If this place were Mizpah, then here Jephthah lived; and here, when he went out to fight against the Ammonites, he made the vow to sacrifice whatsoever should come forth out of the doors of his house to meet him on his return from the battle, if the Lord would only give him the victory. The battle was fought, and Jephthah triumphed. The glad news reached his home; and out from his house rushed his daughter, his only child, with timbrels and with dances, to meet her hero-father, not knowing the nature of his vow made on the eve of the battle. Her presence caused the brave warrior to tremble with horror and rend his clothes when he remembered his vow. The daughter was dismayed--instead of a smile of joy from her father she read her doom in his blanched and contorted face. And somewhere on these hills round about the voice of wailing arose for two months from many maidens because Jephthah must fulfill his rash vow by sacrificing his only child. But he did unto her according to his word; and annually thereafter for a period of four days these hills resounded with the voice of weeping--the weeping of the maidens of Mizpah over the sad fate of Jephthah's daughter. (Judges 11.)

Farther on we ascend a high ridge and then begin our descent into the southern branch of the wady of Ajlun. After winding about for some time among the rocks and brush in the dry bed of this wady we finally halt at Ain Jenneh, a good, strong fountain issuing from under a great rock.

We are yet in the upper reaches of the wady and near the present village of Ajlun. Here we lunch and rest an hour.

Some authorities identify this region as the place where was the "wood of Ephraim." That being true, it is the place where Absalom lost his life. Certain it is, even to-day, that to leave the little path that we are following would mean to become hopelessly entangled in jungles of p.r.i.c.kly oak and other growth. Even in the path it is with difficulty that I keep my garments from being torn from me.

If this be the location of the "wood of Ephraim," then here the forces of Absalom under Amasa and the armies of David under Joab fought in those trying days of David's exile. Only a few miles away, at Mahanaim, David sent out his men, commanding that they touch not the young man.

Then he waited for the news of the conflict. In the thickets of Gilead the first "battle of the wilderness" was fought. It was a decisive engagement. Joab's veterans of many wars were too strong for the rebel's army. Absalom sought safety in flight, but in trying to ride hurriedly through the wild tangle his head caught in the branches of a great oak, and before he could extricate himself, Joab had found him and thrust him through the heart; then Joab's ten armor-bearers encompa.s.sed the unfortunate victim and finished the deadly work. And then, though Absalom had reared for himself a beautiful monument in the king's dale at Jerusalem, they took his body from the tree and threw it into a pit near by and made a great heap of stones over it. There was no weeping at the grave of Absalom.

With the death of Absalom the rebellion was at an end; but David's heart was broken. He waited at the gate of the city, more interested in the welfare of his son than in the success of his army. Swift runners approach! In answer to his question, "Is the young man safe?" he hears reply that pierces his heart like a dagger. Up to his chamber over the gate the king slowly pa.s.sed weeping and bent with grief, and as he went he said, "O my son Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! Would G.o.d I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!"

A poet's conception of David's great grief on hearing of the death of his son is portrayed in the following lines of N. P. Willis:

Alas! my n.o.ble boy! that thou shouldst die!

Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!

That Death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in thy cl.u.s.tering hair!

How could he mark thee for the silent tomb?

My proud boy, Absalom!

Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet "MY FATHER!" from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

But death is on thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young; And life will pa.s.s me in the mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung; But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom!

And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken.

How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!

It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom!

And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up With death so like a gentle slumber on thee-- And thy dark sin! Oh! I could drink the cup, If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.

May G.o.d have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My lost boy, Absalom!

But this fountain! What birds and beasts here drank undisturbed before man came to a.s.sert his lordship! What mult.i.tudes of people here have drunk from the days before Israel down to the present time--the hunter, the tiller of the soil, the grape-gatherer, the shepherd with his flocks, the warrior and his chief,--all rejoiced and rested here, and were refreshed and strengthened by the water.

