Plains of Palestine.—?No Farm-houses.—?Great Plain of Esdraelon.—?Its Fertility.—?Topography.—?River Kishon.—?World’s Battle-field.—?Waters of Megiddo.—?Deborah and her Victory.—?Jeneen.—?Bethshean.—?Encampment.—?Modern Sheikhs and ancient Patriarchs.—?City of Ruins.—?Jabesh Gilead.—?Pella.—?Gideon’s Fountain.—?Mount Gilboa.—?Battles.—?Jezreel.—?Napoleon and the Turks.—?Shunem.—?Nain.—?Endor.—?Witch’s Cave.—?Saul and Samuel.—?Witches.—?Mount Tabor.—?Its Form.—?Woods.—?View.—?Misnomer.—?Transfiguration.—?It occurred at Night.—?Argument.—?Benighted Party.

There are two classes of plains in Palestine—those upon the sea-board, as the Plains of Philistia, Sharon, and Phoenicia, and those of the interior, as the Plains of Rephaim, Jericho, El-Mukhna, the BukÂ’a, and Esdraelon. They differ from each other chiefly in location, the former being maritime, and consequently more or less affected by the action of the sea; the latter being inland, and subject to the influences of the lofty mountains by which they are encompassed. Though equally beautiful, fertile, and historically important, yet at present those upon the coast are less cultivated and less inhabited than the others, as the wild Bedouins, dreading the sea, prefer to pitch their tents in the interior. Nothing evinces the degeneracy of the Syrian Arabs more than the neglect of these vast garden-plains. Perhaps it is not so much a proof of their degeneracy, as the Turk in Syria has never been otherwise than what he now is—indolent as he is overbearing, the enemy of all improvements, and the destroyer of whatever is elegant in architecture or beneficial in good government. The proverbial richness of the soil of Palestine is evinced by the abundance of grain annually raised at the expense of the least possible labor. Without ever receiving, the land is ever giving. The superficial process of plowing resembles our mode of dragging, and the application of mineral and other kinds of manure is a thing unknown. One often and heartily desires to see an American farmer occupying these noble plains, with his enlightened views of agriculture and his improved implements of husbandry. What golden harvests, in more senses than one, would repay his toil! He would realize the prophetic blessings pronounced on Asher, “His bread shall be fat, and he shall yield royal dainties.”

The custom of dwelling in villages, and not upon the land cultivated, is fatal to the thorough development of the natural resources of any country. You may travel for miles through the richest portions of Palestine without seeing a human habitation. In going from Etham to Hebron, a distance of 15 miles, and through a fertile region, we failed to see a single dwelling, though occasionally we observed a small village perched on a mountain top. The traveler never meets with the clean, comfortable farm-house so common in the agricultural districts of America. Here the people dwell in towns, and there is a matter-of-fact meaning in the Savior’s words, “Asower went forth to sow.” If we except its eastern branches, there is not a single inhabited dwelling on the whole Plain of Esdraelon, and not more than one sixth of its soil is cultivated. Occasionally are seen the black tents of the nomadic Bedouin, who, despoiler-like, feeds his flocks till the crop is exhausted, and then removes to another section of rich pasturage, or, mounted on his fleet steed, scours the plain in search of plunder.

Whether considered as to the extent of its area, the fertility of its soil, the beauty of its scenery, or the political and religious importance of its history, the Plain of Esdraelon is the first of inland plains. The southern frontier of Zebulon, it fell to the lot of Issachar, “who saw that rest was good, and the land that it was pleasant;” and, rather than abandon his possession, “he bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a servant unto tribute.”521 Extending from the Mediterranean to the Jordan Valley, it is not unlike a vast rent in the heart of the land. Resembling in form an irregular triangle, its base extends a distance of 15 miles from JenÎn to the mountains below Nazareth; and with one side measuring 12 miles long, formed by the Hills of Galilee, the other runs along the Samarian range a distance of 18 miles. Serving as the channel-bed of the ancient Kishon, its apex is a narrow pass half a mile wide, opening into the Plain of ’Akka. From its base three arms branch out toward the east, divided by Gilboa and Little Hermon. With Tabor on one side and Little Hermon on the other, the northern branch has Nain and Endor on its southern border, and was the path taken by the troops of Deborah and Barak when on their way to the battle of Megiddo. Lying between Gilboa and JenÎn, the southern branch terminates among the hills to the eastward. But, excelling the others in extent and richness, the great central branch descends in green and gentle slopes to the banks of the Jordan, having Jezreel on the south and Shunem on the north, and is known in Scripture as the “Valley of Jezreel,” where Gideon triumphed, and Saul and his sons were slain. Having its most distant perennial source in the great fountain of JenÎn, the famous river Kishon flows through this plain in a northwesterly direction, and pours its brackish waters into the sea. Called by the Arabs Nakr el-Mukuttah, it is ordinarily a clear and rapid stream, lined on either side with flowers and dense shrubbery. Increased in the rainy season by numberless mountain torrents, and by springs from the base of Carmel and from the bases of the Hills of Nazareth, it varies in depth from four to eight feet, and from 10 to 40 in width. It is evident that it must have been swollen by some extraordinary means to have swept away the fugitive army of Jabin. “The stars in their courses fought against Sisera” may indicate a tremendous storm that swept over mountain and plain, sending down torrents of water from the mountain streams, overflowing the steep banks of the Kishon, and sweeping on to the sea with irresistible force, bearing on its rapid current the routed foe, who, in the confusion of defeat and flight, had become entangled in the dense thickets that line its banks.

