It is hardly worth while to describe the modern sanctuary of “St. Joseph’s Workshop,” a Latin chapel, built only in 1859, about two hundred yards north of the monastery, in the Moslem Quarter; or the Mensa Christi, a block of rock rudely oval ten feet across and three feet high, in a church built in 1861 in the west quarter of the town. The only other ancient site is that of the Virgin’s Fountain, six hundred yards north-east of the Latin Monastery at the end of a lane hedged with prickly pear, and near the flat camping ground among the olives.

As early as 700 A.D. we find Bishop Arculph visiting here a church over the spring. The present building is only about eighty years old, but occupies the same site. It is dedicated to St. Gabriel, and even the Latins admit it to be on the site where first the angel became visible. It is curious that no artist has pitched upon so charming a subject as that suggested by a meeting with the Heavenly messenger at the Fountain, an idea not discordant with the words of the Gospel. As in the eighth century, so now the spring is under the floor of the church, which is itself half subterranean. The water is led to the left of the high altar, past a well-mouth, by which it is drawn up for pilgrims, and so by a channel to the masonry fountain, where it comes out through metal spouts under an arched recess broad enough for fifteen women to stand side by side. A pool is formed below at the trough, and here the constant succession of the Nazareth women may be seen all day filling their great earthenware jars, standing ankle-deep in water, their pink or green-striped baggy trousers tucked between their knees; their heads are covered, if Moslems, with the moon-shaped tire, if Christians, with a gay handkerchief or the hair platted in long tails. A negress in blue here and there mingles with the crowd, which is chattering, screaming, gossiping, and sometimes fighting.

The Protestant buildings in Nazareth are the most conspicuous, because higher placed than either the beautiful minaret of the mosque or the strong pile of the monastery. The hospital, presided over by Dr. Varten, an accomplished surgeon and a kind doctor, stands towards the north; the church, well built with a pretty garden and capable of containing five hundred persons, is to the west, tastefully decorated within, and having over the altar-table, in Arabic, the words read by the Saviour in the Synagogue of Nazareth, “the Spirit of the Lord is upon me ... to preach the Gospel to the poor; He hath sent Me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives” (Luke iv. 18).

Highest placed of all, however, half-way up the hill, the great orphanage has been building since 1872, and is now complete, and designed to hold two hundred girls. It is built in the symbolic but very inconvenient form of a cross with the sides filled in, and is but ill designed though well executed, and externally a very fine building. From its esplanade the town is visible, spread out almost like a map on the lower slopes, with olive and fig-gardens, cactus hedges and yellow threshing-floors, backed by barren stony hills.

A volume might be written on the history and topography of Nazareth, but the present sketch is necessarily a short one. A chief feature of the place must not, however, be forgotten—the view from the summit of the hill by the little chapel of Neby S’ain, whose untranslatable name is a puzzle to the residents.

We can scarcely doubt that this scene, unchanged as it must be in its noble natural features, was one often before the eyes of Christ in childhood and manhood, and it is remarkable how much that is stirring in the history of Israel was enacted within the theatre of rolling hills which bound the view.

Here on the south the broad brown Plain of Esdraelon stretches away to the hills of Samaria. The peak of the Precipitation stands above it at the end of the plateau of Nazareth, and beyond, the top of Tabor and the cone of Jebel Duhy rise up on the left. The ridge of Gilboa appears farther south, cliff above cliff, tilted eastwards and shelving down gently to the plain on the west. Turn-to the right the eye follows the broken outline of mountains rising into the volcanic cone of Sheikh Iskander, and farther on, the whole range of Carmel, in its length of twelve miles, is stretched dark and wooded from the Peak of the Sacrifice to the Convent promontory where Haifa nestles at its feet. Over the ridge far south the gleaming sea appears; to the north is the hollow bay of Acre with its white circle of surf, the town itself not visible; behind us again on the north are the steep Galilean hills, the Safed mountains, the beautiful plain of Asochis where Kânah stands on the slope; farthest away of all is the snowy dome of Hermon.

Very beautiful on a clear day is this panorama, and striking indeed is the jagged and broken hill horizon, purple against the orange sunset.

Here, then, the Saviour may have stood, and seen before His eyes the theatre of many a tragedy of Jewish history. Tabor, from which the army of Barak burst on the host of horse and chariots by the Kishon springs beneath; Endor where Saul crept round the hillside by night to the witch’s cave; the broad valley down which Gideon drove the Midianites, up which Jehu came in his chariot to Jezreel, visible on its rocky knoll; Gilboa, on whose slopes Saul and Jonathan had perished, caught between the Philistines and the precipices; Carmel, the site of the great triumph of the God of Elijah, and the great sea on which still in autumn the little cloud comes up like a man’s hand and swells till huge thunder-pillars are piled black and high above the mountains. On the north Sepphoris the Roman capital, Seph the “city set on a hill,” Rumeh where some said Messias was first to appear, the road to Capernaum, and the solitary ridges of Hermon where the transfigured Saviour was seen by the three Apostles.

But, as we look round, nineteen centuries later, we mark the influence of the history of the Gospels, and of the growth of tradition. On the south the traditional Leap of our Lord, two miles from the city built on the brow of the hill. In Nain, beneath and unseen, the Christian chapel, commemorative of the raising of the widow’s son, now in turn a Moslem mosque. On Carmel a grotto of Elijah, venerated by Christians and Druses. On the hill of Sepphoris a ruined church, six centuries old, once thought to be the home of Joachim and Anne, the Virgin’s parents. On the plain, a ruined Cana, perhaps only dating from Crusading times. On Tabor a false site for the Transfiguration, and three churches in ruins.

Yet with a history so long and eventful, the land itself is unchanged; the brown plains, the grey barren hills, the wooded cliffs of Carmel, the gleaming sea, the snow-clad Hermon, are still the same that Christ once looked on; and we merely add to the theatre of Jewish victory or defeat the sites venerated, in loving, if mistaken zeal by the Christian pilgrims of the eighteen centuries before our time.

From the hill-top northwards, the view extends to the ruin of Kânah, a village destroyed not long ago, to judge from the existing remains; beneath the hills north-east lies hidden the prosperous village of Kefr Kenna. These are the two places which claim each to represent Cana of Galilee, the site of Christ’s first miracle.

Unfortunately there is scarcely anything in Scripture which would lead to a choice between the two, nor do the chance references of Josephus enable us to do more than speculate as to the comparative likelihood of the sites. In the Talmud, Cana is not noticed; thus there is nothing in contemporary literature to enable us to decide.

One thing only seems pretty certain—that the Crusaders believed Khŭrbet Kânah to be Cana. Sæwulf in 1102 A.D. gives a very particular description of the place as six miles north of Nazareth, with a place called Roma half-way, which he describes as a castle near the road from Acre to Tiberias, where travellers broke the journey.

Fetellus, again (1130 A.D.), places Cana five miles from Nazareth, Sepphoris two, and Tabor four. In the “Citez de Jherusalem” (1187 A.D.), it is made to be three leagues from Nazareth, with a well a bowshot off; Sepphoris being one league, and Tabor three. John Poloner in 1422 A.D. makes it four leagues east of Acre, and two leagues north of Sepphoris. Marino Sanuto describes it most carefully, and draws it on his map as north of a plain reaching south to Sepphoris, with a mountain behind it on the north; he gives the distance as four miles, Tabor also as four, and Sepphoris as two. Brocardus agrees with this description, and Quaresmius in 1620 A.D. notices the same site as an old traditional position for Cana.