Almost with reverence we drink again; then we remount our horses and proceed along the wady past the village of Ajlun where an Arab joins us and guides us on over fertile patches of ground and through olive groves until we reach the modern town of Coefrinje, a town that probably contains several thousand inhabitants. It is in the midst of an olive grove well up on the side of the mountains. Here, although it is scarcely past the middle of the afternoon, we stop for the night. It is too far to the next village to risk going ahead--the way is none too safe, even by day.

Several times to-day I could clearly distinguish the remains of old Roman roads, well paved, and with curbing arrangement excellently preserved. What vast sums of money and what great amount of labor must have been expended on these old high-ways of the time when this territory was occupied by the Romans! And where Rome walked she left her path well made, and she left the impress of her thought in rock-paved road, or in the lasting marble of her pillared temples and carven tombs.

"By the Watch-Tower"

CHAPTER VI.

Soon after entering the village of Coefrinje my dragoman had the rare good fortune to find a former acquaintance, but whom he did not know to be in those mountains. His name was Elias Mitry, who, with his wife, had come up from Jerusalem to do missionary work under the auspices of the Church of England. Although he was a native of Palestine and talked very poor English, yet he offered us a welcome to his humble home than which no more royal was accorded us anywhere. The meeting with my dragoman was an exhibition of genuine joy, and he seemed equally pleased to have me in his home; especially did he consider it an honor to be my host when my dragoman told him that he was escorting a "school-master" through the land. In that land it seems that the teacher is almost reverenced because of his profession, while, it may be said by way of contrast, in some sections of my home land he is scarcely respected because of his profession. Indeed, I was treated as a guest of honor; the best that the home afforded was at my service.

Stuffed cuc.u.mbers, figs, olives, pomegranates, and what, for want of a better name, I call "congealed grape-juice,"--all these were placed before me when in the early evening they aided my guide in serving supper.

We spent little over four hours in the saddle to-day, so I am not wearied, and I can give interested attention to the surroundings. And there is much to interest me here. For, while the name "Coefrinje" is not mentioned in the Bible, nor is its site definitely identified with the location of any biblical city, yet there is much of Bible story centered at points within five miles of this town.

Just across the narrow valley, only a few hundred yards distant, is the height, Kulat er Rubad. It is crowned with the ruins of an old castle-fortress called (together with the peak on which it stands) the "watch-tower of Gilead." The view from the dismantled ramparts is not excelled in this part of the world. It, indeed, rivals the view from the celebrated peak south of the Jabbok, Jebel Osha. Dr. Thomson says, "In reality this prospect includes more points of biblical and historical interest than any other on the face of the earth." And Dr.

Merrill, after enumerating many of the famous characters of history that moved under the gaze of this mount of out-look, adds, "The view is more than a picture. It is a panorama of great variety, beauty, and significance." To me it is wonderfully impressive.

As the evening wore on I first gave attention to the large olive-press close to the mission-house. The press was simple in construction, consisting of a large bowl-shaped rock from the center of whose depression rose an upright post of wood; to this post was fastened a long nearly-horizontal beam, not unlike what might be seen in the old-time cider-mill or cane-mill; slipped onto this beam by means of a large hole in its center was a large stone shaped like a grind-stone; this rock, pushed well up to the post, rested in the bowl of the other rock. When the natives pushed or pulled the beam around in tread-mill fashion the circular stone turned on the beam, and at the same time moved round and round in the hollow of the other rock. Thus the olives placed in the bowl-shaped rock were thoroughly crushed and the oil was caught in vessels.

Then I watch the shepherds leading their large flocks of sheep and goats in from the mountain pastures to their folds for the night. All day these faithful guardians have been with their flocks seeking good pasture and water for them,--no easy task in the fall of the year near the end of the dry season. They have guarded the sheep from the danger of beast, or precipice, or pit; have released those caught in the under-brush; have ministered to the needs of the sick; and now as night approaches they come leading--not driving--their flocks in quiet movement from out the mountain-paths to the sheltering fold in the village for the night, again to lead them forth on to-morrow, and to do likewise day after day. To see the tender solicitude of the Oriental shepherd for his sheep adds much to one's appreciation of the beauty and fitness of the teaching of the Master in his parable of the Good Shepherd.

