For some days Abd-el-Atti has been in mysterious diplomatic relations with the robbers of the wilderness2, who live in Jerusalem, and farm out their territory. "Thim is great rascals," says the dragoman; and it is solely3 on that account that we seek their friendship: the real Bedawee is never known to go back on his word to the traveller who trusts him, so long as it is more profitable to keep it than to break it. We are under the escort of the second sheykh, who shares with the first sheykh the rule of all the Bedaween who patrol the extensive territory from Hebron to the fords of the Jordan, including Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Mar1 Saba, and the shores of the Dead Sea; these rulers would have been called kings in the old time, and the second sheykh bears the same relation to the first that the C鎠ar did to the Augustus in the Roman Empire.
Our train is assembled in the little market-place opposite the hotel, or rather it is assembling, for horses and donkeys are slow to arrive, saddles are wanting, the bridles4 are broken, and the unpunctuality and shiftlessness of the East manifest themselves. Abd-el-Atti is in fierce altercation5 with a Koorland nobleman about a horse, which you would not say would be likely to be a bone of contention7 with anybody. They are both endeavoring to mount at once. Friends are backing each combatant, and the air is thick with curses in guttural German and maledictions in shrill9 Arabic. Unfortunately I am appealed to.
"What for this Dutchman, he take my horse?"
"Perhaps he hired it first?"
"P'aps not. I make bargain for him with the owner day before yesterday."
"I have become dis pferd for four days," cries the Baron10.
There seems to be no reason to doubt the Baron's word; he has ridden the horse to Bethlehem, and become accustomed to his jolts11, and no doubt has the prior lien12 on the animal. The owner has let him to both parties, a thing that often happens when the second comer offers a piastre more. Another horse is sent for, and we mount and begin to disentangle ourselves from the crowd. It is no easy matter, especially for the ladies. Our own baggage-mules14 head in every direction. Donkeys laden16 with mountains of brushwood push through the throng17, scraping right and left; camels shamble against us, their contemptuous noses in the air, stretching their long necks over our heads; market-women from Bethlehem scream at us; and greasy19 pilgrims block our way and curse our horses' hoofs20.
One by one we emerge and get into a straggling line, and begin to comprehend the size of our expedition. Our dragoman has made as extensive preparations as if we were to be the first to occupy Gilgal and Jericho, and that portion of the Promised Land. We are equipped equally well for fighting and for famine. A party of Syrians, who desire to make the pilgrimage to the Jordan, have asked permission to join us, in order to share the protection of our sheykh, and they add both picturesqueness22 and strength to the grand cavalcade24 which clatters25 out of Jaffa Gate and sweeps round the city wall. Heaven keep us from undue26 pride in our noble appearance!
Perhaps our train would impress a spectator as somewhat mixed, and he would be unable to determine the order of its march. It is true that the horses and the donkeys and the mules all have different rates of speed, and that the Syrian horse has only two gaits,—a run and a slow walk. As soon as we gain the freedom of the open country, these differences develop. The ambitious dragomen and the warlike sheykh put their horses into a run and scour27 over the hills, and then come charging back upon us, like Don Quixote upon the flock of sheep. The Syrians imitate this madness. The other horses begin to agitate28 their stiff legs; the donkeys stand still and protest by braying29; the pack-mules get temporarily crazy, charge into us with the protruding30 luggage, and suddenly wheel into the ditch and stop. This playfulness is repeated in various ways, and adds to the excitement without improving the dignity of our march.
We are of many nationalities. There are four Americans, two of them ladies. The Doctor, who is accustomed to ride the mustangs of New Mexico and the wild horses of the Western deserts, endeavors to excite a spirit of emulation31 in his stiff-kneed animal, but with little success. Our dragoman is Egyptian, a decidedly heavy weight, and sits his steed like a pyramid.
The sheykh is a young man, with the treacherous33 eye of an eagle; a handsome fellow, who rides a lean white horse, anything but a beauty, and yet of the famous Nedjed breed from Mecca. This desert warrior34 wears red boots, white trousers and skirt, blue jacket, a yellow kufia, confined about the head by a black cord and falling upon his shoulders, has a long rifle slung35 at his back, an immense Damascus sword at his side, and huge pistols, with carved and inlaid stocks, in his belt. He is a riding arsenal36 and a visible fraud, this Bedawee sheykh. We should no doubt be quite as safe without him, and perhaps less liable to various extortions. But on the road, and from the moment we set out, we meet Bedaween, single and in squads37, savage38-looking vagabonds, every one armed with a gun, a long knife, and pistols with blunderbuss barrels, flaring39 in such a manner as to scatter40 shot over an acre of ground. These scarecrows are apparently41 paraded on the highway to make travellers think it is insecure. But I am persuaded that none of them would dare molest42 any pilgrim to the Jordan.
Our allies, the Syrians, please us better. There is a Frenchified Syrian, with his wife, from Mansura, in the Delta43 of Egypt. The wife is a very pretty woman (would that her example were more generally followed in the East), with olive complexion44, black eyes, and a low forehead-; a native of Sidon. She wears a dark green dress, and a yellow kufia on her head, and is mounted upon a mule15, man-fashion, but upon a saddle as broad as a feather-bed. Her husband, in semi-Syrian costume, with top-boots, carries a gun at his back and a frightful45 knife in his belt. Her brother, who is from Sidon, bears also a gun, and wears an enormous sword. Very pleasant people these, who have armed themselves in the spirit of the hunter rather than of the warrior, and are as completely equipped for the chase as any Parisian who ventures in pursuit of game into any of the dangerous thickets48 outside of Paris.
The Sidon wife is accompanied by two servants, slaves from Soudan, a boy and a girl, each about ten years old,—two grinning, comical monkeys, who could not by any possibility be of the slightest service to anybody, unless it is a relief to their pretty mistress to vent46 her ill-humor upon their irresponsible persons. You could n't call them handsome, though their skins are of dazzling black, and their noses so flat that you cannot see them in profile. The girl wears a silk gown, which reaches to her feet and gives her the quaint50 appearance of an old woman, and a yellow vest; the boy is clad in motley European clothes, bought second-hand51 with reference to his growing up to them,—upon which event the trousers-legs and cuffs52 of his coat could be turned down,—and a red fez contrasting finely with his black face. They are both mounted on a decrepit53 old horse, whose legs are like sled-stakes, and they sit astride on top of a pile of baggage, beds, and furniture, with bottles and camp-kettles jingling54 about them. The girl sits behind the boy and clings fast to his waist with one hand, while with the other she holds over their heads a rent white parasol, to prevent any injury to their jet complexions55. When the old baggage-horse starts occasionally into a hard trot56, they both bob up and down, and strike first one side and then the other, but never together; when one goes up the other goes down, as if they were moved by different springs; but both show their ivory and seem to enjoy themselves. Heaven knows why they should make a pilgrimage to the Jordan.
Our Abyssinian servant, Abdallah, is mounted, also on a pack-horse, and sits high in the air amid bags and bundles; he guides his brute57 only by a halter, and when the animal takes a fancy to break into a gallop58, there is a rattling59 of dishes and kettles that sets the whole train into commotion60; the boy's fez falls farther than ever back on his head, his teeth shine, and his eyes dance as he jolts into the midst of the mules and excites a panic, which starts everything into friskiness61, waking up even the Soudan party, which begins to bob about and grin. There are half a dozen mules loaded with tents and bed furniture; the cook, and the cook's assistants, and the servants of the kitchen and the camp are mounted on something, and the train is attended besides by drivers and ostlers, of what nations it pleases Heaven. But this is not all. We carry with us two hunting dogs, the property of the Syrian. The dogs are not for use; they are a piece of ostentation62, like the other portion of the hunting outfit63, and contribute, as do the Soudan babies, to our appearance of Oriental luxury.