But the significance of Esdraelon is its marked history. It is the battle-field of nations. The hosts of Israel and the wild tribes of the ancient Canaanites have met in death-grapple upon its soil, and in later times the powerful armies of Europe contended on the fields of El-FÛleh with the barbarous hordes of the Orient. Here Deborah and Barak marshaled their hosts against Sisera; here Gideon encountered the Midianites; here the Philistines fought against Saul and Jonathan; here Benhadad put the battle in array against Ahab; here Jehu slew Ahaziah and Joram; here the knights of mediÆval times grappled with the soldiers of the Crescent, and Napoleon and Kleber led their splendid columns against the relentless Turks. It was a memorable day when we traversed this plain, recalling the clamor of war, and in fancy beholding the onset, the retreat, and fierce pursuit of mighty armies. And equally gratified were we that those scenes of death are past, and that flowers now bloom and harvests ripen where belligerent hosts once fought.

Descending from the heights of Carmel, we followed a winding path through wooded dells to the southwest corner of Esdraelon, and in half an hour reached Wady el-MÊlhor, “The Salt Valley,” which forms the boundary-line between Carmel and the Mountains of Samaria. Up this ravine the French marched in 1799 to attack Ramleh. Fording the Kishon, our path lay along the base of the Samarian Hills, which are furrowed by deep gorges, eleven of which are the channels of as many streamlets flowing into the sacred river. Seven miles beyond is the battle-field of Megiddo. Here, sweeping along the base of a high mound, are the “waters of Megiddo,” running northward into the Kishon. On the banks of this stream is the scene of that great battle between Barak and Sisera. Roused by the call of a woman, the former had assembled the northern tribes of Israel on the summit of Tabor, where he was joined by Deborah, who led to the fight the tribes of Central Palestine. Choosing Taanach as his rallying-point, the latter had concentrated his host with 900 iron chariots. Approaching from different points of the plain, the contending foes met hard by the “waters of Megiddo.” Then it was that “the stars in their courses fought against Sisera,” as at that moment a storm of sleet and hail gathered from the east, and, bursting over the plain in the face of the advancing Canaanites, threw them into confusion, and “the torrent swept them away.”522 Springing from his chariot, Sisera fled on foot into the neighboring mountains, where the nail of Jael awaited him who had escaped the sword of Barak. Then, in the moment of triumph, Deborah sang her wondrous song.523

Six centuries later, here Josiah, king of Judah, fought against Pharaoh-necho of Egypt, who was advancing to attack the King of Assyria, and here, in the “Valley of Megiddo, the archers shot at King Josiah, and he said, Have me away, for I am sore wounded.”524

