered about our tents in great numbers, but they were respectful and orderly in the highest degree.

over us.

The next morning we departed from this elevated camp at an early hour, as usual. A strong wind was blowing from the east, making horseback riding disagreeable if not dangerous on those broken ways. Presently a strange sensation came "What does this mean?" There was a singular appearance in the atmosphere: the sun became darkened, though not a cloud was to be seen. Finally, “the junior member," casting an eye to the sun, found that the larger part of its disk was obscured by an eclipse. Having had no intimation of this phenomenon in the heavenly bodies, we had begun to think that the "dark day" of 1780 was re-appearing. The duration of the eclipse in Palestine was two hours. A little farther east the obscuration was total.

264

A MOUND OF COBBLE-STONES.

On this and the succeeding day we persistently toiled along, in a north-easterly direction, over the very ground which Saul of Tarsus traversed when on his way to Damascus, to apprehend the Christian believers there, and carry them bound to the high-priests at Jerusalem. All along this route are stony hills and thirsty plains. Vegetation is scanty and withered. Population, there is none; but travelers are occasionally met, having camels laden with heavy burdens. We come to a large mound made of cobble-stones, like the Bourne Monument on Mount Washington. This designates the spot where a traveler was murdered for plunder, and we each contribute a stone to the monumental pile.

Damascus is seen from afar. Rising to a slight elevation, some ten or twelve miles before reaching that city, we caught our first view of the noted place. It appeared like an "island of paradise" in the green inclosure of its shaded gardens. In every direction outside of the city, there seemed to be nothing but a dry, parched desert. We finally, at the end of the second day, or rather after a wearisome journey of many days, reached the oldest city in the world in health and safety. We dismissed our faithful horses, took leave of our efficient guide and his suite, and exchanged camp for hotel life without regret.

We felt a sense of relief on completing this part of the programme, though our pilgrimage had

yet not too cold. I had suffered quite as much from cold as from heat, and more from winds, which prevailed much of the time, than from either. Of course, the season was called "exceptional." Our tent-life had been better than it was possible for men or officers to have in the army. The country during our stay was at its best; there being no dry, seared appearance, except in the wilderness of Judæa and the suburbs of Damascus. Some of the semi-tropical fruits were ripe; early vegetables were abundant; chickens, lamb, and eggs abounded: and, unless one were unreasonably fastidious, he could not complain of his fare. Our horses, having been thoroughly trained to their work, were equal to it. I was pleased with the one that was assigned to me. He had one excellent quality. He was always ready to stop, no matter how early in the day it might be. He was sure-footed also, and was thus able to take me all over Palestine without a mishap. Not an accident befell one of the party or one of the beasts. This is saying much if we take into consideration the wretched tracks that we followed, some of which are graphically described by the patriarch Job, when he says, "There is a path which no fowl knoweth, and which the vulture's eye hath not seen the lion's whelps have not trodden it, nor the fierce lion passed by it."

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THE CITY OF UZ.

CHAPTER XXI.

DESCRIPTION OF DAMASCUS. PLACE OF PAUL'S CONVERSION. THE STREET CALLED STRAIGHT.—WINDOW IN THE WALL. THE MOSQUE AND MILITARY SCHOOL.—TOMB OF ABEL. — NAAMAN'S STORY.-THE RIVERS OF DAMASCUS. — MASSACRE BY THE DRUSES.—FROM DAMASCUS TO BEYROUT. —OVER THE LEBANON. — ATTRACTIONS OF BEYROUT.— SAILING FOR SMYRNA.

We are now in Damascus, and our names are written in the book of the only hotel of which the city can boast. It is the oldest city in the world. It was founded by Uz, son of Aram, grandson of Shem, and great-grandson of Noah. Its fame begins with the earliest patriarchs, and continues to modern times. When Abraham crossed the desert from Haran, nearly four thousand years ago, the city was already standing on the banks of the Abana. But, since that remote period, it has seen many changes. At one time it has been reposing in the calm sunshine of prosperity, and, at another, sitting in the valley and shadow of death. Of the horrors of war it has experienced much. Not less than twelve times it has been pillaged and burned; but it has always, like the fabled bird, risen from its ashes. While other cities of the East have risen and decayed, and the places where they stood have been forgotten,