But it is near the sunset hour of my only evening in these sacred mountains. I seek a vantage-ground and watch the King of Day sink slowly down to his couch of rest behind the western mountains and the farther sea. Oh, how beautiful! The sky is ablaze with a glory indescribable by mortal tongue. All s.p.a.ce seems vocal with praise to the G.o.d of love and beauty.

In the strange and peaceful quiet of that evening I felt the presence of a mysterious, subtle influence stirring within me. In the shower of gold flung out as a good-night to me, and as the star of evening smiled down upon me in the purpling twilight and began calling her myriads of companions to their sentry-posts to keep watch over me through the hours of the night in that strange land, I felt, I think, the spirit of the poetry,

"Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me," etc.,

in its fullness. Indeed, the air seemed vibrant with a living personality, which, without undue stretching of the imagination, I recognized as the SPIRIT OF HISTORY come to tell me the wonderful story of those wonderful mountains. Enraptured I listened.

SAID THE SPIRIT: "Long before Gad was attracted by these heights and valleys, tribes of people lived here in their simplicity, yet in sin.

The land seemed not different from other lands. Here were towering wooded mountain, rocky ravine, and strong-flowing fountain; here the beast prowled among the rocks, the bird nested in the trees, and the sweet-scented flowers graced all the landscape. The storms beat upon the mountains and the waters rushed in madness to the valley in the rainy season, and the sun scorched the vegetation and dried up the fountains in the dry season. Thus in monotony centuries pa.s.sed.

"But one day the G.o.d of heaven sent messengers to encamp here, and from that time these mountains on which you now stand have been considered sacred--because pressed by the feet of angels. Yonder to the northeast, only a little way, is where that event took place. Jacob, rich in herds and flocks, was on his way home from far-off Euphrates, but he was much troubled at the thought of meeting his brother who had sought to take his life about twenty years previously. He was picking his way slowly over these mountains leading his company and cattle when there appeared in his way a host of angels. He was not frightened, but in gladness of heart he cried out, 'Mahanaim,'--G.o.d's host. And although the wise people of your day are not quite sure as to the exact location of this meeting, yet be happy in the thought that you are now only a few miles from the sacred spot, if, indeed, you are not just where it occurred.

Had you then stood here you could have seen the glorious light of their presence, and could almost have heard the rustle of their heaven-plumed pinions.

"After this meeting Jacob wandered a little farther to the south, and just over yonder, on the Jabbok, he spent a whole night in prayer and in wrestling with the Angel Jehovah, thinking it was a mere man. There he gained a great victory over self, and he received the new name, 'Israel.' And on the next day, a little farther to the south, he met his erst-while angry and murderous brother in peace and happy reconciliation.

"A few centuries pa.s.s. Then the mighty Moses conquers all this region; and a little later these Ajlun Mountains were given to the tribe of Gad as a permanent home. But, in the course of time, the native tribes prove troublesome; and then the great Gideon, having gained a decisive victory down in the valley, followed the fleeing enemy, 'faint, yet pursuing,' right through this very district. Later the Ammonites were punished in a great battle by Israel's 'out-cast,' and mighty warrior, Jephthah.

"But look again at Mahanaim where Jacob met the angels. The place in later centuries became a center of other events of interest. There, after the death of Saul, Ish-bosheth established his capital, and forth from its gates he sent his armies under Abner to fight that he might secure the scepter of all Israel to himself. But after two years of struggle he was treacherously slain and his cause was hopelessly lost.

There, too, David sought refuge from Absalom; and out from those same gates through which Ish-bosheth had sent armies against him, David sent armies against his own son. And there above one of the gates of Mahanaim the voice of his weeping arose when he heard the news of the death of his strange misguided boy.

"Time pa.s.sed on and the Israelites turned from the G.o.d of heaven to worship at the shrines of other G.o.ds. Then, to punish them for their sin G.o.d sent a strange invader into these mountains who carried away the people by thousands into cruel captivity in a land far toward the sun-rising.