Following the southern border of Esdraelon, we reached Jeneen at sundown, where we encamped for the night upon its beautiful lawn. Taking an Arab guide, we started the next morning for the BeisÂn of the Arabs, the Scythopolis of the Romans, and the Bethshean of the Bible, on whose ancient walls the dead bodies of Saul and Jonathan were fastened after the fatal battle of Gilboa. Our path lay up a low ridge of limestone hills which overhung the valley of the Jordan on the west, and, crossing the summit, we descended to a noble plain, well watered, overgrown with rank weeds and briers, and dotted with the black tents of wandering Bedouins. Pausing for a moment, we examined, as far as modesty and safety would allow, the encampment of these nomads. Around their tents flocks and herds were grazing, watched by the faithful dog and guarded by mounted patrolmen, who scoured the plain for a mile in circumference, to discover, if possible, the lurking-place of some neighboring plunderer. In an open tent “two women were grinding at a mill,” while others were kneading bread and spinning flax. Every thing about the encampment wore the aspect of a semi-barbarous state, and the question rose in our minds more than once as to the tent-life of Abraham and his sons. In many points there is an evident similarity. Like the nomads of the present day, the patriarchs wandered from place to place; their property consisted of herds of cattle, and flocks of sheep and goats; their women, to whose lot it fell to grind, spin, and cook, occupied separate tents, as in modern times; and, like them, they were constantly liable to be surprised and plundered; hence then as now, all the males went armed for the protection of their property. But here the parallel ends. There is no comparison as to personal excellence, domestic refinement, and social dignity. If the words and acts of a man reveal his heart and manifest his condition, then the history of those venerable patriarchs bespeaks a purity of character, a refinement of social life, and a dignity of private and public behavior not unworthy the best state of society in this Christian age.

Reaching Bethshean at noon, we found a wretched modern village of 500 Egyptians, whom Ibrahim Pasha had colonized there to protect his frontier, but who are now cruelly oppressed by the wild nomads of the GhÔr. The ancient city was one of the strong-holds of Palestine, which the Israelites were never able to take. It lies in the line of the great caravan route from Damascus to Egypt, and is the same traveled by the Ishmaelites who bought Joseph. Like most of the cities of that distant age, it was built upon a hill, with a walled acropolis crowning the summit. Increasing in wealth and population, the limits of the town were extended to the plain below. Covering a space of more than three miles in circumference, the piles of massive ruins which remain no less indicate the strength of the position than the elegance and affluence of the city. The religious temples of Bethshean were the boast of its citizens, and, judging from the number and finish of the remaining marble columns, they must have equaled in magnificence those of more renowned places. But time has wrought what the marshaled hosts of Israel could not accomplish. Bethshean is a desolation; its site and environs are covered with acres of thorns and brambles; the famous Roman arch, that spanned the streamlet on the east, is broken; the impregnable wall, upon which the lifeless bodies of Saul and his sons were suspended in derision, has fallen; the proud temples of Ashtaroth, that resounded with songs of triumph over the slain, are no more, and solitary columns rise up amid weeds and thistles, like spectres in the silent vales. The only remaining building is the amphitheatre, having a diameter of 180 feet. Though comparatively well preserved, with all the interior passages and doors nearly perfect, it is so overgrown with weeds and lacerating briers that we examined it with the greatest difficulty.

From the summit of the acropolis we obtained a view which was as interesting as it was commanding. Four hundred feet below us lay the Valley of the Jordan. Measuring more than three miles in width, it is every where well watered, green, and fertile, and dotted with thickets of tamarisk. Directly opposite rose the Mountains of Gilead, in the side of which stood the town of Jabesh Gilead, whose valiant men, under cover of the night, rescued the remains of Saul and his sons, and, recrossing the Jordan, interred them in their own town, beneath a venerable oak.525 And in the same direction is the site of ancient Pella, the first city of refuge under the Christian dispensation. Called by the natives Tubukat Fahil, it is a plateau in the mountain’s side 1000 feet above the Jordan. More than a mile in length, it is half a mile in width. The soil is a bright red, and the terrace is bordered with verdure, and so singularly formed that the mountains seemed to have receded to give place to the persecuted sons of God.