We straggle down through the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and around the Mount of Olives to Bethany; and from that sightly slope our route is spread before us as if we were looking upon a map. It lies through the "wilderness of Jud鎍." We are obliged to revise our Western notions of a wilderness as a region of gross vegetation. The Jews knew a wilderness when they saw it, and how to name it. You would be interested to know what a person who lived at Jerusalem, or anywhere along the backbone64 of Palestine, would call a wilderness. Nothing but the absolute nakedness of desolation could seem to him dreary65. But this region must have satisfied even a person accustomed to deserts and pastures of rocks. It is a jumble66 of savage hills and jagged ravines, a land of limestone67 rocks and ledges68, whitish gray in color, glaring in the sun, even the stones wasted by age, relieved nowhere by a tree, or rejoiced by a single blade of grass. Wild beasts would starve in it, the most industrious70 bird could n't collect in its length and breadth enough soft material to make a nest of; it is what a Jew of Hebron or Jerusalem or Hamah would call a "wilderness"! This exhausts the language of description. How vividly71 in this desolation stands out the figure of the prophet of God, clothed with camel's hair and with a girdle of skin about his loins, "the voice of one crying in the wilderness."
The road is thronged72 with Jordan pilgrims. We overtake them, they pass us, we meet them in an almost continuous train. Most of them are peasants from Armenia, from the borders of the Black Sea, from the Caucasus, from Abyssinia. The great mass are on foot, trudging73 wearily along with their bedding and provisions, the thick-legged women carrying the heaviest loads; occasionally you see a pilgrim asleep by the roadside, his pillow a stone. But the travellers are by no means all poor or unable to hire means of conveyance,—you would say that Jud鎍 had been exhausted74 of its beasts of burden of all descriptions for this pilgrimage, and that even the skeletons had been exhumed75 to assist in it. The pilgrims are mounted on sorry donkeys, on wrecks76 of horses, on mules, sometimes an entire family on one animal. Now and then we encounter a "swell77" outfit, a wealthy Russian well mounted on a richly caparisoned horse and attended by his servants; some ride in palanquins, some in chairs. We overtake an English party, the central figure of which is an elderly lady, who rides in a sort of high cupboard slung on poles, and borne by a mule before and a mule behind; the awkward vehicle sways and tilts78 backwards79 and forwards, and the good woman looks out of the window of her coop as if she were sea-sick of the world. Some ladies, who are unaccustomed to horses, have arm-chairs strapped80 upon the horses' backs, in which they sit. Now and then two chairs are strapped upon one horse, and the riders sit back to back. Sometimes huge panniers slung on the sides of the horse are used instead of chairs, the passengers riding securely in them without any danger of falling out. It is rather a pretty sight when each basket happens to be full of children. There is, indeed, no end to the strange outfits81 and the odd costumes. Nearly all the women who are mounted at all are perched upon the top of all their household goods and furniture, astride of a bed on the summit. There approaches a horse which seems to have a sofa on its back, upon which four persons are seated in a row, as much at ease as if at home; it is not, however, a sofa; four baskets have been ingeniously fastened into a frame, so that four persons can ride in them abreast83. This is an admirable contrivance for the riders, much better than riding in a row lengthwise on the horse, when the one in front hides the view from those behind.
Diverted by this changing spectacle, we descend84 from Bethany. At first there are wild-flowers by the wayside and in the fields, and there is a flush of verdure on the hills, all of which disappears later. The sky is deep blue and cloudless, the air is exhilarating; it is a day for enjoyment85, and everything and everybody we encounter are in a joyous86 mood, and on good terms with the world. The only unamiable exception is the horse with which I have been favored. He is a stocky little stallion, of good shape, but ignoble87 breed, and the devil—which is, I suppose, in the horse what the old Adam is in man—has never been cast out of him. At first I am in love with his pleasant gait and mincing88 ways, but I soon find that he has eccentricities89 that require the closest attention on my part, and leave me not a moment for the scenery or for biblical reflections. The beast is neither content to go in front of the caravan90 nor in the rear he wants society, but the instant he gets into the crowd he lets his heels fly right and left. After a few performances of this sort, and when he has nearly broken the leg of the Syrian, my company is not desired any more by any one. No one is willing to ride within speaking distance of me. This sort of horse may please the giddy and thoughtless, but he is not the animal for me. By the time we reach the fountain 'Ain el-Huad, I have quite enough of him, and exchange steeds with the dragoman, much against the latter's fancy; he keeps the brute the remainder of the day cantering over stones and waste places along the road, and confesses at night that his bridle-hand is so swollen91 as to be useless.
We descend a steep hill to this fountain, which flows from a broken Saracenic arch, and waters a valley that is altogether stony92 and unfertile except in some patches of green. It is a general halting-place for travellers, and presents a most animated93 appearance when we arrive. Horses, mules, and men are struggling together about the fountain to slake94 their thirst; but there is no trough nor any pool, and the only mode to get the water is to catch it in the mouth as it drizzles95 from the hole in the arch. It is difficult for a horse to do this, and the poor things are beside themselves with thirst. Near by are some stone ruins in which a man and woman have set up a damp coffee-shop, sherbet-shop, and smoking station. From them I borrow a shallow dish, and succeed in getting water for my horse, an experiment which seems to surprise all nations. The shop is an open stone shed with a dirt floor, offering only stools to the customers; yet when the motley crowd are seated in and around it, sipping97 coffee and smoking the narghilehs (water-pipes) with an air of leisure as if to-day would last forever, you have a scene of Oriental luxury.
Our way lies down a winding98 ravine. The country is exceedingly rough, like the Wyoming hills, but without trees or verdure. The bed of the stream is a mass of rock in shelving ledges; all the rock in sight is a calcareous limestone. After an hour of this sort of secluded99 travel we ascend100 again and reach the Red Khan, and a scene still more desolate101 because more extensive. The khan takes its name from the color of the rocks; perched upon a high ledge69 are the ruins of this ancient caravansary, little more now than naked walls. We take shelter for lunch in a natural rock grotto102 opposite, exactly the shadow of a rock longed for in a weary land. Here we spread our gay rugs, the servants unpack103 the provision hampers104, and we sit and enjoy the wide view of barrenness and the picturesque23 groups of pilgrims. The spot is famous for its excellent well of water. It is, besides, the locality usually chosen for the scene of the adventure of the man who went down to Jericho and fell among thieves, this being the khan at which he was entertained for twopence. We take our siesta106 here, reflecting upon the great advance in hotel prices, and endeavoring to re-create something of that past when this was the highway between great Jerusalem and the teeming107 plain of the Jordan. The Syro-Phoenician woman smoked a narghileh, and, looking neither into the past nor the future, seemed to enjoy the present.
From this elevation108 we see again the brown Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea. Our road is downward more precipitously than it has been before. The rocks are tossed about tumultuously, and the hills are rent, but there is no evidence of any volcanic109 action. Some of the rock strata110 are bent111, as you see the granite112 in the White Mountains, but this peculiarity113 disappears as we approach nearer to the Jordan. The translator of M. Fran鏾is Lenormant's "Ancient History of the East" says that "the miracles which accompanied the entrance of the Israelites into Palestine seem such as might have been produced by volcanic agency." No doubt they might have been; but this whole region is absolutely without any appearance of volcanic disturbance114.
As we go on, we have on our left the most remarkable115 ravine in Palestine; it is in fact a canon in the rocks, some five hundred feet deep, the sides of which are nearly perpendicular116. At the bottom of it flows the brook117 Cherith, finding its way out into the Jordan plain. We ride to the brink118 and look over into the abyss. It was about two thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine years ago, and probably about this time of the year (for the brook went dry shortly after), that Elijah, having incurred119 the hostility120 of Ahab, who held his luxurious121 court at Samaria, by prophesying122 against him, came over from Gilead and hid himself in this ravine.
"Down there," explains Abd-el-Atti, "the prophet Elijah fed him the ravens123 forty days. Not have that kind of ravens now."