These accounts, though the distances seem only approximative, agree in placing Cana at a distance from Nazareth equal to or greater than that of Tabor, and north of Sepphoris and of Roma. They can only therefore apply to Khŭrbet Kânah, situate with a plain to the south, a mountain to the north, and a cave like the crypt described by John Poloner, to the west. They cannot be applied to Kefr Kenna south of Roma (now Rûmeh), almost equidistant with Sepphoris from Nazareth and nearer than Tabor, with a mountain to the south and plain to the north.

The true distances are as follows:

These measurements, as a glance at the map will show, serve to place Crusading Cana from the twelfth to the seventeenth centuries at the northern site of Khŭrbet Kânah. John of Wirtzburg, indeed (1100 A.D.), might be thought to mean Kefr Kenna, because he makes Cana east instead of north-east of Sepphoris; but he gives its distance as double that of the latter town from Nazareth (four miles, whilst Sepphoris is two according to him), the long mile used by most of his contemporaries being evidently intended. The distances thus serve to point in this case also to Khŭrbet Kânah.

Unfortunately the Crusading locality is not of necessity the true one. Writers who could believe that Shiloh was south of Bethel, who could place Tyre south of Carmel and Capernaum on the shore of the Mediterranean, cannot well be received as authorities on such a difficult question. Their identification is thus merely a matter of curiosity. The early pilgrims, before the Crusades, are generally more correct in their views, but even they cannot be received as certainly informed, so many and so curiously perverse are their errors in other points; in this case, moreover, they scarcely mention the place. St. Willibald (722 A.D.) gives a hint of its whereabouts in noticing Cana as on his road from Nazareth to Tabor—a position which seems to suit neither Kânah nor Kefr Kenna. St. Paula (383 A.D.) also passed it on her way from Nazareth to Sea of Galilee; and Theodorus (530 A.D.) makes it equidistant with Nazareth from Sepphoris (both five Roman miles), but does not mention the direction.

The comparative claims of the two places may thus be summed up: Khŭrbet Kânah approaches nearest in name, Kefr Kenna is in the most suitable position.

As regards the name, the word Cana, as spelt in the Greek, seems undoubtedly to represent Kanah as spelt in Hebrew with the “Koph,” a name occurring in the Book of Joshua as that of a town near Sidon (now Kânah) and that of a valley south of Shechem. Kenna spelt with the “Caf” is quite a different word; the root of Kanah has the meaning “reedy,” and this applies well to Khŭrbet Kânah, situate above a large marsh; the root of Kenna signifies “roofed,” and would be spelt properly in Greek with the X, not the K.

As regards position, it seems far more probable that Kenna, on the road to Tiberias, would be the place twice visited by Christ, than the remote Kânah, which is on no main line of travel. The objections also that the word Kefr has to be accounted for, and that no signs of antiquity are found at Kefr Kenna, were removed by the Survey, for we found an old ruin called Kenna near the beautiful spring west of the village of Kefr Kenna.

There is, however, another place which has never, I believe, been noticed, and which fits better than either with the early Christian site noticed by Willibald. The little village of Reineh is on the road north-east of Nazareth, and only a mile and a half away; from it a main road leads to Tabor, and by this road is a fine spring called ’Ain Kânah, spelt as the Greek leads us to suppose the Hebrew form of Cana must have been. In the absence of more definite indications, it seems to me that this third site may well rank with either of the others before mentioned.

The Crusaders, then, believed Cana to be north of the Buttauf Plain, the early Christians placed it south. In the seventeenth century both sites were known, but finally ecclesiastical sanction was given to Kefr Kenna; thus the northern site presents now only ruined walls and dry wells in the rock on the slope of the rugged mountain which is also named Kânah, whilst the southern place is a flourishing Christian village of flat-roofed huts standing above the beautiful gardens and orchards which surround its spring. Like many others of the New Testament towns, Ænon, Bethabara, or Nazareth, there is nothing in the Gospel definitely to fix the position of the place; Josephus and the Talmud give us no aid, and the question appears to me destined to remain always unsettled from want of any evidence sufficiently conclusive.

The survey of the country round Cana and Nazareth, as far west as Kishon, and north to the beautiful valley called Wâdy el Malak, occupied seven weeks from the 20th of October to the 10th of December. It was a period of constantly recurring difficulties, caused partly by the fanaticism of the Moslems, partly by the unhealthy season. The adventures of the party were far from pleasant, and the anxiety was considerable; all, however, was in the end successfully carried through, and Christmas found us safely housed in Haifa.

Warned by the misfortunes of others, we encamped first at some little distance from the quarrelsome town of Nazareth, in the flourishing village of Mujeidil west of it, a place containing Christians and even a few Protestants.

On the night of our arrival the weather broke, and on the following day the thunder-pillars, which had been piled over the dark slate-coloured ridge of Carmel, gradually approached; the effect was magnificent, with a mid distance of low hills covered with oak woods. The storm burst suddenly, the rain descending with violence, hissing on the ground as if not able to come down fast enough, and accompanied with gusts of wind, thunder, and lightning. This naturally called to mind the great storm after the sacrifice on Carmel, when Ahab sped over the plain before the swollen Kishon became sufficiently full to intercept him. In the evening the lightning over Carmel, in broad sheets and vivid forks, was equally fine. The face of the country was soon changed: crocuses, narcissus, lilies, squills, and red anemone appeared, the grass began soon to sprout, and the birds to arrive, and the yellow wagtail appeared by the springs; long wreaths of cloud formed on the hills, and bursts of sunlight or of rain alternated. The extreme clearness of the atmosphere was most remarkable, and distances became most difficult to judge, being apparently only half what they were in reality.

The scenery in the Nazareth hills differs very much in different parts; round the city itself it consists of rolling, rounded mountains of bare white limestone, but on the west these are hidden beneath a growth of forest trees. The wood consists almost entirely of oak, and in places is open with corn beneath the trees; but for the greater part of its extent it is very dense, especially near Harosheth (El Harithîyeh), a place thence named, where underwood, more or less thick, is found. Through this forest runs the beautiful valley called Wâdy el Malak, generally rendered “King’s Valley,” but perhaps better “Valley of Pasture.” Such a valley, with its cool brook and clear springs, its broad cornfields and patches of turf, its flocks and herds, we may suppose David to have in remembrance in the twenty-third Psalm. On either side the slopes are covered by the oak-forest, and innumerable wild doves find shelter for their nests among the branches. For quiet beauty we saw nothing in Palestine equal to this valley, up which in 1875 we ran the levels, thus visiting it day after day for more than a week.

Yet even here the absence of song-birds was very remarkable. Birds of prey, eagles, kites, hawks, vultures, and griffons may be seen almost anywhere in Palestine; the twittering of swallows and the screaming of the Galilean swift are also common; the jays and the comical little “boomehs,” as the owls are called, are always found in the olive-trees; but only at Jericho did we come across the bulbul, and only once (near Jerusalem) did I hear the nightingale. The noise of the cicalas in summer in the olives, and at night the peculiar gamut of the “wâwis” or jackals, and occasionally the bark of a hyena, and the shrill note of the great black crickets, are the most familiar sounds in tent life.

Mujeidil being a place visited by the missionaries, we here witnessed a curious scene. The native Protestant schoolmaster invited us to breakfast, and to the service held by an ordained native clergyman. The school was cool and roomy, with a bright glare through the window and door; the flat roof of wood was supported on masonry arches at intervals, and consisted of boughs smoke-blackened and untrimmed; the walls and floor were shiny with plaster also stained with smoke. Hence the effect was that so peculiar to these interiors, of broad dusky shadow and little bright patches of light: here and there faint lines of tobacco smoke curled in the air, and along the step of the diwan was a row of old slippers of the congregation. Three or four pigeons flew cooing about, and a dozen purple swallows were half hidden in the rafters, whilst an old hen with a tuft on her head stood in a corner.