On leaving this city of ruins we crossed a stone bridge 35 feet wide and 75 long, and entered the “Valley of Jezreel.” It is the central branch of the great plain of Esdraelon, and is bounded on the north by Little Hermon and on the south by Mount Gilboa, both of which ridges run eastward and overhang the Jordan valley. This vale is three miles wide, and through its centre flows the JalÛd to the Jordan, which is a clear and noble stream. Extending from its banks to the base of the hills on either side are fertile fields, on which, at intervals of two miles, were Arab encampments. To distinguish it from Mount Hermon proper, the ridge on the northern border of this vale is called Little Hermon, having received this appellation from the ecclesiastics of the fourth century, who erroneously supposed, from its contiguity to Mount Tabor, that the Psalmist referred to it in that sublime passage: “The north and the south, thou hast created them; Tabor and Hermon shall rejoice in thy name.”526 Shapeless and barren, it has neither natural beauty nor historical interest. It has its greatest height toward the west, and its eastern end gradually slopes down into a broad plateau of table-land. But its companion ridge, known as Mount Gilboa, is at once remarkable for its appearance and its historical associations. It is neither high nor rugged, but low and rolling. At a distance it appears smooth and shadowy, but a nearer view reveals the slight gullies that furrow its sides and the bolder ledges projecting from its summit. In its northern base, less than two miles from Zer’in, is the large and famous fountain of ’Ain JalÛd, where Gideon’s men evinced their courage by lapping water. Without exception, it is the most beautiful fountain in Palestine. Issuing from two deep caves at the base of Gilboa, the limpid water spreads out into a basin of solid rock 50 feet in diameter. The water is clear and delicious. From the sides and tops of the caverns depend trails of fern, maiden’s hair, and other water-plants. Around the border of this basin, and on the banks of the stream that flows from it, is ample room where Gideon’s men might have tested and proved their courage. Called by the inspired writer “the Well of Harod,” or the “Spring of Trembling,” it evidently derives its name from those decisive words of Jehovah: “Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him return and depart early from Mount Gilboa.”527 For centuries this was the rendezvous of many a hostile army. From its pure waters Gideon crossed the plain at dead of night, and with his pitchers, and lights, and trumpets, surprised the Midianites;528 and, years after, Saul encamped at the “Fountain of Jezreel.”529 Clad in disguise, he descended the southern border of the plain, and, crossing Little Hermon below Shunem, he went to consult the Witch of Endor as to the fortunes of the coming day. Alittle to the northwest from the spring the mighty army of the Philistines lay encamped before Shunem, and when the morning came they descended the gently-sloping plain and began the onset; and the fierce Amalekites drove the army of Saul up the rocky acclivities of Gilboa, where, on the favorite battle-field of the king and his sons, “The shield of the mighty was vilely cast away, even the shield of Saul, as though he had not been anointed with oil.”530

In less than half an hour’s ride from ’Ain JalÛd we stood amid the desolations of Jezreel, the empire city of Ahab, and the residence of his cruel and impious queen. Situated on the crest of a low spur projecting into the plain from Gilboa, it is but little higher than the plain itself, except on the north side, where there is a descent of 100 feet. Twenty miserable huts compose the modern town of Zer’in, together with a square antique tower called an “inn.” Excepting a few sarcophagi, with sculptured ornaments and heaps of rubbish, there is nothing to remind the traveler of the royal city of Jezreel. Here the infatuated Jezebel planned the destruction of the Lord’s prophet; and here, having first accomplished his death, she confiscated the property of Naboth, reserving for her weak-minded husband the long-coveted vineyard. Though no sign for its identification remains, it must have been to the east of her palace, as the two kings met the relentless Jehu coming from Ramoth Gilead, which is on the east, “in the portion of Naboth.” Here, in the conflict that ensued, Joram was slain on the spot; the queen was trampled under the hoofs of Jehu’s horses, while King Ahab, hoping to escape by flight over the plain to En-gannim, was overtaken by his pursuers, and died of his wounds at Megiddo.531 Here all the sad details of the fearful judgments pronounced against the house of Ahab have been fulfilled, and, were it not for the imperishable places around, it would be impossible to identify the site of Jezreel, where Jezebel held her murderous orgies.

Three miles to the northwest, on the direct road to Nazareth, stands the tower of El-FÛleh, where Napoleon, with 3000 Frenchmen, successfully resisted the attack of 30,000 Turks during a period of six hours, and finally routed his powerful foe. But we had lingered too long on the heights of Zer’in, as night had set in, and we were an hour hunting for our encampment. Riding through fields of wheat and barley, we crossed the Valley of Jezreel, and, after a journey of three miles, arrived at the small village of Shunem, called by the inhabitants SÔlem. Though destitute of architectural elegance, its environs are beautified with large and fruitful gardens. Occupying the lower slope of Little Hermon, it consists of a few Arab huts, without a single vestige of antiquity. Belonging to the tribe of Issachar, it was the home of that “great woman” who built a “little chamber on the wall” for the Prophet Elisha, and here she “embraced a son” as a reward for her hospitality, and received that son from the dead as a farther expression of the divine regard. Her house, with the “little chamber on the wall,” is gone, but yonder is the field whither the child of promise “went to his father to the reapers,” where he received the fatal coup de soleil, and from which he was carried back to his mother. Fifteen miles to the southwest, but in full view, is the blue ridge of Carmel, where the prophet and his servant Gehazi lived in solitude, and over this intervening plain the disconsolate mother rode to lay her complaint before the “man of God,” who, yielding to entreaties, returned with her to Shunem, and called back the spirit of her departed son.532 Behind the town is the “Hill of Moreh,” along the base of which the Midianites lay when surprised by Gideon, and where the Philistines were encamped the night preceding the battle of Gilboa.

