In October, 1848, I found myself at Sebustieh, the ancient Samaria, having come thither from Jerusalem by the common route through Nabloos, i.e., Shechem. Since that time I have often been there, but never without a feeling of very deep interest, not only in the beauty of its site, worthy of a royal city, or in the Roman remains still subsisting, but also in the remarkable fulfilments of Biblical prophecy which the place exhibits. The stones of the ancient buildings are literally poured down into the valley, and the foundations thereof discovered, (Micah i. 6.)

We left the hill and its miserable village by the usual track through a gateway at its eastern side. Down in the valley lay fragments of large mouldings of public buildings, and the lid of a sarcophagus reversed, measuring eight feet in length.

At first we took the common road northwards, and ascending the hill above Burka, from the summit had a glorious prospect of the sea on one side, and of the populous village country, well cultivated, stretched before us; we left the common road to Sanoor and Jeneen, turning aside under Seeleh, a double village nearest to us, with AtÂra further west.

The muleteers had preceded us during our survey of Sebustieh, on the way to ’ArÂbeh, and we could see nothing of them before us—the road was unknown to us, and no population could be seen, all keeping out of sight of us and of each other on account of the alarm of cholera then raging in the country.

At Nabloos that morning, two hours before noon, we had been told of twenty having been already buried that day, and we saw some funerals taking place. At Sebustieh, the people had refused for any money to be our guides; one youth said, “he was afraid of the death that there was in the world.”

So my companion and I, with a kawwÂs, paced on till arriving near sunset at a deserted village standing on a precipice which rose above a tolerably high hill, and which from a distance we had been incorrectly told was ’ArÂbeh; at that distance it had not the appearance of being depopulated, as we found it to be on reaching it. Numerous villages were in view, but no people visible to tell us their names. The district was utterly unknown to maps, as it lies out of the common travellers’ route. This village, we afterwards learned, is Rami, and antique stones and wells are found there. Though our horses were much fatigued, it was necessary to go on in search of our people and property, for the sun was falling rapidly.

Observing a good looking village far before us to the N.W., and a path leading in that direction, we followed it through a wood of low shrubs, and arrived at the village, a place strong by nature for military defence, and its name is Cuf’r Ra’i. There was a view of the sea and the sun setting grandly into it.

For high pay, we obtained a youth to guide us to ’ArÂbeh; shouldering his gun, he preceded us. “Do you know,” said he, “why we are called Cuf’r Ra’i?—It is because the word Cuf’r means blaspheming infidels, and so we are—we care for nothing.” Of course, his derivation was grammatically wrong; for the word, which is common enough out of the Jerusalem district and the south, is the Hebrew word for a village, still traditionally in use, and this place is literally, “the shepherd’s village.”

We passed an ancient sepulchre cut in the rock by our wayside, with small niches in it to the right and left; the material was coarse, and so was the workmanship, compared to ours about Jerusalem.

The moon rose—a jackal crossed a field within a few yards of us. We passed through a large village called Fahh’mah, i.e., charcoal, with fragments of old buildings and one palm-tree. Forwards over wild green hills, along precipices that required extreme caution. The villages around were discernible by their lights in the houses. At length ’ArÂbeh appeared, with numerous and large lights, and we could hear the ring of blacksmiths’ hammers and anvils—we seemed almost to be approaching a manufacturing town in “the black country of England.” [217]

Arrived on a smooth meadow at the foot of the long hill on which the place is built, I fired pistols as a signal to our people should they be there to hear it, and one was fired in answer. To that spot we went, and found the tents and our people, but neither tents set up nor preparations for supper. Village people stood around, but refused to give or sell us anything, and using defiant language to all the consuls and pashas in the world.

Till that moment I had not been aware that this was the citadel of the ’Abdu’l Hadi’s factions, and a semi-fortification. [Since that time, I have had opportunities of seeing much more of the people and the place.]

Sending a kawwÂs to the castle, with my compliments to the Bek, I requested guards for the night, and loading my pistols afresh, stood with them in my hand, as did my second kawwÂs with his gun, and we commenced erecting the tents.

Down came the kawwÂs in haste to announce that the Bek was coming himself to us, attended by his sons and a large train.

First came his nephew from his part, to announce the advent; then a deputation of twenty; and then himself, robed in scarlet and sable fur, on a splendid black horse of high breed. I invited him to sit with me on my bed within the tent, widely open. The twenty squatted in a circle around us, and others stood behind them; and a present was laid before me of a fine water-melon and a dozen of pomegranates.