Unattractive as this abyss is for any but a temporary summer residence, the example of Elijah recommended it to a great number of people in a succeeding age. In the wall of the precipice124 are cut grottos125, some of them so high above the bed of the stream that they are apparently inaccessible126, and not unlike the tombs in the high cliffs along the Nile. In the fourth and fifth centuries monks127 swarmed128 in all the desert places of Egypt and Syria like rabbits; these holes, near the scene of Elijah's miraculous129 support, were the abodes131 of Christian132 hermits134, most of whom starved themselves down to mere135 skin and bones waiting for the advent105 of the crows. On the ledge above are the ruins of ancient chapels136, which would seem to show that this was a place of some resort, and that the hermits had spectators of their self-denial. You might as well be a woodchuck and sit in a hole as a monk49, unless somebody comes and looks at you.
As we advance, the Jordan valley opens more broadly upon our sight. At this point, which is the historical point, the scene of the passage of the Jordan and the first appearance of the Israelitish clans138 in the Promised Land, the valley is ten miles broad. It is by no means a level plain; from the west range of mountains it slopes to the river, and the surface is broken by hillocks, ravines, and water-courses. The breadth is equal to that between the Connecticut River at Hartford and the Talcott range of hills. To the north we have in view the valley almost to the Sea of Galilee, and can see the white and round summit of Hermon beyond; on the east and on the west the barren mountains stretch in level lines; and on the south the blue waters of the Dead Sea continue the valley between ranges of purple and poetic139 rocky cliffs.
The view is magnificent in extent, and plain and hills glow with color in this afternoon light. Yonder, near the foot of the eastern hills, we trace the winding course of the Jordan by a green belt of trees and bushes. The river we cannot see, for the "bottom" of the river, to use a Western phrase, from six hundred to fifteen hundred feet in breadth, is sunk below the valley a hundred feet and more. This bottom is periodically overflowed140. The general aspect of the plain is that of a brown desert, the wild vegetation of which is crisped by the scorching141 sun. There are, however, threads of verdure in it, where the brook Cherith and the waters from the fountain 'Ain es-Sultan wander through the neglected plain, and these strips of green widen into the thickets about the little village of R頷a, the site of ancient Gilgal. This valley is naturally fertile; it may very likely have been a Paradise of fruit-trees and grass and sparkling water when the Jews looked down upon it from the mountains of Moab; it certainly bloomed in the Roman occupation; and the ruins of sugar-mills still existing show that the crusading Christians142 made the cultivation143 of the sugar-cane144 successful here; it needs now only the waters of the Jordan and the streams from the western foot-hills directed by irrigating145 ditches over its surface, moistening its ashy and nitrous soil, to become again a fair and smiling land.
Descending146 down the stony and precipitous road, we turn north, still on the slope of the valley. The scant147 grass is already crisped by the heat, the bushes are dry skeletons. A ride of a few minutes brings us to some artificial mounds148 and ruins of buildings upon the bank of the brook Cherith. The brickwork is the fine reticulated masonry150 such as you see in the remains151 of Roman villas152 at Tusculum. This is the site of Herod's Jericho, the Jericho of the New Testament153. But the Jericho which Joshua destroyed and the site of which he cursed, the Jericho which Hiel rebuilt in the days of the wicked Ahab, and where Elisha abode130 after the translation of Elijah, was a half-mile to the north of this modern town.
We have some difficulty in fording the brook Cherith, for the banks are precipitous and the stream is deep and swift; those who are mounted upon donkeys change them for horses, the Arab attendants wade154 in, guiding the stumbling animals which the ladies ride, the lumbering155 beast with the Soudan babies comes splashing in at the wrong moment, to the peril156 of those already in the torrent157, and is nearly swept away; the sheykh and the servants who have crossed block the narrow landing; but with infinite noise and floundering about we all come safely over, and gallop along a sort of plateau, interspersed158 with thorny159 nubk and scraggy bushes. Going on for a quarter of an hour, and encountering cultivated spots, we find our tents already pitched on the bushy bank of a little stream that issues from the fountain of 'Ain es-Sultan a few rods above. Near the camp is a high mound149 of rubbish. This is the site of our favorite Jericho, a name of no majesty160 like that of Rome, and endeared to us by no associations like Jerusalem, but almost as widely known as either; probably even its wickedness would not have preserved its reputation, but for the singular incident that attended its first destruction. Jericho must have been a city of some consequence at the time of the arrival of the Israelites; we gain an idea of the civilization of its inhabitants from the nature of the plunder161 that Joshua secured; there were vessels162 of silver and of gold, and of brass163 and iron; and this was over fourteen hundred years before Christ.
Before we descend to our encampment, we pause for a survey of this historic region. There, towards Jordan, among the trees, is the site of Gilgal (another name that shares the half-whimsical reputation of Jericho), where the Jews made their first camp. The king of Jericho, like his royal cousins roundabout, had "no more spirit in him" when he saw the Israelitish host pass the Jordan. He shut himself up in his insufficient164 walls, and seems to have made no attempt at a defence. Over this upland the Jews swarmed, and all the armed host with seven priests and seven ram's-horns marched seven days round and round the doomed165 city, and on the seventh day the people shouted the walls down. Every living thing in the city was destroyed except Rahab and her family, the town was burned, and for five hundred years thereafter no man dared to build upon its accursed foundations. Why poor Jericho was specially13 marked out for malediction8 we are not told.
When it was rebuilt in Ahab's time, the sons of the prophets found it an agreeable place of residence; large numbers of them were gathered here while Elijah lived, and they conversed166 with that prophet when he was on his last journey through this valley, which he had so often traversed, compelled by the Spirit of the Lord. No incident in the biblical story so strongly appeals to the imagination, nor is there anything in the poetical167 conception of any age so sublime168 as the last passage of Elijah across this plain and his departure into heaven beyond Jordan. When he came from Bethel to Jericho, he begged Elisha, his attendant, to tarry here; but the latter would not yield either to his entreaty169 or to that of the sons of the prophets. We can see the way the two prophets went hence to Jordan. Fifty men of the sons of the prophets went and stood to view them afar off, and they saw the two stand by Jordan. Already it was known that Elijah was to disappear, and the two figures, lessening170 in the distance, were followed with a fearful curiosity. Did they pass on swiftly, and was there some premonition, in the wind that blew their flowing mantles171, of the heavenly gale173? Elijah smites174 the waters with his mantle172, the two pass over dry-shod, and "as they still went on and talked, behold175 there appeared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and parted them both asunder176; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven. And Elisha saw it, and he cried, 'My father, my father, the chariot of Israel and the horsemen thereof.' And he saw him no more."
Elislia returned to Jericho and abode there while the sons of the prophets sought for Elijah beyond Jordan three days, but did not find him. And the men of the city said to Elisha, "Behold, I pray thee, the situation of this city is pleasant, as my lord seeth, but the water is naught177 and the ground is barren." Then Elisha took salt and healed the spring of water; and ever since, to this day, the fountain, now called 'Ain es-Sultan, has sent forth178 sweet water.
Turning towards the northwest, we see the passage through the mountain, by the fountain 'Ain Duk, to Bethel. It was out of some woods there, where the mountain is now bare, that Elisha called the two she-bears which administered that dreadful lesson to the children who derided179 his baldness. All the region, indeed, recalls the miracles of Elisha. It was probably here that Naaman the Syrian came to be healed; there at Gilgal Elisha took the death out of the great pot in which the sons of the prophets were seething180 their pottage; and it was there in the Jordan that he made the iron axe181 to swim.