Winding round the western base of Little Hermon, in less than an hour we came to Nain, whose name is suggestive of the most tender associations. Situated on a low mountain spur, its dwellings are small and its inhabitants are few. Directly opposite, standing forth in all its beauty, is Mount Tabor, and rising up beyond, far away on the horizon, is the white cone of Hermon. Though fortune has lavished no favor on this quiet hamlet, yet Christ has linked its memory with one of his most touching miracles. To the east of the village are tombs in the hill-side, where the people now, as of old, bury their dead. It was probably to one of these ancient sepulchres that his neighbors were bearing the “young man” to his burial when Jesus, coming from the north, met the funeral procession, and in tones of divine compassion sweetly whispered to the disconsolate mother, “Weep not,” while, with an authority that knew no barrier, he touched the bier and commanded, “Young man, Isay unto thee, Arise.”533 Three miles to the northeast, located on a rocky acclivity, is the small village of Endor. The path thither crosses the northern shoulder of Jebel ed-Duhy, and, entering the Plain of Esdraelon, diverges to the right up the hill on which the town stands. The transition between Nain and Endor is too sudden to be pleasant. Tender-hearted mothers and beguiling old witches are too unlike to be grouped together in the same picture or visited the same day. Endor is a wretched place of 30 huts, and the noble view afforded from its rocks is the only natural charm of the village. The sides of the hills that rise above it contain many large and curious caves, some of which are used for human habitations. Tradition has designated the most remarkable one of the number as the sibylline home of the famous witch of Endor. It is a deep and solemn cave. The entrance is guarded by two massive rocks, between which there is a large fig-tree, imparting an air of secrecy to the spot. Within the cavern is a spring of crystal water, and from the rocks above and on either side trails of maiden’s hair depend like curtains of Mechlin lace. From its inner chambers come deep and mournful echoes, and the alternate light and darkness within gives to the cave an air of witchery. Placed under the ban of the kingdom, with a price set upon her head, it is not unreasonable that the Pythoness of Endor should have sought a retreat so difficult of access in which to perform her necromantic feats. Celebrated for her skill, it was to her the troubled Saul repaired, in the darkness of an ever-memorable night and in the disguise of a peasant, to revive, if possible, his broken spirit by hopeful disclosures of the coming day. With a duplicity only equaled by her depravity, she evoked the venerable Samuel. Not in obedience to her call, but to forewarn the heart-broken king, the venerable prophet, “covered with a mantle,” appeared, and announced with more than Delphic authority, “To-morrow shalt thou and thy sons be with me.”534

The witch of Endor has left to her female descendants the impress of her brazen-facedness. There is an archness in their countenances and a boldness in their behavior not characteristic of woman in any other part of Palestine. Mounting a horse like a man, they ride with a swiftness and daring hardly excelled even by the plundering Bedouin. Destitute of all those finer virtues which belong to Christian womanhood, they are as vicious as they are uncouth. Not suspecting their honesty, Ihad left a leather pouch upon the ground which contained many valuables while Ipressed a few ferns from the sibyl’s cave. Returning to the spot, it was gone. All swore by the beard of the Prophet they had not seen it. Threats made no impression upon their fears, and they smiled in scorn at being reported to the Pasha. In a moment the town was aroused, and our threats were returned with a shower of stones; but, revolver in hand, we commenced the search of every hovel. Descending a narrow pass in the rocks, Isaw a woman standing in the mouth of a cave whose countenance excited my suspicion, and, offering her a baksheesh, she drew from the ample folds of her bosom the stolen pouch, with a shamelessness not unworthy Endor’s elder witch.