Never was a friendship got up on shorter notice. We talked politics and history, which I would rather have adjourned to another time, being very tired and very hungry.

He assured me that when my pistols were heard at the arrival, between 700 and 800 men rushed to arms, supposing there was an invasion of their foes, the TokÂn and JerrÂr, or perhaps an assault by the Pasha’s regulars from Jerusalem, under the pretext of cholera quarantine—in either case they got themselves ready.

He stayed long, and then went to chat with my Arab secretary in his tent, leaving me to eat my supper. He gave orders for a strong guard to be about us for the night, and a party to guide us in the morning on our way to Carmel.

This personage (as he himself told me) had been the civil governor inside of Acre during the English bombardment of 1840; and his brother had first introduced the Egyptians into the country eleven years before that termination of their government.

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In 1852 I had arrived at ’ArÂbeh from Nabloos by a different route, and turned from this place not seawards as now, but inland to Jeneen: whence I again visited it on my return. It seems worth while to give the details of this route.

Starting from Nabloos at half-past ten we passed ZuwÂtah close on our right, and Bait Uzan high up on the left. Here the aqueduct conveying water from the springs under Gerizim to gardens far westwards, was close to the high-road. Arriving at Sebustieh and going on to Burka we quitted the Jeba’ road, and turned to Seeleh which lay on our left, and FendecomÎa high up on the right, Jeba’ being in sight.

Soon after this we turned sharply north-west to ’Ajjeh, and thence arrived at ’ArÂbeh in five and a half hours from Nabloos.

After leaving ’ArÂbeh for Jeneen we got upon a fine plain, namely, that of Dothan. On this, near to another road leading to KabÂtiyeh, is a beautiful low hill, upon which stands Dothan, the only building left to represent the ancient name being a cow-shed; however, at the foot of the hill is a space of bright green sward, whence issues a plentiful stream of sparkling water, and here among some trees is a rude stone building. This spot is now called Hafeereh, but the whole site was anciently Dothan, this name having been given me by one peasant, and Dotan by another.

On my return hither a few days later I found a large herd of cattle, and many asses going to drink at the spring. Dothan is well known to shepherds now as a place of resort, and must have been so in ancient times. Here then, in the very best part of the fertile country of Ephraim, is the pasture-ground to which Joseph’s brethren had removed their flocks from the paternal estate at Shechem, and where they sold their brother to the Arab traders on their way to Egypt. This may help to mark the season of the year at which Joseph was bought and sold. It could only be at the end of the summer that the brethren would need to remove their flocks from exhausted pasture-ground at Shechem to the perennial spring and green watered land at Dothan; this would also be naturally the season for the Ishmaelite caravan to carry produce into Egypt after the harvest was ended. Be it remembered that the articles they were conveying were produce from the district of Gilead—(“balm of Gilead” is mentioned later in Scripture)—and it is specially interesting to notice that Jacob’s present, sent by his brethren to the unknown ruler in Egypt, consisted of these same best fruits, “Take of the best fruits of the land, balm, honey, spices and myrrh, nuts and almonds.”

Dothan is about half an hour distant from ’ArÂbeh, and therefore six hours or a morning’s walk for a peasant from Shechem.

More solemn, however, than the above interesting recollection, was that of the horses and chariots of fire which had encircled the very hill upon which I stood, when Elisha “the man of God,” lived in Dothan, and smote the Syrian army at the foot with blindness, and led them away to Sebustieh, (Samaria,) 2 Kings vi.

After leaving Dothan, at the falling in of this road to Jeneen with that from KabÂtieh, stands a broken tower on an eminence above the well BelÂmeh, which Dr Schultz has identified with the Belmen, Belmaim, and Balamo of the Book of Judith, (chap. iv. 4; vii. 3; viii. 3.)

* * * * *

To resume—Away early in the morning. Paid the night-guard and sent a present of white loaf bread and some tea to the Bek.

It was promised that we should reach Carmel in nine hours, across an unknown but pretty country in a different direction from Lejjoon and Ta’annuk (Taanach of Judges i. 27,) which I had designed for my route, and towards the sea-coast.

Our guides were gigantic men, beside whom my tall peasant servant Khaleel appeared to disadvantage, and their guns were of a superior description to what one commonly sees in Palestine. The peasantry also were large men with good guns.