On one side sat the men, some of them great villains in appearance, in old worn “kufeyehs” and brown “abbas;” behind them a young woman, probably only looking in out of curiosity, to see the Franks, dressed in the Nazareth Christian style, with the baggy trousers—a plump, dusky face, very bright eyes, and hair all tangled. Farther on the old schoolmaster, in a black mantle and white under-robe, hook-nosed, bald-headed, and grey-bearded; by him eight children of various ages, with fat, dark faces, rather pretty, but, as usual, coarse in feature, with bright sparkling eyes, white teeth, and well-shaped mouths. One girl had a sort of stomacher of silver coins, a second was in pink-striped calico, with a huge black Bible. A handsome little boy wore an olive-green jacket, a scarlet fezz, a salmon-coloured waistcoat bound with black braid, and white trousers.

Conversation with the minister, dressed in black overcoat and white gown, opened the proceedings; lemonade, coffee, and a cigarette followed. All the congregation then rose, the minister removed his fezz, and a prayer, a chapter, and a short sermon formed the service, concluding with the Lord’s Prayer, in which all joined, and the blessing; the whole in Arabic. The natives were reverential and attentive, but some of the children got tired of the sermon and set to teasing one another.

Leaving Nazareth as soon as possible, we made our new camp at the village of Sheikh Abreik, situate on a white hill, which projects as a bastion from the rest, forming one side of the narrow gorge where, under the cliffs of Carmel, the Kishon leaves the great Plain of Esdraelon to enter that of Acre. Here we spent a pleasant fortnight, but here also we had troubles with the neighbouring peasantry.

Sheikh Abreik stands on the site of an unknown town of no little importance. To the west the hillside is completely undermined by extensive excavations and systems of tombs which required many days to examine. Under the town is one called “the Cave of Gehenna,” and on the hill is another consisting of chamber within chamber, the first entered being painted with palm-branches, ivy-leaves, and other mortuary emblems in red; in one tomb the inscription “Parthene” is written in Greek, in another we found graves unopened, and the entrances most carefully closed; but unfortunately the roof had fallen in, and all that our excavation brought us was a delicate little tear-bottle, the glass oxidised by age, and covered with a prismatic crust which scaled off easily.

Into every entrance I could find I forced a way, sometimes opening up the door with a spade just enough to force my shoulders through, and creeping into the dark chamber, where the taper revealed ghastly creeping insects, and in one case a scorpion, which stung me pretty sharply. This inspection laid the foundation of a systematic comparison of many hundred tombs throughout the country, which has led to conclusions of some value with regard to the comparative antiquity of various kinds of sepulchres. It is pretty clear, for instance, that the tomb with a loculus parallel to the side of the central chamber is a later arrangement, used by the Jews about the Christian era, instead of the Kokim tomb, in which the body was placed in a sort of pigeon-hole, with its feet nearest the chamber; and further, that the rolling stone was also a later contrivance, being found almost exclusively with the loculi or later tombs. These conclusions fully accord with the description of the Holy Sepulchre as a tomb with a rolling stone to its door, for our Lord’s tomb must have been one with a loculus or grave parallel to the side of the chamber, because two angels are described as sitting, “the one at the head, the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain” (John xx. 12), which would have been clearly impossible in the more primitive form of Jewish tomb with Kokim.

Sheikh Abreik was a great place for game; a flight of woodcock arrived on the 7th of November, and, in spite of the constant massacre which they underwent at our hands (Drake being a very good shot), they stayed a week, during which time we killed and eat about fifty, sending some as presents to Nazareth. Quail and red-legged partridge were also to be found near the camp. One day we had an exciting hunt, over the cotton-fields, after gazelles. The dogs chased a huge wild-cat, over the hill and down a chimney cut in the rock, so that it alighted on the heads of our astonished grooms, in a cave which formed our stable beneath. They also unearthed some fine specimens of the ichneumon, almost as large as themselves, and speedily put them to death. There were large flocks of lapwings recently arrived, but very shy, and in the marshy ground the small bustard was to be found, and occasionally a snipe near the river.

The first really serious attack on the party—though not the last nor the worst—was made near this camp. Sergeant Black was quietly surveying near the village of El-Harithîyeh, where, as it appeared afterwards in evidence, a fête or “fantasia” was being held. The young men were firing at a mark, and one or more turning at right angles, deliberately fired at the sergeant on the neighbouring hill. He must have been in no little danger, as he brought home two bullets which had fallen near him. Our soldier (Husein) behaved with great pluck, and charged up the hill at the crowd to disperse them. We at once wrote to the Governor of Acre, and I lost no time in telegraphing to the Consul-general, Mr. Eldridge, at Beirut. The governor sent a party to the village and took fifteen prisoners, though the inhabitants were at first inclined to make resistance.

The Lieutenant-Governor of Nazareth, of whose conduct we had much cause to complain, appears to have been reprimanded, for he came down to our camp to make friends. He was a most extraordinary character—Faris Effendi by name. His personal appearance was not improved by the affectation of European costume, a purple flannel shirt, a bright brown jacket, trousers of greenish hue, with broad black stripes; on his head a cotton pocket-handkerchief with purple border, put on to guard from sunstroke, under a shabby old red fezz; on his eyes huge blue goggles. For an hour and a half he stayed, showering protestations of love and friendship upon us, and, even to the last, he continued his chatter, and disappeared still talking in an excited manner.

Of this official and his predecessors I was told many curious stories by Mr. Zeller, the Protestant clergyman. Faris Effendi had one passion—his slûkîs or hunting-dogs, which he petted almost like children. He had curious ways also of increasing his income, his salary being a mere pittance on which he could not live; one was to levy a tax on his subjects of all the white hens in the villages; wherever on his travels through the Nazareth district he saw a white hen, it is said he sent to claim it as his own. Mr. Zeller related that another official offered to give his good services, in some difficulties about a schoolhouse, in consideration of the present of a pair of white trousers. A colonel in the Jordan valley, in command of a camp of 3000 men, held a review in honour of some passing travellers, and afterwards demanded a “bakshîsh” of ten francs. Another dignitary was entertained with a game of chess, at Mr. Zeller’s house, in presence of his admiring circle of followers; finding himself, however, in danger of being beaten, he waited till Mr. Zeller’s attention was for the moment diverted, and then quietly removed his opponent’s queen. It is said he expressed much satisfaction at his own ability in winning the game, after having taken this rather unusual method of retrieving his fortunes.

One curious fact, as showing the infamous condition of the administration, we here also ascertained. A Greek banker named Sursuk, to whom the Government was under obligations, was allowed to buy the northern half of the Great Plain and some of the Nazareth villages for the ridiculously small sum of £20,000 for an extent of seventy square miles; the taxes of the twenty villages amounted to £4000, so that the average income could not be stated at less than £12,000, taking good and bad years together. The cultivation was materially improved under his care, and the property would have been immensely valuable if the title had been secure; but the Government subsequently seized the land when it became worth while to do so.

The peasantry attributed the purchase to Russian intrigue, being convinced that their hated enemy has his eyes greedily turned to Palestine and to Jerusalem as a religious capital, and is ever busy in gaining a footing in the country.