Of all this celebrated182 and ill-fated Jericho, nothing now remains but a hillock and Elisha's spring. The wild beasts of the desert prowl about it, and the night-bird hoots183 over its fall,—a sort of echo of the shouts that brought down its walls. Our tents are pitched near the hillock, and the animals are picketed184 on the open ground before them by the stream. The Syrian tourist in these days travels luxuriously185. Our own party has four tents,—the kitchen tent, the dining tent, and two for lodging186. They are furnished with tables, chairs, all the conveniences of the toilet, and carpeted with bright rugs. The cook is an artist, and our table is one that would have astonished the sons of the prophets. The Syrian party have their own tents; a family from Kentucky has camped near by; and we give to Jericho a settled appearance. The elder sheykh accompanies the other party of Americans, so that we have now all the protection possible.
The dragoman of the Kentuckians we have already encountered in Egypt and on the journey, and been impressed by his respectable gravity. It would perhaps be difficult for him to tell his nationality or birthplace; he wears the European dress, and his gold spectacles and big stomach would pass him anywhere for a German professor. He seems out of place as a dragoman, but if any one desired a savant as a companion in the East, he would be the man. Indeed, his employers soon discover that his forte187 is information, and not work. While the other servants are busy about the camps Antonio comes over to our tent, and opens up the richness of his mind, and illustrates188 his capacity as a Syrian guide.
"You know that mountain, there, with the chapel137 on top?" he asks.
"No."
"Well, that is Mt. Nebo, and that one next to it is Pisgah, the mountain of the prophet Moses."
Both these mountains are of course on the other side of the Jordan in the Moab range, but they are not identified,—except by Antonio. The sharp mountain behind us is Quarantania, the Mount of Christ's Temptation. Its whole side to the summit is honey-combed with the cells of hermits who once dwelt there, and it is still the resort of many pilgrims.
The evening is charming, warm but not depressing; the atmosphere is even exhilarating, and this surprises us, since we are so far below the sea level. The Doctor says that it is exactly like Colorado on a July night. We have never been so low before, not even in a coal-mine. We are not only about thirty-seven hundred feet below Jerusalem, we are over twelve hundred below the level of the sea. Sitting outside the tent under the starlight, we enjoy the novelty and the mysteriousness of the scene. Tents, horses picketed among the bushes, the firelight, the groups of servants and drivers taking their supper, the figure of an Arab from Gilgal coming forward occasionally out of the darkness, the singing, the occasional violent outbreak of kicking and squealing189 among the ill-assorted horses and mules, the running of loose-robed attendants to the rescue of some poor beast, the strong impression of the locality upon us, and I know not what Old Testament flavor about it all, conspire190 to make the night memorable191.
"This place very dangerous," says Antonio, who is standing192 round, bursting with information. "Him berry wise," is Abdel-Atti's opinion of him. "Know a great deal; I tink him not live long."
"What is the danger?" we ask.
"Wild beasts, wild boars, hyenas195,—all these bush full of them. It was three years now I was camped here with Baron Kronkheit. 'Bout6 twelve o'clock I heard a noise and came out. Right there, not twenty feet from here, stood a hyena194 as big as a donkey, his two eyes like fire. I did not shoot him for fear to wake up the Baron."
"Did he kill any of your party?"
"Not any man. In the morning I find he has carried off our only mutton."
Notwithstanding these dangers, the night passes without alarm, except the barking of jackals about the kitchen tent. In the morning I ask Antonio if he heard the hyenas howling in the night. "Yes, indeed, plenty of them; they came very near my tent."
We are astir at sunrise, breakfast, and start for the Jordan. It is the opinion of the dragoman and the sheykh that we should go first to the Dead Sea. It is the custom. Every tourist goes to the Dead Sea first, bathes, and then washes off the salt in the Jordan. No one ever thought of going to the Jordan first. It is impossible. We must visit the Dead Sea, and then lunch at the Jordan. We wished, on the contrary, to lunch at the Dead Sea, at which we should otherwise only have a very brief time. We insisted upon our own programme, to the great disgust of all our camp attendants, who predicted disaster.
The Jordan is an hour and a half from Jericho; that is the distance to the bathing-place of the Greek pilgrims. We descend all the way. Wild vegetation is never wanting; wild-flowers abound196; we pass through thickets of thorns, bearing the yellow "apples of the Dead Sea," which grow all over this plain. At Gilgal (now called Biha) we find what is probably the nastiest village in the world, and its miserable197 inhabitants are credited with all the vices198 of Sodom. The wretched huts are surrounded by a thicket47 of nubk as a protection against the plundering199 Bedaween. The houses are rudely built of stone, with a covering of cane or brush, and each one is enclosed in a hedge of thorns. These thorns, which grow rankly on the plain, are those of which the "crown of thorns" was plaited, and all devout200 pilgrims carry away some of them. The habitations within these thorny enclosures are filthy201 beyond description, and poverty-stricken. And this is in a watered plain which would bloom with all manner of fruits with the least care. Indeed, there are a few tangled202 gardens of the rankest vegetation; in them we see the orange, the fig21, the deceptive203 pomegranate with its pink blossoms, and the olive. As this is the time of pilgrimage, a company of Turkish soldiers from Jerusalem is encamped at the village, and the broken country about it is covered with tents, booths, shops, kitchens, and presents the appearance of a fair and a camp-meeting combined. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pilgrims, who go every morning, as long as they remain here, to dip in the Jordan. Near the village rises the square tower of an old convent, probably, which is dignified204 with the name of the "house of Zacch鎢s." This plain was once famed for its fertility; it was covered with gardens and palm-groves; the precious balsam, honey, and henna were produced here; the balsam gardens were the royal gift of Antony to Cleopatra, who transferred the balsam-trees to Heliopolis in Egypt.
As we ride away from Gilgal and come upon a more open and desert plain, I encounter an eagle sitting on the top of a thorn-tree, not the noblest of his species, but, for Palestine, a very fair eagle. Here is a chance for the Syrian hunter; he is armed with gun and pistols; he has his dogs; now, if ever, is the time for him to hunt, and I fall back and point out his opportunity. He does not embrace it. It is an easy shot; perhaps he is looking for wild boars; perhaps he is a tender-minded hunter. At any rate, he makes no effort to take the eagle, and when I ride forward the bird gracefully205 rises in the air, sweeping207 upward in magnificent circles, now veering208 towards the Mount of Temptation, and now towards Nebo, but always as serene209 as the air in which he floats.
And now occurs one of those incidents which are not rare to travellers in Syria, but which are rare and scarcely believed elsewhere. As the eagle hangs for a second motionless in the empyrean far before me, he drops a feather. I see the gray plume210 glance in the sun and swirl211 slowly down in the lucid212 air. In Jud鎍 every object is as distinct as in a photograph. You can see things at a distance you can make no one believe at home. The eagle plume, detached from the noble bird, begins its leisurely213 descent.
I see in a moment my opportunity. I might never have another. All travellers in Syria whose books I have ever read have one or more startling adventures. Usually it is with a horse. I do not remember any with a horse and an eagle. I determine at once to have one. Glancing a moment at the company behind me, and then fixing my eye on the falling feather, I speak a word to my steed, and dart214 forward.
A word was enough. The noble animal seemed to comprehend the situation. He was of the purest Arab breed; four legs, four white ankles, small ears, slender pasterns, nostrils215 thin as tissue paper, and dilating216 upon the fall of a leaf; an eye terrible in rage, but melting in affection; a round barrel; gentle as a kitten, but spirited as a game-cock. His mother was a Nedjed mare217 from Medina, who had been exchanged by a Bedawee chief for nine beautiful Circassians, but only as a compromise after a war by the Pasha of Egypt for her possession. Her father was one of the most respectable horses in Yemen. Neither father, mother, nor colt had ever eaten anything but selected dates.
