litter, the French femme-de-chambre manfully caracoling on a grey
horse; the cavaliers, like your humble servant, on their high
saddles; the domestics, flunkeys, guides, and grooms, on all sorts
of animals,--some fourteen in all. Add to these, two most grave
and stately Arabs in white beards, white turbans, white haicks and
raiments; sabres curling round their military thighs, and immense
long guns at their backs. More venerable warriors I never saw;
they went by the side of the litter soberly prancing. When we
emerged from the steep clattering streets of the city into the grey
plains, lighted by the moon and starlight, these militaries rode
onward, leading the way through the huge avenues of strange
diabolical-looking prickly pears (plants that look as if they had
grown in Tartarus), by which the first mile or two of route from
the city is bounded; and as the dawn arose before us, exhibiting
first a streak of grey, then of green, then of red in the sky, it
was fine to see these martial figures defined against the rising
light. The sight of that little cavalcade, and of the nature
around it, will always remain with me, I think, as one of the
freshest and most delightful sensations I have enjoyed since the
day I first saw Calais pier. It was full day when they gave their
horses a drink at a large pretty Oriental fountain, and then
presently we entered the open plain--the famous plain of Sharon--so
fruitful in roses once, now hardly cultivated, but always beautiful
and noble.
Here presently, in the distance, we saw another cavalcade pricking
over the plain. Our two white warriors spread to the right and
left, and galloped to reconnoitre. We, too, put our steeds to the
canter, and handling our umbrellas as Richard did his lance against
Saladin, went undaunted to challenge this caravan. The fact is, we
could distinguish that it was formed of the party of our pious
friends the Poles, and we hailed them with cheerful shouting, and
presently the two caravans joined company, and scoured the plain at
the rate of near four miles per hour. The horse-master, a courier
of this company, rode three miles for our one. He was a broken-
nosed Arab, with pistols, a sabre, a fusee, a yellow Damascus cloth
flapping over his head, and his nose ornamented with diachylon. He
rode a hog-necked grey Arab, bristling over with harness, and
jumped, and whirled, and reared, and halted, to the admiration of
all.
Scarce had the diachylonian Arab finished his evolutions, when lo!
yet another cloud of dust was seen, and another party of armed and
glittering horsemen appeared. They, too, were led by an Arab, who
was followed by two janissaries, with silver maces shining in the
sun. 'Twas the party of the new American Consul-General of Syria
and Jerusalem, hastening to that city, with the inferior consuls of
Ramleh and Jaffa to escort him. He expects to see the Millennium
in three years, and has accepted the office of consul at Jerusalem,
so as to be on the spot in readiness.
When the diachylon Arab saw the American Arab, he straightway
galloped his steed towards him, took his pipe, which he delivered
at his adversary in guise of a jereed, and galloped round and
round, and in and out, and there and back again, as in a play of
war. The American replied in a similar playful ferocity--the two
warriors made a little tournament for us there on the plains before
Jaffa, in the which diachylon, being a little worsted, challenged
his adversary to a race, and fled away on his grey, the American
following on his bay. Here poor sticking-plaster was again
worsted, the Yankee contemptuously riding round him, and then
declining further exercise.
What more could mortal man want? A troop of knights and paladins
could have done no more. In no page of Walter Scott have I read a
scene more fair and sparkling. The sober warriors of our escort
did not join in the gambols of the young men. There they rode
soberly, in their white turbans, by their ladies' litter, their
long guns rising up behind them.
There was no lack of company along the road: donkeys numberless,
camels by twos and threes; now a mule-driver, trudging along the
road, chanting a most queer melody; now a lady, in white veil,
black mask, and yellow papooshes, bestriding her ass, and followed
by her husband,--met us on the way; and most people gave a
salutation. Presently we saw Ramleh, in a smoking mist, on the
plain before us, flanked to the right by a tall lonely tower, that
might have held the bells of some moutier of Caen or Evreux. As we
entered, about three hours and a half after starting, among the
white domes and stone houses of the little town, we passed the
place of tombs. Two women were sitting on one of them,--the one
bending her head towards the stone, and rocking to and fro, and
moaning out a very sweet pitiful lamentation. The American consul
invited us to breakfast at the house of his subaltern, the
hospitable one-eyed Armenian, who represents the United States at
Jaffa. The stars and stripes were flaunting over his terraces, to
which we ascended, leaving our horses to the care of a multitude of
roaring ragged Arabs beneath, who took charge of and fed the
animals, though I can't say in the least why; but, in the same way
as getting off my horse on entering Jerusalem, I gave the rein into
the hand of the first person near me, and have never heard of the
worthy brute since. At the American consul's we were served first
with rice soup in pishpash, flavoured with cinnamon and spice; then
with boiled mutton, then with stewed ditto and tomatoes; then with
fowls swimming in grease; then with brown ragouts belaboured with
onions; then with a smoking pilaff of rice: several of which
dishes I can pronounce to be of excellent material and flavour.