The preceding pages give but a sketch of the labours of our first autumn. The information collected cannot be condensed into a few pages, and it forms a very considerable section of the memoir to the map. The main points of interest have been touched upon, but the discoveries of aqueducts, tombs, a hermitage, etc., the exploration of Crusading churches, Roman sepulchral buildings, and other ruins, must be at present passed over in silence.

On the 10th of December the weather threatened to break up, and we marched down to the neat little house which we had hired for the winter, in the German colony at Haifa.

CARMEL.
CARMEL.

CHAPTER VI.

CARMEL AND ACRE.

CARMEL is best described as a triangular block of mountains, the apex being the promontory on which the Carmelite monastery stands. The watershed runs south-east from this point for twelve miles, to the Mahrakah or “place of burning,” a peak visible from Jaffa in fine weather: south of which lies Wâdy el Milh, and above that valley a large volcanic outbreak near the apparent centre of upheaval of the Carmel ridge. Another centre also exists farther west near Ikzim. The highest part of the mountain is 1740 feet above the sea at the Druse village of ’Esfia. The Peak of Mahrakah is only 1687 feet high, and the promontory by the monastery 500, but the slope of the shed is gradual. Long spurs run out westwards from this ridge and fill up the triangle, their western extremities having steep slopes above a narrow plain along the sea-coast. In the valleys among them are two fine springs, and others smaller. The north-eastern declivity of the ridge is extremely steep, and fine cliffs occur in places. At the foot of the mountain are numerous springs feeding the Kishon, which runs beneath, gradually diverging northwards. The little town of Haifa nestles under the promontory, by which it is sheltered from the south-west wind, its bay forming the best harbour on the coast. On the north side of the bay is St. Jean d’Acre, twelve miles along the curve of the shore from Haifa. On the narrow plain, between Carmel and the sea, there are also many places of interest. Sycaminon, Geba of Horsemen, Calamon, Elijah’s Fountain, the Crusading Capernaum, and the strong and beautiful Château Pelerin with its little advanced port of Le Detroit. On Carmel itself is a ruined synagogue, and on the south of the range beneath the inland cliffs are the fine springs feeding the Crocodile river.

First of all in interest comes the cliff of El Mahrakah, “the place of burning” or of sacrifice, a peak forming the south-east extremity of the main range, and tilted high above the white downs south of the mountain, in consequence, as we discovered, of volcanic disturbance. The peak is a semi-isolated knoll with a cliff some forty feet high looking south-east; beneath it a small plateau of arable soil with olives; bushes and shrubs grow up the cliff, and among them a little modern chapel stands near a large dry reservoir; below the plateau, at the very edge of the steep slope which descends to the plain, is a well, cut in hard rock and shaded by a large locust-tree. It contained water even in December before the rains, though not in great quantity, and it was infested with large hornets. From the summit of the cliff the view was wonderfully interesting: on the west the spurs of Carmel, the yellow sand-hills round Cæsarea, the far horizon of sea; on the north Acre, the Galilean hills, Lebanon and Hermon; on the east Nazareth, Tabor, Nain, Endor, Shunem, Bethshan, Gilboa with Jezreel at its feet, the Great Plain, distant Gilead, the Kishon, and Jenîn; at the foot of the mountain, Keimûn the Crusading Cain-Mons, the Biblical Jokneam.

At least as early as the close of the last century, the Carmelite fathers looked on this peak as the scene of Elijah’s sacrifice. The place seems to fit the account well. A plateau gives space for the assembly of the multitude. A well close by may have supplied water. Fourteen hundred feet below is Kishon, where the priests were slain. The sea is invisible, except from the summit, and thus it was only by climbing up to the top of Carmel, from the plateau, where the altar may have stood, that the prophet’s servant could have seen the little cloud, no bigger than a man’s hand, spreading gradually over the sea, the plain, and the bushy mountain spurs. We require a site for the altar near the summit, or the prophet’s servant must have taken at least an hour for each journey; on the other hand, we require water other than that in the Kishon, if the sacrifice took place near the summit, or the water-carrying would have taken three or four hours to complete. Both requisites are found in the site at El Mahrakah.

It is possible perhaps to lay too much stress on the name, for its antiquity is not known, and it is thought to be connected with Druse sacrifices yearly performed here. The Druses are not natives of Carmel, and their tradition can therefore scarcely be thought to have come down from the time of Elijah, but is far more probably derived from the monks, with whom they evidently live on good terms, for, as we had occasion to see for ourselves, they present votive offerings to the old wooden image of Elijah in the chapel of the monastery. It is certain that mediæval Christian legends are preserved by the wild Bedawin near Jericho, and there is therefore some probability of more modern monkish traditions, derived from the monastery, remaining current among the Druses of Carmel. There is a second name which has been thought also to have a connection with the grand tragedy of the slaughter of the priests of Baal occurring near the Kishon; this is Tell el Kassîs, “the hillock of the priest,” a name applied to a shapeless mound near the river-bank; but, in this case also, much caution is necessary before accepting the supposed derivation, for Kassîs is the word applied to a Christian priest, and the word Kohen or Kamir would more naturally be expected if there was any real connection with the idolatrous priests of Baal. Yet, however the tradition of the sacrifice became attached to this peak, there is no point on the ridge which appears more suitable for the dramatic incidents of the Bible story or for the erection of a mountain altar.

Carmel, “the place of thickets,” was at one time cultivated, as shown by the rock wine-presses among its copses. In 1837 it had many villages on its slopes, but these were ruthlessly destroyed by Ibrahim Pacha, and only two now remain—’Esfia on the main ridge, Ed Dâlieh on a high spur; both are inhabited by the mountain-loving Druses, and are remarkable for their race of fine handsome men and beautiful women, some with flaxen curly hair and blue eyes. The whole mountain is covered thickly with brushwood, mastic, hawthorn, the spurge laurel, and, on the top, dwarf pines; the luxuriance of the vegetation, rolling down the valleys between the steep grey and rusty cliffs like a dark cataract, attests the richness of the red soil, and the fine mountain air makes Carmel the healthiest district in Palestine. Among the thickets game abounds,—the Nimr or hunting leopard, wild pigs, gazelles, and fallow-deer; partridges and other birds are seen continually in riding about the mountain. To this known fauna we were able to make an important addition.

From natives of Haifa we learnt that a kind of deer called Yahmûr was to be found on Carmel, and, offering a reward, we procured for some of the Arab charcoal-burners a specimen which resembled the English roebuck. The flesh we ate and found excellent, the skin and bones Mr. Drake sent to the museum at Cambridge; and in 1876 I was informed by competent authority that the specimen was indistinguishable from the English roebuck. Now the interest of this discovery lies in the name. The Yahmûr gives a title to a large valley in a wooded district south of Carmel, and in translating the nomenclature I found that it was a Hebrew word used in the Bible (Deut. xiv. 5) to designate a kind of deer. The authorised version renders it “fallow-deer,” but this latter animal is properly called Ayal in Hebrew and Rîm in Arabic. Thus until we were able to ascertain the existence of the roebuck, previously heard of but not seen by Dr. Tristram, and to obtain the name Yahmûr, there was no clue to the true identification of the deer which furnished Solomon’s table daily with choice venison (1 Kings iv. 23).

The history of the Carmelite settlement is interesting and not generally known. The information which I was able to collect in 1875 from their records and by word of mouth from the monks may be briefly summarised.