At the word, Abdallah springs forward, bounding over the sand, skimming over the thorn bushes, scattering218 the Jordan pilgrims right and left. He does not seem to be so much a horse as a creation of the imagination,—a Pegasus. At every leap we gain upon the feather, but it is still far ahead of us, and swirling219 down, down, as the air takes the plume or the weight of gravity acts upon the quill220. Abdallah does not yet know the object of our fearful pace, but his docility221 is such that every time I speak to him he seems to shoot out of himself in sudden bursts of enthusiasm. The terrible strain continues longer than I had supposed it would, for I had undercalculated both the height at which the feather was cast and my distance to the spot upon which it must fall. None but a horse fed on dates could keep up the awful gait. We fly and the feather falls; and it falls with increasing momentum222. It is going, going to the ground, and we are not there. At this instant, when I am in despair, the feather twirls, and Abdallah suddenly casts his eye up and catches the glint of it. The glance suffices to put him completely in possession of the situation. He gives a low neigh of joy; I plunge223 both spurs into his flanks about six or seven inches; he leaps into the air, and sails like a bird,—of course only for a moment; but it is enough; I stretch out my hand and catch the eagle's plume before it touches the ground. We light on the other side of a clump224 of thorns, and Abdallah walks on as quietly as if nothing had happened; he was not blown; not a hair of his glossy225 coat was turned. I have the feather to show.
Pilgrims are plenty, returning from the river in a continuous procession, in numbers rivalling the children of Israel when they first camped at Gilgal. We descend into the river-bottom, wind through the clumps226 of tangled bushes, and at length reach an open place where the river for a few rods is visible. The ground is trampled227 like a watering-spot for cattle; the bushes are not large enough to give shade; there are no trees of size except one or two at the water's edge; the banks are slimy, there seems to be no comfortable place to sit except on your horse—on Jordan's stormy banks I stand and cast a wistful eye; the wistful eye encounters nothing agreeable.
The Jordan here resembles the Arkansas above Little Rock, says the Doctor; I think it is about the size of the Concord228 where it flows through the classic town of that name in Massachusetts; but it is much swifter. Indeed, it is a rapid current, which would sweep away the strongest swimmer. The opposite bank is steep, and composed of sandy loam229 or marl. The hither bank is low, but slippery, and it is difficult to dip up water from it. Close to the shore the water is shallow, and a rope is stretched out for the protection of the bathers. This is the Greek bathing-place, but we are too late to see the pilgrims enter the stream; crowds of them are still here, cutting canes230 to carry away, and filling their tin cans with the holy water. We taste the water, which is very muddy, and find it warm but not unpleasant. We are glad that we have decided32 to lunch at the Dead Sea, for a more uninviting place than this could not he found; above and below this spot are thickets and boggy231 ground. It is beneath the historical and religious dignity of the occasion to speak of lunch, but all tourists know what importance it assumes on such an excursion, and that their high reflections seldom come to them on the historical spot. Indeed, one must be removed some distance from the vulgar Jordan before he can glow at the thought of it. In swiftness and volume it exceeds our expectations, but its beauty is entirely232 a creation of the imagination.
We had the opportunity of seeing only a solitary233 pilgrim bathe. This was a shock-headed Greek young man, who reluctantly ventured into the dirty water up to his knees and stood there shivering, and whimpering over the orders of the priest on the bank, who insisted upon his dipping. Perhaps the boy lacked faith; perhaps it was his first experiment with water; at any rate, he stood there until his spiritual father waded234 in and ducked the blubbering and sputtering235 neophyte236 under. This was not a baptism, but a meritorious237 bath. Some seedy fellahs from Gilgal sat on the bank fishing. When I asked them if they had anything, they produced from the corners of their gowns some Roman copper238 coins, picked up at Jericho, and which they swore were dropped there by the Jews when they assaulted the city with the rams'-horns. These idle fishermen caught now and then a rather soft, light-colored perch82, with large scales,—a sickly-looking fish, which the Greeks, however, pronounced "tayeb."
We leave the river and ride for an hour and a half across a nearly level plain, the earth of which shows salts here and there, dotted with a low, fat-leaved plant, something like the American sage-bush. Wild-flowers enliven the way, and although the country is not exactly cheerful, it has no appearance of desolation except such as comes from lack of water.
The Dead Sea is the least dead of any sheet of water I know. When we first arrived the waters were a lovely blue, which changed to green in the shifting light, but they were always animated and sparkling. It has a sloping sandy beach, strewn with pebbles239, up which the waves come with a pleasant murmur240. The plain is hot; here we find ? cool breeze. The lovely plain of water stretches away to the south between blue and purple ranges of mountains, which thrust occasionally bold promontories241 into it, and add a charm to the perspective.
The sea is not inimical either to vegetable or animal life on its borders. Before we reach it I hear bird-notes high in the air like the song of a lark242; birds are flitting about the shore and singing, and gulls243 are wheeling over the water; a rabbit runs into his hole close by the beach. Growing close to the shore is a high woody stonewort, with abundance of fleshy leaves and thousands of blossoms, delicate protruding stamens hanging over the waters of the sea itself. The plant with the small yellow fruit, which we take to be that of the apples of Sodom, also grows here. It is the Solarium spinosa, closely allied244 to the potato, egg-plant, and tomato; it has a woody stem with sharp recurved thorns, sometimes grows ten feet high, and is now covered with round orange berries.
It is not the scene of desolation that we expected, although some branches and trunks of trees, gnarled and bleached245, the drift-wood of the Jordan, strewn along the beach, impart a dead aspect to the shore. These dry branches are, however, useful; we build them up into a wigwam, over which we spread our blankets; under this we sit, sheltered from the sun, enjoying the delightful246 breeze and the cheering prospect247 of the sparkling sea. The improvident248 Arabs, now that it is impossible to get fresh water, begin to want it; they have exhausted their own jugs249 and ours, having neglected to bring anything like an adequate supply. To see water and not be able to drink it is too much for their philosophy.
The party separates along the shore, seeking for places where bushes grow out upon tongues of land and offer shelter from observation for the bather. The first impression we have of the water is its perfect clearness. It is the most innocent water in appearance, and you would not suspect its saltness and extreme bitterness. No fish live in it; the water is too salt for anything but codfish. Its buoyancy has not been exaggerated by travellers, but I did not expect to find bathing in it so agreeable as it is. The water is of a happy temperature, soft, not exactly oily, but exceedingly agreeable to the skin, and it left a delicious sensation after the bath but it is necessary to be careful not to get any of it into the eyes. For myself, I found swimming in it delightful, and I wish the Atlantic Ocean were like it; nobody then would ever be drowned. Floating is no effort; on the contrary, sinking is impossible. The only annoyance250 in swimming is the tendency of the feet to strike out of water, and of the swimmer to go over on his head. When I stood upright in the water it came about to my shoulders; but it was difficult to stand, from the constant desire of the feet to go to the surface. I suppose that the different accounts of travellers in regard to the buoyancy of the water are due to the different specific gravity of the writers. We cannot all be doctors of divinity. I found that the best way to float was to make a bow of the body and rest with feet and head out of water, which was something like being in a cushioned chair. Even then it requires some care not to turn over. The bather seems to himself to be a cork251, and has little control of his body.
About two hundred yards from the shore is an artificial island of stone, upon which are remains of regular masonry. Probably some crusader had a castle there. We notice upon looking down into the clear depths, some distance out, in the sunlight, that the lake seems, as it flows, to have translucent252 streaks253, which are like a thick solution of sugar, showing how completely saturated254 it is with salts. It is, in fact, twelve hundred and ninety-two feet below the Mediterranean255, nothing but a deep, half-dried-up sea; the chloride of magnesia, which gives it its extraordinarily256 bitter taste, does not crystallize and precipitate257 itself so readily as the chloride of sodium258.
We look in vain for any evidence of volcanic disturbance or action of fire. Whatever there may be at the other end of the lake, there is none here. We find no bitumen259 or any fire-stones, although the black stones along the beach may have been supposed to be bituminous. All the pebbles and all the stones of the beach are of chalk flint, and tell no story of fire or volcanic fury.