Three miles to the north, diagonally across the northern branch of Esdraelon, stands the Mount of Transfiguration. Whether considered for its natural beauty or as the scene of many thrilling historic events, Tabor is second only to Olivet in religious interest among all the sacred mountains. Separated from the surrounding hills except on the northwest, it stands out alone, having its base swept by the magnificent Plain of Esdraelon. Its shape changing with the stand-point of the beholder, it is not easy to define its graceful form. Having seen it from every point of the compass, its variant forms added not a little to my impressions of its extraordinary beauty. Viewed from the Heights of Carmel, it resembled a truncated cone; seen from the northern Hills of Galilee, it reminded me of the Pyramids of Egypt; from the Mountains of Samaria it appeared like the segment of a great circle; while from the summit of Jebel ed-Duhy and from the plain below it was not unlike a terraced mound or woodland park. More than two thirds of its sides on the east and north, up to its very summit, are covered with noble oaks and beautiful terebinths, not densely like a forest, but with open glades between oaken groves, adorned with grass, and strewn with pheasant-eyes, anemones, and amaranths. Its summit is an oblong area half a mile long and a quarter wide, broken into charming vales and hillocks, enhancing the delights of the spot. In ascending to the top the path resembled the threads of a screw, winding in gentle acclivities up to the highest peak. Now it led through groves of terebinths, now over flowery beds, now verging on the edge of a bold precipice, now entering dells sombre with the thick foliage of stately oaks, and anon opening into glades where the grass was green and the flowers fragrant. Though the heat was intense without, the path was so smooth and shady that we gained the loftiest point in less than an hour, where we were refreshed alike by the unbroken silence of the scene and the unrivaled glory of the view.

Tabor rises 2000 feet above the level of the sea, and the prospect from its summit is one of extraordinary grandeur. The eye sweeps over the Mountains of Samaria, the long ridge of Carmel, the Bay of Haifa, the Plain of ’Akka, the Hills of Galilee, the lofty peak of Safed, the “Horns of HattÎn,” the majestic form of Hermon, the gray walls of Moab, the dark line of verdure defining the banks of the Jordan, while nearer are the slopes of Gilboa, the rocks of Duhy, and the glorious Plain of Esdraelon, like one unbroken sea of verdure, with its borders dotted with the hamlets of Jezreel, El-Fuleh, Shunem, Nain, and Endor. And no less significant is the thrilling history of Tabor. Tabor was the northern boundary-line of the tribe of Issachar;535 here the heroic Deborah and Barak assembled the children of Zebulon and Naphtali to fight against Sisera;536 years later it was the rendezvous of the brothers of Gideon—“each one resembled the children of a king”—whom Zebah and Zalmunna slew;537 and at a later period it became the scene of Israel’s idolatry, whose priests Hosea denounces for having “been a snare on Mizpah and a net spread on Tabor.”538 Bold in its outline and firm upon its everlasting base, the inspired writers chose it as a symbol of glory—“Tabor and Hermon shall rejoice in thy name,”539 and as typical of the Lord’s unchangeable word, “Surely as Tabor is among the mountains, and as Carmel is by the sea, so shall Pharaoh come.”540 Naturally one of the strong-holds of the land and the key of the plain, it became in our own era the head-quarters of Josephus, as it had been in the year 218B.C. the strong-hold of Antiochus the Great. But there is one historic honor which does not belong to Tabor, and, if it did, would not enhance the glory of its associations. Proverbial for the application of real or fancied names to the scenes of the great events in their martial annals, and ever fond of a high-sounding name, the French have designated the conflict which occurred on the Plains of El-Fuleh as the “Battle of Mount Tabor.” But as the village of El-Fuleh, where Kleber met the advanced guard of the Turks, and which afterward became the central point of attack, is ten miles to the southeast from Tabor, with equal propriety it might have been called the battle of Mount Carmel, and with greater consistency the battle of Mount Gilboa. The simple fact of Napoleon’s army coming from Nazareth and sweeping round the northeastern base of Tabor is not sufficient to justify the misnomer, nor warrant the application of the name of this most sacred of “mountains” to a battle fought by a chieftain who had invaded the Holy Land on an ambitious crusade.

But the glory of Tabor is the transfiguration of our Lord. Anxiously Isought to identify the spot of that wondrous scene, that Imight look up into the same serene heavens from which came the voice of approval, and in which appeared Moses and Elias. High up on the northern slopes, far away from the ruins of the ancient village, is a lovely glade, inclosed with oaks and adorned with flowers. Shut in from the world, all nature breathes a sense of repose, and a holy quiet reigns within undisturbed. The view of the blue skies is unobstructed, and here in the “stilly night,” watched only by the stars, the Son of God held converse with Moses and Elias touching “his decease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem;” and, as a pre-intimation of his glorified body after his ascension, “the fashion of his body was altered, and his raiment was white and glistening.”