Carmel has been a sacred mountain from the time of its earliest appearance in history. Elijah himself “repaired the altar of the Lord that was broken down” (1 Kings xviii. 30), from which we infer that a sacred place or Makom had existed on the summit of the mountain at an earlier period, though, according to the Talmud, such high places became for ever unlawful after the building of the Temple at Jerusalem. From Tacitus we learn that Vespasian visited a place on Carmel, sacred to the deity of the mountain, but without either statue or altar, and even now, as above noted, the Druses hold the site at El Mahrakah in reverence as a sacred place.

In the early Christian period the memory of Elijah consecrated Carmel, and it became a favourite resort of hermits, to whom in 412 A.D. John, the forty-second Bishop of Jerusalem, gave a rule of life. In 1185, after Jerusalem had been taken by the Crusaders, a church rose over the sacred Grotto of Elijah, and in 1209 another monastery of St. Margaret or St. Brocardus was built in a steep gorge south of the promontory. We visited from Haifa its ruins, with a cave containing sedilia for the monks and an upper open story, a spring with sedilia beside it, and below, at the opening of the valley, a second spring, and a garden of fruit trees, pomegranates, apricots, and figs. The lower spring was called after Elijah, and the title still remains in the corrupted form El Haiyeh (“the snake”), applied to the stream from it. A tradition exists that Elijah turned the fruits of the garden to stone, and the huge geodes in the white chalk of the valley are shown as the petrified fruit. This monastery was sacked by the Saracens in 1238, the monks were massacred and thrown into a rock-cut tank by the lower spring, and hence the place is still called “the Valley of Martyrs.”

In 1245 St. Simon Stock, a Kentish man, became General of the Carmelites. He is said to have received from the Virgin the scapular or distinctive tabard worn by the monks of this order; for sixteen years he lived in a cave on Carmel, and was visited by St. Louis during his stay in Palestine.

A monastery of St. Bertoldo rose round his cave, and its ruins are still shown on the slope north-west of the present building, under the lighthouse, near the chapel containing the cave of Simon Stock. In 1291, however, the Saracens fell upon the monks whilst chanting the “Salve Regina,” and massacred them all.

The history of the two subsequent monasteries gives a good example of that energy and persistence which once formed the main characteristics of the Church of Rome. In 1620 the order of Carmelites was extinct in Palestine when a certain Father Prospero, of the monastery of Biscaglia near Genoa, was ordered by his General to proceed with his monks to Persia—probably he was found to be a dangerous man at home, for his history bears witness to his ambitious and energetic character. He got no farther than Carmel, where he left his companions and returned to Rome to obtain leave from the Propaganda to establish a missionary hospice on the mountain. In a second journey he obtained from the Pope the title of Prior for himself and his successors, and, in 1631, he bought the land round the Grotto of Elijah, where the present monastery stands, and round the cave called “School of the Prophets” (now El Khudr) at the foot of the promontory. He erected chapels in both places, but a Moslem derwish succeeded in establishing himself at the latter place, and in 1635 the Moslems took it by force and made it a mosque. Quarrels and persecutions followed; in 1653 robbers stripped Father Prospero and tied him to a tree. Soon after he died, and was buried in the upper chapel.

In 1761 the famous Dhahr el ’Amr, of whom there is much to be said later, had already made himself lord of Acre and king of Galilee; he despoiled the monastery, and in 1767 ordered its destruction on the plea that it was in a dangerous position on the slope of the hill. In 1775 he was beheaded at Acre, and his son ’Aly in revenge massacred all the monks.

In 1799 the sick of Napoleon’s army were sheltered in the monastery, but, on his retreat, they were all killed by the Moslems. A pyramid in the front garden of the monastery marks the grave where their bones were afterwards laid by the monks. In 1821, by order of the Pacha of Acre, the monastery was destroyed, and the new monks arriving from Europe saw it in flames on the hill-top.

Warned by the natives not to land, they returned to Europe, but three of them came back in 1825—Fra Gianbattista of Frascati, Fra Matteo of Philippopolis, and Fra Giusto of Naples. They built the present monastery from a design by the first named, and so strong has it been made, with high walls and an apse which affords flank protection on the east (where also, as being more exposed, there is a ditch), that the monks need scarcely fear further massacres. In 1830 other monks arrived. In 1872 Fra Matteo died in extreme old age, the last survivor of the three founders. This information I obtained in 1875 from Fra Cirillo, the lame lay brother, a courteous old man who delighted in stories of the monastery.

Situate at the end of the ridge, five hundred feet above the sea, reached by a steep ascent of steps, and guarded by a carefully-constructed entrance to the courtyard and by savage dogs, the old monastery stands facing the fresh breeze, and surrounded by vineyards and gardens, among which small chapels are dedicated to the Virgin, to St. John Baptist, and to St. Theresa, patroness of the bare-footed or reformed Carmelites. The huge pile, square and lofty, with a dome to its chapel and a broad flat roof, looks more like a castle than a house of devotion. Seventeen monks inhabit it, but there is room for thirty, and beds are provided for twenty-eight guests besides. The monastery owns three hundred goats and twenty oxen, the monks dry tobacco for snuff, and make a scent called “Eau de Carme” from the flowers of the mountain. They are supposed only to eat meat when ill, but it is said that if a deer is shot, some of the brethren are at once placed on the sick list; fish they may eat, and they include under this category anything staying longer in the water than on land—as for instance wild-duck and other sea-fowl. Living in the monastery for six weeks, I found the monks to be good-natured and fond of gossip, but fully convinced that in England the sun was never seen, and that the people all lived on potatoes and cold meat.

The chapel of the monastery is octagonal, and under the high altar is a cave five yards long and three yards broad, with an altar of rock dedicated to Elijah. Lighting two tapers, the old lay brother drew back a curtain and showed us the statue of the Madonna del Carmine over the high altar, well modelled in wood, life-size, and robed in white satin, with the infant on her right arm, and in her left hand some of the little square black charms so often worn round the neck in Italy. The statue was made in Genoa early in this century. The niche is surrounded with silver lamps offered by pilgrims.

Tradition says that in the “little cloud” over the sea Elijah beheld the future Virgin Mother typified. It is remarkable, however, that the native Christians prefer to offer vows to the old wooden statue of Elijah on a side altar. It is covered with chains, bracelets, and anklets, presented by peasants. A gold Austrian coin, worth five Napoleons, is hung round its neck, with a filigree silver cross presented by an English convert.

There is nothing remarkable in the chapel, which is gaudily painted in modern Italian style. Over a side altar to the south, the heart of the Count of Craon lies entombed, having been brought to the monastery in 1864.

Carmel is remarkable for the profusion of its flowers. In November we found on its sides the cytisus, crocus, narcissus, the pink cistus, and large camomile daisies, the colocasia, and the hawthorn in bud. The Judas tree I have also twice found in remote parts, and in spring, wild tulips, the dark red anemone like a poppy, the beautiful pink phlox, the cyclamen, little purple stocks, large marigolds, wild geranium, and saxifrage, with rock roses of three kinds, pink, yellow, and white. Butterflies also flourish: orange-tips, sulphurs, the great swallow-tail (Machaon), and a transparent species something like the Apollo, apparently peculiar to the mountain, are the commonest.

Leaving the wild ridges of Carmel we must, however, descend to the plain beneath, to the thriving town of Haifa, which has gradually grown in size as Acre has sunk into decay, and which bids fair to be a place of much importance should the prosperity of Palestine ever become greater.