When the gentry had concluded this repast, it was handed to a side
table, where the commonalty speedily discussed it. We left them
licking their fingers as we hastened away upon the second part of
the ride.
And as we quitted Ramleh, the scenery lost that sweet and peaceful
look which characterises the pretty plain we had traversed; and the
sun, too, rising in the heaven, dissipated all those fresh
beautiful tints in which God's world is clothed of early morning,
and which city people have so seldom the chance of beholding. The
plain over which we rode looked yellow and gloomy; the cultivation
little or none; the land across the roadside fringed, for the most
part, with straggling wild-carrot plants; a patch of green only
here and there. We passed several herds of lean, small, well-
conditioned cattle: many flocks of black goats, tended now and
then by a ragged negro shepherd, his long gun slung over his back,
his hand over his eyes to shade them as he stared at our little
cavalcade. Most of the half-naked countryfolks we met had this
dismal appendage to Eastern rustic life; and the weapon could
 
; hardly be one of mere defence, for, beyond the faded skull-cap, or
tattered coat of blue or dirty white, the brawny, brown-chested,
solemn-looking fellows had nothing seemingly to guard. As before,
there was no lack of travellers on the road: more donkeys trotted
by, looking sleek and strong; camels singly and by pairs, laden
with a little humble ragged merchandise, on their way between the
two towns. About noon we halted eagerly at a short distance from
an Arab village and well, where all were glad of a drink of fresh
water. A village of beavers, or a colony of ants, make habitations
not unlike these dismal huts piled together on the plain here.
There were no single huts along the whole line of road; poor and
wretched as they are, the Fellahs huddle all together for
protection from the other thieves their neighbours. The government
(which we restored to them) has no power to protect them, and is
only strong enough to rob them. The women, with their long blue
gowns and ragged veils, came to and fro with pitchers on their
heads. Rebecca had such an one when she brought drink to the
lieutenant of Abraham. The boys came staring round, bawling after
us with their fathers for the inevitable backsheesh. The village
dogs barked round the flocks, as they were driven to water or
pasture.
We saw a gloomy, not very lofty-looking ridge of hills in front of
us; the highest of which the guide pointing out to us, told us that
from it we should see Jerusalem. It looked very near, and we all
set up a trot of enthusiasm to get into this hill country.
But that burst of enthusiasm (it may have carried us nearly a
quarter of a mile in three minutes) was soon destined to be checked
by the disagreeable nature of the country we had to traverse.
Before we got to the real mountain district, we were in a manner
prepared for it, by the mounting and descent of several lonely
outlying hills, up and down which our rough stony track wound.
Then we entered the hill district, and our path lay through the
clattering bed of an ancient stream, whose brawling waters have
rolled away into the past, along with the fierce and turbulent race
who once inhabited these savage hills. There may have been
cultivation here two thousand years ago. The mountains, or huge
stony mounds environing this rough path, have level ridges all the
way up to their summits; on these parallel ledges there is still
some verdure and soil: when water flowed here, and the country was
thronged with that extraordinary population, which, according to
the Sacred Histories, was crowded into the region, these mountain
steps may have been gardens and vineyards, such as we see now
thriving along the hills of the Rhine. Now the district is quite
deserted, and you ride among what seem to be so many petrified
waterfalls. We saw no animals moving among the stony brakes;
scarcely even a dozen little birds in the whole course of the ride.
The sparrows are all at Jerusalem, among the housetops, where their
ceaseless chirping and twittering forms the most cheerful sound of
the place.
The company of Poles, the company of Oxford men, and the little
American army, travelled too quick for our caravan, which was made
to follow the slow progress of the ladies' litter, and we had to
make the journey through the mountains in a very small number. Not
one of our party had a single weapon more dreadful than an
umbrella: and a couple of Arabs, wickedly inclined, might have
brought us all to the halt, and rifled every carpet-bag and pocket
belonging to us. Nor can I say that we journeyed without certain
qualms of fear. When swarthy fellows, with girdles full of pistols
and yataghans, passed us without unslinging their long guns--when
scowling camel-riders, with awful long bending lances, decorated
with tufts of rags, or savage plumes of scarlet feathers, went by
without molestation--I think we were rather glad that they did not
stop and parley: for, after all, a British lion with an umbrella
is no match for an Arab with his infernal long gun. What, too,
would have become of our women? So we tried to think that it was
entirely out of anxiety for them that we were inclined to push on.
There is a shady resting-place and village in the midst of the
mountain district where the travellers are accustomed to halt for
an hour's repose and refreshment; and the other caravans were just
quitting this spot, having enjoyed its cool shades and waters, when
we came up. Should we stop? Regard for the ladies (of course no
other earthly consideration) made us say, "No!" What admirable
self-denial and chivalrous devotion! So our poor devils of mules
and horses got no rest and no water, our panting litter-men no
breathing time, and we staggered desperately after the procession
ahead of us. It wound up the mountain in front of us: the Poles
with their guns and attendants, the American with his janissaries;
fifty or sixty all riding slowly like the procession in
"Bluebeard."