For nearly sixteen centuries Tabor has been regarded as the veritable scene of this great event, and not till within a few years has its claim been called in question. The chief argument against this venerable tradition is drawn from the itinerary of the Evangelists, in which CÆsarea Philippi is mentioned as the last place where Christ had taught previous to his transfiguration. It has been suggested that the probable scene of the event is somewhere on the southern ridge of Hermon. More than once, while on its noble summit, Ihad occasion to regret that the doubt of its identity had been suggested to my mind, and the more so as the author of the suggestion had nothing better to offer; but the examination which Ifelt compelled to make not only removed all reasonable doubts, but, proving entirely satisfactory, confirmed the impression of earlier years, and added to the joy of the moment. If our Lord had been transfigured immediately or on the next day after the conversation with his disciples touching men’s opinions as to himself, there would be some force in the objection; but two of the evangelists inform us that the event occurred six days541 after this conversation, and St.Luke assures us it took place “about eight days after these sayings.”542 The distance between CÆsarea Philippi and the summit of Tabor is less than 18 hours, or less than 54 miles, which, on foot or otherwise, can be accomplished in less than three days, thus giving sufficient time for the journey between the two places. And it is a fact equally significant, that immediately after our Lord had been transfigured we find him in the vicinity of Tabor at Capernaum, which is but 21 miles over an excellent road to the northeast; thence crossing the Jordan at the head of the lake, “he departed from Galilee, and came into the coasts of Judea beyond Jordan;”543 all of which is consistent with the location of the several places in leaving Mount Tabor for the north, but which would not be true if our Lord came southward from the slopes of Hermon. It has also been objected that, from the days of Joshua to the time of Antiochus the Great, Tabor has been an inhabited mountain, and, as such, would have been inappropriate for the retirement of Christ and his three disciples; but history simply intimates that during fifteen centuries the mount had been the rendezvous of belligerent armies, and that, in process of time, its summit was fortified; but in the times of Josephus the defenses had fallen into decay, and he caused them to be rebuilt about thirty years subsequent to our Lord’s ascension. If inhabited at all when Christ ascended its verdant slopes, it was only by a few wretched villagers, such as may be seen in their mud huts, or clinging to ancient ruins in other parts of Palestine; and, though its summit were inhabited, yet, owing to the peculiar configuration of the mount, its high northern acclivities are singularly retired. It is a remarkable fact, that, though accustomed to withdraw from the world for meditation and prayer, Christ never chose a “howling wilderness” as the place of his devotion, but always an inhabited mountain. Even the Mount of Olives, rendered doubly sacred by the frequency of his presence, was in his day, as now, a populous mountain, but in some of its wooded dells was his bower of prayer. Jesus sought the haunts of men, and, like a great warrior sleeping in the midst of his camp, he was ever with his people. St.Luke more than intimates that the transfiguration occurred during the darkness and silence of the night. Referring to the miracle wrought immediately after the descent, he states, “And it came to pass, that on the next day, when they were come down from the hill, much people met him.”544 Such an hour for the display of the divine majesty was singularly appropriate. During the day he would have been subject to intrusion from wandering shepherds and strolling hunters on any mountain in Palestine; but under the cover of the night he would have been unmolested by either, as the former are stationary in the midst of their flocks at that time, and the latter are unable to pursue their vocation. If the vision transpired in the daytime, why were the disciples overcome with sleep? The suggestion of Peter to build three tabernacles or booths, or provide some temporary shelter made of branches of trees, according to a custom still prevalent in the East, is more than an intimation that night had overtaken them, and, supposing their heavenly guests would tarry with them, they desired to shelter them from the dews of the night.