"Later the Romans came and planted olive trees and built fine cities and established enduring roads. But Rome is fallen, and where she moved in power and splendor ruin only remains, and the unambitious, ignorant Bedouin feeds his flock and lives in idleness amidst broken down terraces and thorn-covered fertile soil. Desolate! Yes, dark is the picture. But, what of the night? Take your place again on the 'watch-tower of Gilead' and scan well the horizon. Yes, it is well; the morning cometh!"

Having given myself up to reverie and to communing with the SPIRIT OF HISTORY, as it were, I was for a time forgetful of my surroundings. The twilight had deepened when I again turned my thoughts to the village and its people. I look up at some of the houses near me and see a number of the natives in their dark robes standing like statues on the flat roofs of their homes, yet watching every movement of the stranger that has so unexpectedly appeared in their midst. I do not fear them, but somehow a feeling of unrest steals over me; they seem like shades of departed Israelites back again from their long sleep. In the gathering gloom I pa.s.s quickly into the mission-house near by.

This proves to be an evening full of interest to me. I learn that a mission-service is soon to begin, and that a number of the villagers will be here for the service. I am impressed with the quiet (save for the barking of dogs) that prevails in these Arab villages. I see no drunkenness, and there is no boisterous rudeness of other sort.

In a little while a score or more of men come quietly to the mission-house, remove their sandals, pa.s.s into the room, and seat themselves on the earthen floor against the walls. Mrs. Mitry beckons to me to come to the door; she wanted me to see that row of forty sandals. She said in her broken way that it was interesting to her, and she thought it would interest me.

It is only a little while until Mr. Mitry enters and takes his place at a small table in the center of the room. A half hour or more is spent in smoking cigarettes--almost every native smokes. Here it seems that the habit is in no sense considered a vice. Indeed, the missionary himself, not only smokes, but a.s.sists in making cigarettes for the others. They smoke and smoke until the room is so darkened that we see each other but dimly through the haze. I am surprised that I can endure it. The tobacco must be different from that used in America, for ordinarily a single cigarette is more offensive to me than was the smoke of nearly fifty on that evening--for some of the men smoked two or three apiece in that close room.

After the smoking was over black coffee was served in small cups holding about one-fourth as much as the average teacup. They sip this slowly and talk. I note that frequently they are saying something about "hawadje," and then they fix their eyes upon me. My dragoman tells me that he has been explaining our hard trip to Gerasa, that they were skeptical about it, but that he has convinced them of its verity.

But now it is time for the service. Mr. Mitry opens his Bible and reads in Arabic the story of Moses' invitation to Hobab. Then he expounds the Scripture for some time while the men listen with rapt attention. There are some questions and answers. I understand only a word now and then, but it is a picture of more than ordinary interest to me to look upon the expectant, and then the satisfied faces of these natives.

When the lesson was over a request came from the men for me to speak to them. Through my dragoman as interpreter I spoke a little while on the theme of the evening, which meant much to me there where the migration of Moses was in a measure felt by the early inhabitants. They listened attentively, and when I had finished they told my guide to say to "hawadje" that they wanted him to stay and make his home with them.

Then, the meeting over, they moved out into the darkness with graceful "salaams," and with the promise of one of their number to accompany us on the morrow. They said we must not go on alone.

The service-room is now to be my bed-room. A pallet is brought to me, and on it I am soon trying to sleep. But the beautiful sunset, the vision of the past of this region, the mission-service, the stillness of the night--so still that the very silence seems audible--keep me awake for some time. I am lying by the "watch-tower of Gilead." I seem to see the Spirit of Prophecy standing on its broken battlements, wrapped in the shadows of the night, looking hopefully toward the place of sun-rising. I call to him, "Watchman, what of the night?" In sweet tones of a.s.surance comes the answer, "The morning cometh! The story of the Christ will yet transform the darkness that rests here into the brightness of noonday." Then a sweet peace seemed wafted into my soul from out the unseen somewhere,--but certainly from Him who "giveth his beloved sleep."