Napoleon is said to have held that Acre was the key to Syria. The natural advantages of the position are great. The bay is the only harbour of importance south of Tyre; from Acre roads lead into Upper Galilee, and southwards they ascend gradually to the watershed of Judea. The whole of the great corn harvest of the Hauran finds a port at Acre, and the rich Plain of Esdraelon close by forms a natural highway across Palestine. But while Acre is the more important town, the south end of the bay at Haifa is the best harbour, both because the projection of the Carmel promontory breaks the force of the sea, and because the high ridge of the mountain forms a shelter against equinoctial and other south-western gales.

Haifa is not noticed in the Bible. In the Talmud it appears under the same name, which means “a haven.” In the middle ages the place was called Porphyreon by a strange mistake, the real town of that name being north of Sidon. It was also known as Cayphas, and the derivations given are very curious. Some supposed the name to come from Cephas, “a stone,” from the stony mountain; others thought it was named from Simon Peter, who was said to have fished here; whilst Sir John Maundeville boldly asserts that it was built by and named after Caiaphas, the high-priest.

The curious rock cemetery is mentioned by many Jewish travellers. It is of value as showing both kinds of loculus to have been used by the Jews, the tombs being close to the present Jewish graveyard, and having the golden candlestick more than once represented on the façades. The place appears, indeed, to have been always a favourite resort of the Jews, and over 1000 are still to be found within its walls, forming a quarter of the population, which includes 1100 Moslems and 1000 Greek Christians, besides Latins, Greek Catholics, and Maronites.

The town is walled and well-built, with a mosque, a court-house, and many large private dwellings. On the west side the extensive ruins of “Ancient Haifa” stretch along the shore beyond the German colony; and the magnificence of former buildings is attested by the fragments of marble, granite, porphyry, and green-stone lying in the shingle on the beach.

Two miles farther south-west are the remains of another large town, at the place called Tell es Semak. There can scarcely be a doubt that this is the ancient Sycaminon, often confused with Haifa, but a place distinct and named from its sycamine fig-trees—a stunted specimen of which still stands near, with its little figs growing out of the stem.

The appearance of the bay in winter was very fine. In calm weather we looked northwards to the long ridge of Galilean mountains, with the strong walls and white minaret of Acre beneath, and the snowy dome of Hermon above. For five minutes every evening a glorious crimson flush spread over the mountains, gradually dying out as the cold blue shadow crept up the slopes. In the morning the long curve of the bay, the misty hills, the beautiful line of palms along the dunes, with the sun rising behind, made a subject fit for Turner’s pencil. The town itself, backed by the Carmel bluff, was equally picturesque, with the old tower above its walls, riddled by English shot and shell in 1840, yet still mounting one gun. As the winter went on, the heavy seas came rolling in round the promontory, and a cormorant, or a Mother Carey’s chicken, might be seen hovering over the waves, or a flight of wild duck bobbing on the rollers. Great shoals of fish came in, and were caught with the primitive cast-nets of the naked fishermen; and, after the storm, the beach would be found strewn with shells, amongst which the Murex trunculus was common, from which the Tyrian purple was derived.

The Khilzon, or murex, is, indeed, closely connected with Carmel. The Rabbis understood the expression, “riches of the deep,” to refer to the Khilzon, and to be promised to the tribe of Zebulon as an inheritance. The Khilzon was fished at a place called after it, and as far north as Phœnicia. Its name still exists in the modern Wâdy Halzûn, a valley tributary to the Belus River, near Acre, in which river the murex was found. The expression in the Song of Songs, “thine head ... like Carmel ... the hair of thine head like purple” (vii. 5), was also understood by the Jews to refer to the Khilzon, and, by a natural elision, to its being found under Carmel.

The murex gave many colours, from green and deep blue to red, but the Tyrian purple was the dark blood-colour, like the darkest of “black roses” as the ancients called them, and only one drop of the dye was found in the vein of the mollusk, which circumstance accounted for the expensiveness of the Tyrian garments.

The Kishon, as noticed in a former chapter, enters the plain of Acre by a narrow gorge under the cliffs of Carmel, on the north side of the ridge. From this point it gradually works away north-west, and is fed by fine springs from the foot of the mountain, and also from near the low hills on the right bank. Most of these springs, but especially ’Ain S’adeh and the ’Ayûn el Werd, flowing from among the rocks near the foot of Carmel, are perennial. Thus, beneath the main ford, west of El Harathîyeh (Harosheth of the Gentiles), the river is full of water even in autumn. Above this point its stony bed is hidden by the oleander bushes, but below it flows slowly through a barren, marshy plain, between banks some ten feet high—an impassable stream, having a fall of eighty feet in the last five miles of its course.

The mouth is curious; the prevailing winds blow from the south-west, and the dunes are gradually heaping up and advancing on this side, so that the river is always forming new mouths farther north. The lagoons now existing behind the dunes on the left bank are perhaps results of the former course. The river breaks through the sand and flows to the sea when the wind is from the east; but, even in wet years, a bar is formed whenever the wind is in the west, blowing on shore. Thus I have found it almost impassable in September, before the rains, but quite dry in January, after they had fallen, according to the wind.

Few scenes more picturesque and more thoroughly Oriental are to be found in Palestine than that at the mouth of the Kishon. The palms, which flourish only on the coast, where water and sand occur together and frost is never experienced, are here found all along the dunes and round the lagoons; the banks, some thirty yards apart, are fringed with rushes and a sort of pink, fleshy-leaved plant. Along the sides stand the grey herons, watching for fish, whilst here and there a white egret steps daintily about, and on the sand the Kentish dottrell runs hastily seawards as the waves ebb out, and the red-shanks and sandpipers skim along in large flocks. Behind all rises the dark steep slope of Carmel, with white piles of cloud above, and a foreground of palms sets the scene in an appropriate frame.

The birds are very numerous. Wild-duck and snipe are found in the marshes, the African king-fisher hovers over the stream, and various species of gulls flit along the shore. The crabs swarm along the line of the bay, and occasionally a great number of rays and skates. In the deeper water a porpoise is sometimes to be seen, and many species of good edible fish are caught.

Acre is a walled town, with a single gate on the south-east. Its trade is now much reduced, and the bazaars are deserted; the richest inhabitant is not worth £1000. The ramparts, blown up by the English in 1840, remain in ruins, and the whole place has a desolate appearance. The port was filled up in the seventeenth century, by Fakhr ed Din, and, in the whole space between the walls and the old Crusading pier—a breadth of 700 yards east and west, by 350 north and south—the greatest depth of water is only six feet, the average being two or three. The appearance of the town outside is picturesque; with brown walls, a tower on a rock in the sea, called, from the fourteenth century downwards (and perhaps earlier) El Manâra, yellow stone houses, with two higher buildings, roofed with red tiles, and with green shutters; above all, the large white mosque of Jezzar Pacha, a square building, with a dome and a graceful minaret, surrounded by palms, and with chambers for the students, covered by rows of little round domes; behind this, the modern barrack, on the site of the old Crusading castle.

Entering the town, I found many of the bazaars turned into cavalry stables, and only about one shop in ten inhabited. In the southern part, however, a busier scene may be witnessed.

Near the Greek convent I found, in ruins, the tombs of two English officers, who fell in a sortie in 1799, Major Oldfield and Colonel Walker, of the Marines. The name-plate of the second had been stolen, and the whole monument was in a disgraceful condition. I afterwards had these two tombs repaired, and a new title and head-stone made by Mr. Shumacher for that of Colonel Walker, whose name I obtained from the English Consular agent. I had them railed in, and thus protected from insult, and public proclamation was made by the Governor to cause them to be respected. Unfortunately, I have never been able to revisit them since they were repaired, though I believe they are still in good order.