Indeed, the lake has no apparent hostility to life. An enterprising company could draw off the Jordan thirty miles above here and make all this valley a garden, producing fruits and sugar-cane and cotton, and this lake one of the most lovely watering-places in the world. I have no doubt maladies could be discovered which its waters are exactly calculated to cure. I confidently expect to hear some day that great hotels are built upon this shore, which are crowded with the pious260, the fashionable, and the diseased. I seem to see this blue and sunny lake covered with a gay multitude of bathers, floating about the livelong day on its surface; parties of them making a pleasure excursion to the foot of Pisgah; groups of them chatting, singing, amusing themselves as they would under the shade of trees on land, having umbrellas and floating awnings261, and perhaps servants to bear their parasols; couples floating here and there at will in the sweet dream of a love that seems to be suspended between the heaven and the earth. No one will be at any expense for boats, for every one will be his own boat, and launch himself without sail or oars193 whenever he pleases. How dainty will be the little feminine barks that the tossing mariner262 will hail on that peaceful sea! No more wailing263 of wives over husbands drowned in the waves, no more rescuing of limp girls by courageous264 lovers. People may be shipwrecked if there comes a squall from Moab, but they cannot be drowned. I confess that this picture is the most fascinating that I have been able to conjure265 up in Syria.
We take our lunch under the wigwam, fanned by a pleasant breeze. The persons who partake it present a pleasing variety of nations and colors, and the "spread" itself, though simple, was gathered from many lands. Some one took the trouble to note the variety: raisins266 from Damascus, bread, chicken, and mutton from Jerusalem, white wine from Bethlehem, figs267 from Smyrna, cheese from America, dates from Nubia, walnuts268 from Germany, water from Elisha's well, eggs from Hen.
We should like to linger till night in this enchanting269 place, but for an hour the sheykh and dragoman have been urging our departure; men and beasts are represented as suffering for water,—all because we have reversed the usual order of travel. As soon as we leave the lake we lose its breeze, the heat becomes severe; the sandy plain is rolling and a little broken, but it has no shade, no water, and is indeed a weary way. The horses feel the want of water sadly. The Arabs, whom we had supposed patient in deprivation270, are almost crazy with thirst. After we have ridden for over an hour the sheykh's horse suddenly wheels off and runs over the plain; my nag271 follows him, apparently without reason, and in spite of my efforts I am run away with. The horses dash along, and soon the whole cavalcade is racing272 after us. The object is soon visible,—a fringe of trees, which denotes a brook; the horses press on, dash down the steep bank, and plunge their heads into the water up to the eyes. The Arabs follow suit. The sheykh declares that in fifteen minutes more both men and horses would have been dead. Never before did anybody lunch at the Dead Sea.
When the train comes up, the patient donkey that Madame rides is pushed through the brook and not permitted to wet his muzzle273. I am indignant at such cruelty, and spring off my horse, push the two donkey-boys aside, and lead the eager donkey to the stream. At once there is a cry of protest from dragomans, sheykh, and the whole crowd, "No drink donkey, no drink donkey, no let donkey, bad for donkey." There could not have been a greater outcry among the Jews when the ark of the covenant274 was likely to touch the water. I desist from my charitable efforts. Why the poor beast, whose whole body craved275 water as much as that of the horse, was denied it, I know not. It is said that if you give a donkey water on the road he won't go thereafter. Certainly the donkey is never permitted to drink when travelling. I think the patient and chastened creature will get more in the next world than his cruel masters.
Nearly all the way over the plain we have the long snowy range of Mt. Herinon in sight, a noble object, closing the long northern vista276, and a refreshment277 to the eyes wearied by the parched278 vegetation of the valley and dazzled by the aerial shimmer279. If we turn from the north to the south, we have the entirely different but equally poetical prospect of the blue sea enclosed in the receding280 hills, which fall away into the violet shade of the horizon. The Jordan Valley is unique; by a geologic281 fault it is dropped over a thousand feet below the sea-level; it is guarded by mountain-ranges which are from a thousand to two thousand feet high; at one end is a mountain ten thousand feet high, from which the snow never disappears; at the other end is a lake forty miles long, of the saltest and bitterest water in the world. All these contrasts the eye embraces at one point.
We dismount at the camp of the Russian pilgrims by R頷a, and walk among the tents and booths. The sharpers of Syria attend the strangers, tempt18 them with various holy wares282, and entice283 them into their dirty coffee-shops. It is a scene of mingled284 credulity and knavery285, of devotion and traffic. There are great booths for the sale of vegetables, nuts, and dried fruit. The whole may be sufficiently286 described as a camp-meeting without any prayer-tent.
At sunset I have a quiet hour by the fountain of Elisha. It is a remarkable pool. Under the ledge of limestone rocks the water gushes287 out with considerable force, and in such volume as to form a large brook which flows out of the basin and murmurs288 over a stony bed. You cannot recover your surprise to see a river in this dry country burst suddenly out of the ground. A group of native women have come to the pool with jars, and they stay to gossip, sitting about the edge upon the stones with their feet in the water. One of them wears a red gown, and her cheeks are as red as her dress; indeed, I have met several women to-day who had the complexion of a ripe Flemish Beauty pear. As it seems to be the fashion, I also sit on the bank of the stream with my feet in the warm swift water, and enjoy the sunset and the strange concourse of pilgrims who are gathering289 about the well. They are worthy290 Greeks, very decent people, men and women, who salute291 me pleasantly as they arrive, and seem to take my participation292 in the bath as an act of friendship.
Just below the large pool, by a smaller one, a Greek boy, having bathed, is about to dress, and I am interested to watch the process. The first article to go on is a white shirt; over this he puts on two blue woollen shirts; he then draws on a pair of large, loose trousers; into these the shirts are tucked, and the trousers are tied at the waist,—he is bothered with neither pins nor buttons. Then comes the turban, which is a soft gray and yellow material; a red belt is next wound twice about the waist; the vest is yellow and open in front; and the costume is completed by a jaunty293 jacket of yellow, prettily294 embroidered295. The heap of clothes on the bank did not promise much, but the result is a very handsome boy, dressed, I am sure, most comfortably for this climate. While I sit here the son of the sheykh rides his horse to the pool. He is not more than ten years old, is very smartly dressed in gay colors, and exceedingly handsome, although he has somewhat the supercilious296 manner of a lad born in the purple. The little prince speaks French, and ostentatiously displays in his belt a big revolver. I am glad of the opportunity of seeing one of the desert robbers in embryo297.
When it is dusk we have an invasion from the neighboring Bedaween, an imposition to which all tourists are subjected, it being taken for granted that we desire to see a native dance. This is one of the ways these honest people have of levying298 tribute; by the connivance299 of our protectors, the head sheykhs, the entertainment is forced upon us, and the performers will not depart without a liberal backsheesh. We are already somewhat familiar with the fascinating dances of the Orient, and have only a languid curiosity about those of the Jordan; but before we are aware there is a crowd before our tents, and the evening is disturbed by doleful howling and drum-thumping. The scene in the flickering300 firelight is sufficiently fantastic.
The men dance first. Some twenty or thirty of them form in a half-circle, standing close together; their gowns are in rags, their black hair is tossed in tangled disorder301, and their eyes shine with animal wildness. The only dancing they perform consists in a violent swaying of the body from side to side in concert, faster and faster as the excitement rises, with an occasional stamping of the feet, and a continual howling like darwishes. Two vagabonds step into the focus of the half-circle and hop96 about in the most stiff-legged manner, swinging enormous swords over their heads, and giving from time to time a war-whoop,—it seems to be precisely302 the dance of the North American Indians. We are told, however, that the howling is a song, and that the song relates to meeting the enemy and demolishing303 him. The longer the performance goes on the less we like it, for the uncouthness304 is not varied305 by a single graceful206 motion, and the monotony becomes unendurable. We long for the women to begin.