But alas, they headed us very soon; when we got up the weary hill
they were all out of sight. Perhaps thoughts of Fleet Street did
cross the minds of some of us then, and a vague desire to see a few
policemen. The district now seemed peopled, and with an ugly race.
Savage personages peered at us out of huts, and grim holes in the
rocks. The mules began to loiter most abominably--water the
muleteers must have--and, behold, we came to a pleasant-looking
village of trees standing on a hill; children were shaking figs
from the trees--women were going about--before us was the mosque of
a holy man--the village, looking like a collection of little forts,
rose up on the hill to our right, with a long view of the fields
and gardens stretching from it, and camels arriving with their
burdens. Here we must stop; Paolo, the chief servant, knew the
Sheikh of the village--he very good man--give him water and supper-
-water very good here--in fact we began to think of the propriety
of halting here for the night, and making our entry into Jerusalem
on the next day.
A man on a handsome horse dressed in red came prancing up to us,
looking hard at the ladies in the litter, and passed away. Then
two others sauntered up, one handsome, and dressed in red too, and
he stared into the litter without ceremony, began to play with a
little dog that lay there, asked if we were Inglees, and was
answered by me in the affirmative. Paolo had brought the water,
the most delicious draught in the world. The gentlefolks had had
some, the poor muleteers were longing for it. The French maid, the
courageous Victoire (never since the days of Joan of Arc has there
surely been a more gallant and virtuous female of France) refused
the drink; when suddenly a servant of the party scampers up to his
master and says: "Abou Gosh says the ladies must get out and show
themselves to the women of the village!"
It was Abou Gosh himself, the redoubted robber Shei
kh about whom we
had been laughing and crying "Wolf!" all day. Never was seen such
a skurry! "March!" was the instant order given. When Victoire
heard who it was and the message, you should have seen how she
changed countenance; trembling for her virtue in the ferocious
clutches of a Gosh. "Un verre d'eau pour l'amour de Dieu!" gasped
she, and was ready to faint on her saddle. "Ne buvez plus,
Victoire!" screamed a little fellow of our party. "Push on, push
on!" cried one and all. "What's the matter?" exclaimed the ladies
in the litter, as they saw themselves suddenly jogging on again.
But we took care not to tell them what had been the designs of the
redoubtable Abou Gosh. Away then we went--Victoire was saved--and
her mistresses rescued from dangers they knew not of, until they
were a long way out of the village.
Did he intend insult or good will? Did Victoire escape the odious
chance of becoming Madame Abou Gosh? Or did the mountain chief
simply propose to be hospitable after his fashion? I think the
latter was his desire; if the former had been his wish, a half-
dozen of his long guns could have been up with us in a minute, and
had all our party at their mercy. But now, for the sake of the
mere excitement, the incident was, I am sorry to say, rather a
pleasant one than otherwise: especially for a traveller who is in
the happy condition of being able to sing before robbers, as is the
case with the writer of the present.
A little way out of the land of Goshen we came upon a long stretch
of gardens and vineyards, slanting towards the setting sun, which
illuminated numberless golden clusters of the most delicious
grapes, of which we stopped and partook. Such grapes were never
before tasted; water so fresh as that which a countryman fetched
for us from a well never sluiced parched throats before. It was
the ride, the sun, and above all Abou Gosh, who made that
refreshment so sweet, and hereby I offer him my best thanks.
Presently, in the midst of a most diabolical ravine, down which our
horses went sliding, we heard the evening gun: it was fired from
Jerusalem. The twilight is brief in this country, and in a few
minutes the landscape was grey round about us, and the sky lighted
up by a hundred thousand stars, which made the night beautiful.
Under this superb canopy we rode for a couple of hours to our
journey's end. The mountains round about us dark, lonely, and sad;
the landscape as we saw it at night (it is not more cheerful in the
daytime), the most solemn and forlorn I have ever seen. The
feelings of almost terror with which, riding through the night, we
approached this awful place, the centre of the world's past and
future history, have no need to be noted down here. The
recollection of those sensations must remain with a man as long as
his memory lasts; and he should think of them as often, perhaps, as
he should talk of them little.
CHAPTER XIII: JERUSALEM
The ladies of our party found excellent quarters in readiness for
them at the Greek convent in the city; where airy rooms, and
plentiful meals, and wines and sweet-meats delicate and abundant,
were provided to cheer them after the fatigues of their journey. I
don't know whether the worthy fathers of the convent share in the
good things which they lavish on their guests; but they look as if
they do. Those whom we saw bore every sign of easy conscience and
good living; there were a pair of strong, rosy, greasy, lazy lay-
brothers, dawdling in the sun on the convent terrace, or peering
over the parapet into the street below, whose looks gave one a
notion of anything but asceticism.
In the principal room of the strangers' house (the lay traveller is
not admitted to dwell in the sacred interior of the convent), and
over the building, the Russian double-headed eagle is displayed.
The place is under the patronage of the Emperor Nicholas; an
Imperial Prince has stayed in these rooms; the Russian consul