First, due west for quarter of an hour towards Kubrus, situated upon a hill, but before reaching it, turned sharply northwards, through a rocky defile of ten minutes, when we fell in with a better road which, they said, came also from ’ArÂbeh, and on towards a fine village named Yaabad in a lovely plain richly cultivated; there were after the earlier crops young plantations of cotton rising, the fields cleared of stones and fenced in by the most regular and orderly of stone dykes.

Before reaching Yaabad, we turned due west, our guides alone being able to judge which of the many footpaths could be the right one.

Reached the poor village Zebdeh, then over a green hill with a prospect of the sea. CÆsarea visible at a distance, and in the middle distance Jit and Zeita. Near us were ruins of a strong place called Burtaa, said to have a supply of delicious water. Our journey was all over short evergreens rising from stony ground. So lonely—none in sight but ourselves for hours after hours. “Green is the portion of Paradise” exclaimed our people.

At Cuf’r Kara, a clean mud village in the fragments of columns lying about, we rested beneath some huge fig-trees while the luggage, guarded by some of the escort, jogged forwards; for muleteers never like resting their animals, or at least do not like unpacking them before the end of the day’s march; the trouble is too great in reloading them. The riding horses were tied up under the trees, and we got some melons and eggs from the village.

After an hour we remounted and went on steadily north-west. Soon reached Kaneer, where was a cistern with wide circular opening of large masonry, bespeaking high antiquity.

Then to SubÂriyeh on a small rise from a hollow with one palm-tree. The well was at a distance from the village, and the women washing there. One man asked one of them to move away while he filled our matara (leathern bottle.) She said she would not even for Ibrahim Pasha, whereupon he roared out, “One sees that the world is changed, for if you had spoken in that manner to one of Ibrahim’s meanest of grooms, he would have burned down your town for you.” The matara was then filled.

In another quarter of an hour we were pacing through a wide Riding (as we use the term in the old English Forests for a broad avenue between woods.) This opened into a plain of rich park scenery, with timbered low hills all about, only of course no grass: in the centre of this stands ZumÂreen, perched on a bold piece of rock. Many of the trees were entirely unknown to us Southerners; some of the evergreens were named to us as Maloch, etc., and there were bushes of Saris with red berries.

Out of this we emerged upon the plain of the sea-coast, at a wretched village bearing the attractive name of Furadees (Paradise.) Here the people were sifting their corn after its thrashing, and we got a boy to refresh us with milk from his flock of goats. Only those experiencing similar circumstances of hot travelling, can conceive the pleasure of this draught, especially after having had to gallop round the boy, and coax and threaten him to sell the milk for our money.

The way lay due north, hugging to the hills parallel to the sea, but at a distance from it: numerous wadis run inland, and at the mouth of each is a village. The first was SuÂmeh, the next ’Ain el GhazÂl, (Gazelles fountain,) wretched like the rest, but in a pretty situation—then Modzha, and Mazaal, and ’Ain Hhood, (a prosperous looking place,) and Teeri.

The sun set in the blue water, and we were still far from Carmel—our animals could scarcely move: sometimes we dismounted and led them—passed the notable ruins of Tantoorah, (Dora of the Bible,) and Athleet on our left—moonlight and fatigue. There was a nearer way from ZumÂreen, but it would have been hilly and wearisome. After a long while we overtook our muleteers without the baggage, for the KawwÂs Salim, they said, had been so cruel to them that they had allowed him to go on with the charge towards Carmel.

At length we climbed up the steep to the convent. Being very late we experienced great difficulty in gaining admission. There was no food allowed to the servants, no barley for the horses, and for a long time no water supplied.

In the morning we found great changes had taken place since 1846. The kind president had gone on to India—the apothecary Fra Angelo was removed to a distance—John-Baptist was at Caiffa and unwell. The whole place bore the appearance of gloom, bigotry, dirtiness, and bad management.

In the afternoon I left the convent, in order to enjoy a perfect Sabbath on the morrow in tents at the foot of the hill, open to the sea breeze of the north, and with a grand panorama stretched out before us.

And a blessed day that was. We were all in need of bodily rest, ourselves, the servants and the cattle—and it was enjoyed to the full—my young friend and I derived blessing and refreshment also from the word of God. The words, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,” seemed to have a reviving significance, as well as those of “Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him, shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”

Such a Sabbath in the Holy Land is true enjoyment.