When the women begin, we wish we had the men back again. Creatures uglier and dirtier than these hags could not be found. Their dance is much the same as that of the men, a semicircle, with a couple of women to jump about and whirl swords. But the women display more fierceness and more passion as they warm to their work, and their shrill cries, dishevelled hair, loose robes, and frantic306 gestures give us new ideas of the capacity of the gentle sex; you think that they would not only slay307 their enemies, but drink their blood and dance upon their fragments. Indeed, one of their songs is altogether belligerent308; it taunts309 the men with cowardice310, it scoffs311 them for not daring to fight, it declares that the women like the sword and know how to use it,—and thus, and thus, and thus, lunging their swords into the air, would they pierce the imaginary enemy. But these sweet creatures do not sing altogether of war; they sing of love in the same strident voices and fierce manner: "My lover will meet me by the stream, he will take me over the water."
When the performance is over they all clamor for backsheesh; it is given in a lump to their sheykh, and they retire into the bushes and wrangle312 over its distribution. The women return to us and say. "Why you give our backsheesh to sheykh? We no get any. Men get all." It seems that women are animated nowadays by the same spirit the world over, and make the same just complaints of the injustice313 of men.
When we turn in, there is a light gleaming from a cell high up on Mt. Temptation, where some modern pilgrim is playing hermit133 for the night.
We are up early in the morning, and prepare for the journey to Jerusalem. Near our camp some Abyssinian pilgrims, Christians so called, have encamped in the bushes, a priest and three or four laymen314, the cleverest and most decent Abyssinians we have met with. They are from Gondar, and have been a year and a half on their pilgrimage from their country to the Jordan. The priest is severely315 ill with a fever, and his condition excites the compassion316 of Abd-el-Atti, who procures317 for him a donkey to ride back to the city. About the only luggage of the party consists of sacred books, written on parchment and preserved with great care, among them the Gospel of St. John, the Psalms318, the Pentateuch, and volumes of prayers to the Virgin319. They are willing to exchange some of these manuscripts for silver, and we make up besides a little purse for the sick man. These Abyssinian Christians when at home live under the old dispensation, rather than the new, holding rather to the law of Moses than of Christ, and practise generally all the vices of all ages; the colony of them at Jerusalem is a disreputable lot of lewd320 beggars; so that we are glad to find some of the race who have gentle manners and are outwardly respectable. To be sure, we had come a greater distance than they to the Jordan, but they had been much longer on the way.
The day is very hot; the intense sun beats upon the white limestone rocks and is reflected into the valleys. Our view in returning is better than it was in coming; the plain and the foot of the pass are covered with a bloom of lilac-colored flowers. We meet and pass more pilgrims than before. We overtake them resting or asleep by the roadside, in the shade of the rocks. They all carry bundles of sticks and canes cut on the banks of the Jordan, and most of them Jordan water in cans, bottles, and pitchers321. There are motley loads of baggage, kitchen utensils322, beds, children. We see again two, three, and four on one horse or mule, and now and then a row, as if on a bench, across the horse's back, taking up the whole road.
We overtake one old woman, a Russian, who cannot be less than seventy, with a round body, and legs as short as ducks' and as big as the "limbs" of a piano. Her big feet are encased in straw shoes, the shape of a long vegetable-dish. She wears a short calico gown, an old cotton handkerchief enwraps her gray head, she carries on her back a big bundle of clothing, an extra pair of straw shoes, a coffee-pot, and a saucepan, and she staggers under a great bundle of canes on her shoulder. Poor old pilgrim! I should like to give the old mother my horse and ease her way to the heavenly city; but I reflect that this would detract from the merit of her pilgrimage. There are men also as old hobbling along, but usually not so heavily laden. One ancient couple are riding in the deep flaps of a pannier, hanging each side of a mule; they can just see each other across the mule's back, but the swaying, sickening motion of the pannier evidently lessens323 their interest in life and in each other.
Our Syrian allies are as brave as usual. The Soudan babies did not go to the Jordan or the Dead Sea, and are consequently fresh and full of antics. The Syrian armament has not thus far been used; eagles, rabbits, small game of all sorts, have been disregarded; neither of the men has unslung his gun or drawn324 his revolvers. The hunting dogs have not once been called on to hunt anything, and now they are so exhausted by the heat that their master is obliged to carry them all the way to Jerusalem; one of the hounds he has in his arms and the other is slung in a pannier under the saddle, his master's foot resting in the other side to balance the dog. The poor creature looks out piteously from his swinging cradle. It is the most inglorious hunting-expedition I have ever been attached to.
Our sheykh becomes more and more friendly. He rides up to me occasionally, and, nobly striking his breast, exclaims, "Me! sheykh, Jordan, Jerusalem, Mar Saba, Hebron, all round; me, big." Sometimes he ends the interview with a demand for tobacco, and again with a hint of the backsheesh he expects in Jerusalem. I want to tell him that he is exactly like our stately red man at home, with his "Me! Big Injun. Chaw-tobac?"
We are very glad to get out of the heat at noon and take shelter in the rock grotto at the Red Khan. We sit here as if in a box at the theatre, and survey the passing show. The Syro-Phoenician woman smokes her narghileh again, the dogs crouching325 at her feet, and the Soudan babies are pretending to wait on her, and tumbling over each other and spilling everything they attempt to carry. The woman says they are great plagues to her, and cost thirty napoleons each in Soudan. As we sit here after lunch, an endless procession passes before us,—donkeys, horses, camels in long strings326 tied together, and pilgrims of all grades; and as they come up the hill one after the other, showing their heads suddenly, it is just as if they appeared on the stage; and they all—Bedaween, Negroes, Russians, Copts, Circassians, Greeks, Soudan slaves, and Arab masters—seem struck with a "glad surprise" upon seeing us, and tarry long enough for us to examine them.
Suddenly presents himself a tall, gayly dressed, slim fellow from Soudan (the slave of the sheykh), showing his white teeth, and his face beaming with good-nature. He is so peculiarly black that we ask him to step forward for closer inspection327. Abd-el-Atti, who expresses great admiration328 for him, gets a coal from the tire, and holds it up by his cheek; the skin has the advantage of the coal, not only in lustre329 but in depth of blackness. He says that he is a Galgam, a tribe whose virtues330 Abdel-Atti endorses331: "Thim very sincere, trusty, thim good breed."
When we have made the acquaintance of the Galgam in this thorough manner, he asks for backsheesh. The Doctor offers him a copper coin. This, without any offence in his manner, and with the utmost courtesy, he refuses, bows very low, says "Thanks," with a little irony332, and turns away. In a few moments he comes back, opens his wallet, takes out two silver franc pieces, hands them to the Doctor, says with a proud politeness, "Backsheesh, Bedawee!" bows, runs across the hill, catches his horse, and rides gallantly333 away. It is beautifully done. Once or twice during the ride to Jerusalem we see him careering over the hills, and he approaches within hail at Bethany, but he does not lower his dignity by joining us again.
The heat is intense until we reach the well within a mile of Bethany, where we find a great concourse of exhausted pilgrims. On the way, wherever there is an open field that admits of it, we have some display of Bedawee horsemanship. The white Arab mare which the sheykh rides is of pure blood and cost him ?200, although I should select her as a broken-down stage-horse. These people ride "all abroad," so to say, arms, legs, accoutrements flying; but they stick on, which is the principal thing; and the horses over the rough ground, soft fields, and loose stones, run, stop short, wheel in a flash, and exhibit wonderful training and bottom.