The walls of Acre are of masonry, drafted after the fashion used by the Crusaders, and they probably date in part from that period. The powder magazine, blown up in 1840 by the English, is still in ruins; rusty guns are pointed in the embrasures. On the north and east are bastions with a very slight projection, a glacis, and ravelin. Two mortars were shown as left behind by Napoleon, and English cannon-balls are visible sticking in the walls of the castle.

The great mosque of Jezzar Pacha is built of materials brought from ’Athlît, Cæsarea, and Haifa. The north entrance, from the rudely-paved street leading to the castle, is flanked by a beautiful little fountain with rich lattice-work of marble. The square yard within is paved with black and white marble in bands; lofty palms grow between the paved walks, and a colonnade runs round, supported on shafts of marble and red granite, with rude capitals not originally made for the pillars. In the centre is an octagonal fountain of marble, some five feet high, surmounted by a wooden dome, once beautifully painted. The mosque within has a porch, with lofty granite columns, capped with marble. It is a large square building, cased in coloured marble, with little cloisters on three sides, the dome above painted and whitewashed, with a gallery round the drum. The fresco-painting is much worn. An English clock is placed at each side of the door, set to Arabic time (six o’clock being noon), and standing in a high case of walnut. The Mihrab, or prayer-niche, on the south wall, is handsomely adorned with flagging of marble, and is high enough to stand in.

The Moslems were at prayer. A peasant, in a gorgeous head-shawl, a dark blue jacket, and a robe (kumbâz) of pink and white stripes, was performing the usual genuflections and prostrations. A wooden torch, six feet high, in imitation of the wax torches brought from Mecca (such as exist at Jerusalem in the mosque), is placed on either side of the Mihrab, and to the right is a handsome marble pulpit. A long inscription in yellow letters on a blue ground runs round the walls of the mosque. Two beautifully carved stone tombs are shown in the courtyard near the minaret; but the tomb of the founder is in the north-east corner of the town.

Passing through the crooked, narrow, ill-paved lanes of Acre, where huge camels jostle the crowd of bright-coloured peasants and Bedawin, we visited the “galères,” or convict prison, so much dreaded by the natives, because hard labour is enforced on the prisoners. The dark vaults are entered by a wooden door, from between the bars of which heads and arms were stuck out, the convicts shouting for charity—the whole scene a perfect pandemonium.

There were no less than 300 cavalry in Acre, well mounted on fine half-bred horses; but the place has no real strength, and its fortifications could not resist the attacks of modern warfare.

Acre is not a city famous in Scripture. It is noticed, indeed, under the names Accho and Ptolemais; but the Jews were not a maritime people, and it had not, therefore, in their eyes, the importance which afterwards made it “the key to Syria.”

The Crusaders recognised at once the value of its position, and Baldwin I. besieged it in 1103, as soon as Jerusalem was secured. The garrison were relieved by a fleet from Tyre; but, in the following year, it fell into the hands of the Christians, after twenty-five days’ siege. In the disastrous year, 1187, Saladin took it without a blow; but the place was too important to be lost, and the Christians again took it in 1191. In 1229, the Knights Hospitallers settled here, whence its modern title, St. Jean d’Acre; but it was finally lost, in 1291, when the son of Kalawûn levelled it to the ground.

In its palmy days, the town contained a church to St. Andrew, of which a few arches still remain near the sea; a second of St. Michael, now destroyed; a third of St. John, possibly now a mosque; a castle, where the modern barrack stands; a hospital of the Knights of St. John, now the military hospital; and a patriarchate, now perhaps a monastery. On the south the mole ran out south-east and east, closing in the port, and terminated by the rock and tower of El Manâra. There were two lines of wall on the north and east, and in the angle was the famous tower called “Tower of Flies,” or “Maledictum,” which long resisted King Richard, when besieging the town from the great mound called Turon, on the east, where also Napoleon made his attack.

There was a sort of suburb on the north, with a double wall, which now seems to have disappeared entirely, though the sea-rampart is, in all probability, Crusading work. The southern quarter of the town belonged to the Venetians, and north of them the Germans had several streets. The Templars and Hospitallers had each their Custodia; and, in the thirteenth century, the Teutonic knights had wide possessions, in the plains round Acre, and among the villages, or “casales,” as they called them, of Lower Galilee.

The splendid buildings of the Christians were levelled to the ground, and the place remained desolate until 1749 A.D.

The rebuilding of ’Akka, as the town is now called, was effected by the celebrated Dhahr el ’Amr, of the Zeidaniyîn family. The rise and fall of this famous house forms a natural parallel to that of the native Jewish ruling family of the Hasmoneans. Zeidan was a chief of Arab race settled in the town of ’Arrâbeh, north of the Buttauf plain. The power of the family gradually extended, until Dhahr el ’Amr, his grandson, became virtually King of Galilee. Under this famous Sheikh, who paid no tribute, and who governed all Lower and a great part of Upper Galilee, eight districts, including 162 villages, were ruled by his eight sons. Strong forts were erected all over the country, many of which still remain, while in the other cases the foundations only are visible. The mosque and Serai (or court-house) of Haifa, the castles of Shefa-’Amr, Jedin, and Seffurieh, the fortress of Deir Hanna, the walls and mosques of Tiberias, and part of the fortifications of Acre, were built by this family, while many mills and works of irrigation by the Sea of Galilee date from the same period. The country appears to have been prosperous under the rule of its native chiefs, and their buildings are remarkable for good workmanship and well-chosen positions.

But, in 1775, Dhahr, who had long been governor at Acre—where his walls still stand, with an inscription on them, giving the date of their construction—was seized and beheaded by the cruel Bosnian Pacha called Jezzar, or “butcher,” from his many murders. The old man was nearly ninety when he died. His family decayed in power, and it has been so persecuted by the Turks, that now only one representative remains in the village of B’aîneh. From him we obtained lists of the possessions of the Zeidaniyîn, of their fortresses and towns, their mosques and public buildings, with the names of the various builders and approximate dates.

Under Jezzar Pacha, Acre again declined in prosperity. The cruelties of this governor are well known, and remembered among the people. His murder of seven of his wives, whom he beheaded with his own hand, the mutilation of his servants, and of all who offended him, are often spoken of. It was Jezzar whom Sir Sidney Smith assisted, in 1799, against Napoleon, when besieging Acre from King Richard’s Hill, and the defeat of the Emperor was followed, as before noticed, by the massacre of the sick on Carmel.

Jezzar died in 1804, and, since then, Acre has had no history, excepting in 1840, when the English fleet bombarded the town, and drove out the forces of Ibrahim Pacha, who had taken it in 1832. There are many inhabitants who can well remember the short, sharp engagement, and the terrific explosion of the powder magazine, which killed 2000 Egyptians. Since this disaster, the prosperity of the place has dwindled more and more, so that it now contains only some 8000 inhabitants. Should Palestine, however, be destined to form the theatre of future military operations, the name of Acre will no doubt be often heard again in English mouths.

CHAPTER VII.

SHARON.