It was two o’clock on Saturday afternoon when we left the small village of DebÛrieh, at the base of Mount Tabor, for the Sea of Galilee. Riding up a fruitful valley, in an hour we came to a branching road—one branch leading directly to Tiberias, and the other to the mouth of the Jordan. Either from ignorance or villainy, an Arab directed us to follow the latter path, which caused us to be benighted, and greatly endangered our safety. The mistake, however, was to our advantage in the end, as we passed through a tract of country rarely visited by travelers, owing to the turbulent and thievish character of the population. Turning eastward, the path lay along the crest of a mountain ridge, where the peasantry of both sexes were engaged in husbandry. Occasionally we passed the extensive ruins of unknown towns, and now and then entered villages remarkable only for their wretchedness and filth. Whether to display their horsemanship or test our courage, three mounted Arabs, armed with Bedouin swords, pistols, and lances 20 feet long, issued from one of those miserable hamlets, and, singing a war-song, dashed by us at a furious speed, when, suddenly wheeling, with their lances leveled at our breasts, they rushed toward us as if to plunge us through. Finding their equestrian feats neither awakened our fears nor inspired our admiration, they returned to their village and allowed us to pursue our unfrequented path. From the summit of the mountain we were crossing we gained a noble view of the Vale of Tiberias and its circlet of green hills. Cheered by the prospect of reaching our destination at an early hour, we rapidly descended 1000 feet into the wild gorge of Fejas, flanked by lofty mountains, and followed the banks of a beautiful stream lined with shrubbery and gorgeous oleanders. Charmed with the surrounding scenery, and confiding in our Arab guide, we passed the hours happily, nor were our suspicions aroused that we had been misdirected till it was too late to retrace our steps. Referring to our maps, we found ourselves in the wild and uninhabited Vale of Fejas, which terminates in the valley of the Jordan, 10 miles to the south from Tiberias. Straining our eyes, as we wound round each jutting cliff, to catch a glimpse through the opening hills of the vale we had seen from the heights above, at length, in the dusk of the evening, we reached the upper terraces of the Jordan. Under other circumstances we would have surveyed the new landscape with delight; but we were now benighted, miles from a human habitation, in a country notorious for its robberies, and with skies already black with the coming storm. Closing up together so as to form a circle with our horses, we held a council, and discussed the question of advancing or encamping for the night. Far to the east, beyond the rushing river, we could discover, by its faint lights, the solitary village of KanÂtir, but were not near enough to reach it before we should be overtaken by the darkness and the storm. Tiberias was 10 miles to the north; night was now upon us; the skies were cloudy; the rain began to fall; the path to the ancient capital of Galilee was unknown, and we were without a guide. Against remaining where we were were the serious facts that our cuisine was empty, and we were without provender for our mules and horses. Deciding to proceed, we forded several torrents, and, on ascending a broad upland plateau, in the darkness of the hour plunged into a marsh, into which our horses sank to their haunches. Crossing a barley-field which had been reaped, we met two mounted Arabs, whom we understood to say that Tiberias was but half an hour to the north. Cheered by the good news, we urged on our jaded beasts to their utmost speed, now stumbling over rocks, now floundering in the soft, marshy soil. But, as we advanced, the darkness increased; each friendly star had withdrawn its guiding ray, and the rain fell in torrents. Part of the company made directly for the shore, while two of us continued on the upland to report the first glimmer of the distant lights of Tiberias. Onward we rode; the hours dragged heavily by. Near midnight the clouds dispersed, and familiar stars came out one by one, and looked softly down upon the lost and weary travelers. The beautiful lake lay quietly in its mountain bed, and the repose of night rested on all nature, undisturbed save by the rippling wave breaking faintly on the pebbled shore, or the sudden leap of the jackal or flight of the stork, startled by the sound of our coming. Beguiling the weary hours by the recollections of the past, hunger and fatigue were forgotten as the visions of other years rose up before my mind, and, by the realization of a sublime faith, Ibeheld the Redeemer treading the troubled bosom of Gennesaret in the darkness and storm of night, as in the days of old. It was now past midnight; we had failed to reach Tiberias; we knew not the distance to be traveled; and, determining to encamp, we pitched our tents upon the sandy beach, tethered our hungry horses, and, contenting ourselves with a little rice and mish-mish, we laid down to fitful slumber.

The peaceful Sabbath dawned without a cloud. While yet the night struggled with the morn, Iascended a bold bluff, commanding a glorious view. The skies were soft and warm; the mellow light of day lined the east; the sea was placid as an embowered lake, and the surrounding hills were yet dreamy with the haze of night. The impressions of that hour were as hallowed as their memory is imperishable. It was the first time, by the light of day, that Ilooked upon that most sacred of lakes. Returning to the tent, we learned, to our happy surprise, from a passing Arab, that we were within half an hour’s ride of Tiberias. Compelled by the necessities of the case, we passed quietly up the coast and encamped within the walls of the ancient city just as the Jewish population, attired in their most costly robes, were hastening to their devotions around the sepulchres of their fathers.