The high opinion we had formed of the proud spirit and generosity334 of the Bedawee, by the incident at the Bed Khan, was not to be maintained after our return to Jerusalem. Another of our Oriental illusions was to be destroyed forever. The cool acceptance by the Doctor of the two francs so loftily tendered, as a specimen335 of Bedawee backsheesh, was probably unexpected, and perhaps unprovided for by adequate financial arrangements on the part of the Galgam. At any rate, that evening he was hovering336 about the hotel, endeavoring to attract the attention of the Doctor, and evidently unwilling337 to believe that there could exist in the heart of the howadji the mean intention of retaining those francs. The next morning he sent a friend to the Doctor to ask him for the money. The Doctor replied that he should never think of returning a gift, especially one made with so much courtesy; that, indeed, the amount of the money was naught, but that he should keep it as a souvenir of the noble generosity of his Bedawee friend. This sort of sentiment seemed inexplicable338 to the Oriental mind. The son of the desert was as much astonished that the Frank should retain his gift, as the Spanish gentleman who presents his horse to his guest would be if the guest should take it. The offer of a present in the East is a flowery expression of a sentiment that does not exist, and its acceptance necessarily implies a return of something of greater value. After another day of anxiety the proud and handsome slave came in person and begged for the francs until he received them. He was no better than his master, the noble sheykh, who waylaid339 us during the remainder of our stay for additional sixpences in backsheesh. O superb Bedawee, we did not begrudge340 the money, but our lost ideal!
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1
mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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2
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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bridles
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| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
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5
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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6
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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8
malediction
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| n.诅咒 | |
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9
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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10
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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jolts
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的名词复数 ) | |
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lien
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| n.扣押权，留置权 | |
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13
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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14
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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15
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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16
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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17
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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18
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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19
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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20
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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21
fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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22
picturesqueness
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23
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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24
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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25
clatters
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| 盘碟刀叉等相撞击时的声音( clatter的名词复数 ) | |
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26
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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27
scour
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| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
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28
agitate
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| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
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29
braying
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| v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的现在分词 )；发嘟嘟声；粗声粗气地讲话（或大笑）；猛击 | |
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30
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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31
emulation
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| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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32
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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33
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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34
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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35
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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36
arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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37
squads
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| n.（军队中的）班( squad的名词复数 )；（暗杀）小组；体育运动的运动（代表）队；（对付某类犯罪活动的）警察队伍 | |
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38
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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39
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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40
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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41
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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42
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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43
delta
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| n.（流的）角洲 | |
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44
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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45
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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46
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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47
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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48
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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49
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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50
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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51
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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52
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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54
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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55
complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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56
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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57
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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58
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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59
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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60
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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61
friskiness
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| n.活泼，闹着玩 | |
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62
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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63
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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64
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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65
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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66
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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67
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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68
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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69
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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70
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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71
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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72
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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74
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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75
exhumed
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| v.挖出，发掘出( exhume的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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77
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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78
tilts
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| （意欲赢得某物或战胜某人的）企图，尝试( tilt的名词复数 ) | |
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79
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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80
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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81
outfits
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| n.全套装备( outfit的名词复数 )；一套服装；集体；组织v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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83
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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84
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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85
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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86
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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87
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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88
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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89
eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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90
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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91
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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92
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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93
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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94
slake
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| v.解渴，使平息 | |
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95
drizzles
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| 蒙蒙细雨，毛毛雨( drizzle的名词复数 ) | |
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96
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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97
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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98
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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99
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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100
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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101
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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102
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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103
unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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104
hampers
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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105
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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106
siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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107
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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108
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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109
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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110
strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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111
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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112
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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113
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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114
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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115
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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116
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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117
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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118
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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119
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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120
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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121
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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122
prophesying
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的现在分词 ) | |
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123
ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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124
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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125
grottos
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| n.（吸引人的）岩洞，洞穴，（人挖的）洞室( grotto的名词复数 ) | |
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126
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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127
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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128
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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129
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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130
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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131
abodes
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| 住所( abode的名词复数 )； 公寓； （在某地的）暂住； 逗留 | |
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132
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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133
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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134
hermits
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| （尤指早期基督教的）隐居修道士，隐士，遁世者( hermit的名词复数 ) | |
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135
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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136
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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137
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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138
clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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139
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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140
overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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141
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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142
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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143
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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144
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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145
irrigating
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| 灌溉( irrigate的现在分词 )； 冲洗（伤口） | |
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146
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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147
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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148
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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149
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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150
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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151
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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152
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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153
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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154
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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155
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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156
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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157
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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158
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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159
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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160
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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161
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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162
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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163
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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164
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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165
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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166
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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167
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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168
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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169
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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170
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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171
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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172
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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173
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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174
smites
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的第三人称单数 ) | |
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175
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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176
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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177
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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178
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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179
derided
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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181
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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182
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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183
hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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184
picketed
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| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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185
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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186
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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187
forte
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| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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188
illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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189
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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190
conspire
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| v.密谋，（事件等）巧合，共同导致 | |
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191
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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192
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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193
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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194
hyena
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| n.土狼，鬣狗 | |
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195
hyenas
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| n.鬣狗( hyena的名词复数 ) | |
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196
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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197
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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198
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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199
plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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200
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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201
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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202
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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203
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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204
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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205
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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206
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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207
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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208
veering
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| n.改变的；犹豫的；顺时针方向转向；特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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209
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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210
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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211
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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212
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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213
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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214
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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215
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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216
dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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217
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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218
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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219
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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220
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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221
docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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222
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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223
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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224
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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225
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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226
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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227
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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228
concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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229
loam
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| n.沃土 | |
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230
canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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231
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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232
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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233
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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234
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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235
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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236
neophyte
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| n.新信徒；开始者 | |
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237
meritorious
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| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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238
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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239
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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240
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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241
promontories
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| n.岬，隆起，海角( promontory的名词复数 ) | |
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242
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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243
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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244
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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245
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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246
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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247
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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248
improvident
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| adj.不顾将来的，不节俭的，无远见的 | |
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249
jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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250
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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251
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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252
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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253
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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254
saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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255
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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256
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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257
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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258
sodium
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| n.（化）钠 | |
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259
bitumen
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| n.沥青 | |
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260
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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261
awnings
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| 篷帐布 | |
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262
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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263
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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264
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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265
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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266
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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267
figs
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| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
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268
walnuts
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| 胡桃（树）( walnut的名词复数 )； 胡桃木 | |
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269
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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270
deprivation
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| n.匮乏；丧失；夺去，贫困 | |
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271
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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272
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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273
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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274
covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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275
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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276
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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277
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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278
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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279
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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280
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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281
geologic
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| adj.地质的 | |
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282
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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283
entice
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| v.诱骗，引诱，怂恿 | |
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284
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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285
knavery
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| n.恶行，欺诈的行为 | |
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286
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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287
gushes
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| n.涌出，迸发( gush的名词复数 )v.喷，涌( gush的第三人称单数 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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288
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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289
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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290
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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291
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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292
participation
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| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
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293
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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294
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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295
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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296
supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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297
embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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298
levying
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| 征（兵）( levy的现在分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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299
connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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300
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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301
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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302
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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303
demolishing
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| v.摧毁( demolish的现在分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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304
uncouthness
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305
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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306
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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307
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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308
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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309
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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310
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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311
scoffs
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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312
wrangle
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| vi.争吵 | |
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313
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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314
laymen
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| 门外汉，外行人( layman的名词复数 )； 普通教徒（有别于神职人员） | |
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315
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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316
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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317
procures
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的第三人称单数 )；拉皮条 | |
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318
psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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319
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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320
lewd
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| adj.淫荡的 | |
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321
pitchers
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| 大水罐( pitcher的名词复数 ) | |
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322
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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323
lessens
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| 变少( lessen的第三人称单数 )； 减少（某事物） | |
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324
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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325
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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326
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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327
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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328
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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329
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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330
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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331
endorses
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| v.赞同( endorse的第三人称单数 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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332
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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333
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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334
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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335
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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336
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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337
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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338
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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339
waylaid
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| v.拦截，拦路( waylay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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340
begrudge
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| vt.吝啬，羡慕 | |
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