To the west was ’Athlît, amongst the ruins of which we spent several days measuring and planning. This place was one of the most famous Crusading strongholds of Palestine. It was built by the Templars in 1218, and a contemporary description of their work exists. Jaques de Vitry describes the outer enceinte, the ditch and strong wall, built across the neck of the promontory, and protecting the town on the east. He notices the two great towers behind, of which only a single wall, belonging to the northern one, remains; he speaks of the church now destroyed, and of the great vaults still existing. Thus we have here a dated specimen of Gothic architecture in Palestine, and the magnificent ruins are worthy of the great order which erected the fortress. The place was called Pilgrim’s Castle by the knights, and long resisted every effort of the Moslems to capture it. Only in 1291, just before the fall of Acre, was it finally lost to the Christians, and with its capture the last hopes of the Christian dominion in the country were overthrown. The chronicler describes the huge stones, which could scarcely be dragged by a yoke of oxen; and to the wheels of the carts, which brought the blocks from the quarry for the walls, we may ascribe the deep ruts in the soft rock, on the roads leading from the quarried cliff on the east, towards the town. Here also we have proof that the Crusaders themselves hewed stones with a marginal draft and a rude rustic boss, for no old materials are used up in ’Athlît, and drafted stones occur even in the voussoirs of the pointed arches.

Just outside this position is a little fort with a rock-cut ditch and rock-hewn stables with mangers still in place. It is called Dustrey, and the name is a corruption of District or Destroit, the name of a little tower which the Templars, in 1218, found guarding a narrow passage in the rocks. The passage was called “House of Narrow Ways,” and is mentioned as near the camping ground of Richard Lion-Heart on his march southwards to Jaffa.

’Athlît then was the point where the pilgrims of the thirteenth century landed. Their road was protected for them, both towards Nazareth and towards Jerusalem, by chains of forts still remaining at distances of an easy day’s journey.

It is curious to observe how many ancient sites the Crusaders grouped round the Pilgrim’s Castle. The religious devotee was shown, as soon as he landed, no less than three famous places—ancient Tyre, Capernaum, Meon (the home of Nabal),—and probably Sarepta also; of these the true sites were separated by distances of many days’ journey, in parts not held by the Christians, and one is tempted to suppose that design, rather than ignorance, was the true cause why they were so grouped. Caipha (or Haifa) just north was shown as a place where Simon Peter used to fish. ’Athlît itself was called ancient Tyre, perhaps because near a place named Tîreh, and Sarepta was possibly shown at Surafend close by. Meon was here placed because a confusion existed, in the Crusading mind, between Carmel, the city of the south of Judah whence Abigail came, and Mount Carmel, the scene of Elijah’s sacrifice. But, stranger still, Capernaum was shown in the same district, for reasons not easy to penetrate. The place is mentioned more than once, and Benjamin of Tudela speaks of its distance from Haifa, by means of which we are able to identify it with a village near ’Athlît, now called Kefr Lâm. Capernaum was a fortress, and remains of its towers and walls still exist; but there is nothing to show whether it was supposed to be the real town of our Lord, or merely a place of similar name.

These places, and many other ruins of interest, lie in the narrow plain extending twenty miles south of the Carmel promontory. This plain suddenly enlarges to more than double its width, or to about nine miles, south of the Nahr ez Zerka, or Crocodile River; and a cliff above the beautiful springs, whence this stream is fed near Mâmâs, forms the end of the Carmel block. The Zerka is a deep perennial stream, fringed with rushes and full of Syrian papyrus, forming a blue pool in one place where it is dammed across to collect its waters, and thence rushing down, even in autumn, in a strong stream to the sea; its mouth is guarded by a Crusading fort, and near it are the remains of a Crusading bridge. North and south of the stream there are large marshes, full of tamarisk and of tall canes. The clear springs, under the hills, are perennial, and by them are remains of a Roman theatre at Mâmâs, which has been converted later into a fortress. This stream has been known from the time of Strabo and Pliny as the Crocodile River, and in it the crocodile still exists, being, according to general native evidence, unknown in any other stream in Palestine.

On the sides of Carmel we discovered also a ruin called Semmaka, or the “Sumach tree,” where are remains of what seems to me to have been undoubtedly a synagogue. The dimensions and ornamentation of the lintel stones and pillars reproduce exactly those of the Galilean synagogues; and the place is a very likely one, as the town of Haifa has been a favourite residence of the Jews, from the time of Christ to the present day.

The district we now entered is rarely visited by travellers. The natives are savage and unruly, and the Government finds much difficulty in repressing their internal feuds. They are robbers and murderers, and we were astonished at the number of skulls and bones, in the old tombs, until we found that many were fractured, and we were told that they had belonged to persons murdered by the villagers. In one case I entered a Jewish sepulchre, the door of which was open, and found, to my horror, some six newly-interred corpses, lying on the floor in various directions, not with the right side and face to Mecca according to the proper form of sepulture among Moslems. These corpses therefore belonged apparently to strangers recently murdered.

Early in March, Drake returned and remained with us until the 1st of May, when he left for England and did not rejoin us until October. Thus, for the greater part of the year 1873, I was working with the only assistance of my excellent sergeant and corporal.

The weather was still uncertain. On the night of our arrival at Jeb’a, we had a heavy thunderstorm: again on the 18th of March we had, in a single storm, no less than 1·74 inches of rain. Yet, notwithstanding this, it was a pleasant time, for the air was cool and fresh, the hills carpeted with wild flowers, and the country round the camp full of objects of interest.

On the 21st of March we struck our tents, and marched south to Kannîr, on the edge of the Plain of Sharon, and opposite to Cæsarea, nine miles away. Scarcely had we settled down in our new position, when on the 15th the equinoctial gales came upon us, and found us in a bare flat field, without the shelter of either houses or trees.

The district west of camp was all plain, and to the east were the lower slopes of the “breezy land.” Both the slopes and the plain were covered with an open forest of oaks, less dense than that on the Nazareth hills, but of finer trees; and this woodland is the last remains of the great forest of Sharon, which is mentioned by Strabo as a “mighty wood.” The scenery is very pretty, and the streams, of which there are three between the Zerka and the ’Aujeh near Jaffa (all noticed in the march of the English in 1191 under King Richard), are, even in autumn, full of water.

The famous rose of Sharon (Cant. ii. 1) is apparently the beautiful white narcissus, so common on the plain in spring. The Jews themselves, in their Targum commentaries, so explain the word, and the modern name Buseil, used by the peasantry, is radically identical with the Hebrew title in the Bible. The “lily of the valleys” is probably the blue iris which is now called Zembakîyeh in Palestine.

From Kannîr we visited the magnificent remains of Cæsarea, lying low among the broad dunes of rolling, drifted sand, and so hidden on the land side as only to be seen when within a mile of the walls. The survey of the ruins occupied nearly a week, the principal points of interest only can here be touched upon.

Cæsarea is one of Herod’s cities, completed in 13 B.C. on the old site of Strato’s Tower. The magnificence of Herod’s work at Samaria, Ascalon, Antipatris, and above all at this seaport town, probably far surpassed that of any of the work of the kings of Israel and Judah, excepting Solomon’s great walls at Jerusalem. It is instructive, therefore, to note how little is left of Herod’s buildings, for if of erections so solid and large, constructed at so comparatively recent a period, there remain now but scattered fragments, surely it is most unreasonable to expect an explorer to unearth the “Ivory House” of Ahab (even allowing this to have been a palace at all), or to recover the Calves of Bethel, and the Ark of the Covenant.

At Cæsarea we are brought face to face with another vexed question—the reliability of Josephus. Some Writers have extolled the Jewish historian as a model of almost infallible veracity, but a reaction against this exaggerated view has led to a depreciation of the author, which seems to be now very general. Where authorities are so few, it is surely dangerous to underrate their value: but the question with regard to Josephus is a double one. First, did he write truthfully? secondly, is the present text free from corruption? To this we may often add the inquiry how far are arguments drawn from Whiston’s faulty translation, rather than from the original Greek?