Daisy in the Field Part 44

The spot where our tents were pitched commands a view, I think one of the loveliest in the world. Perhaps with me a.s.sociation has something to do with the feeling. That broad sweep of the plains of Jericho, bright with their groves of Zizyphus trees; the lake waters coming in at the south; the great line of the Moab horizon, and the heights of the western sh.o.r.e; and then the constant changes which the light makes in revealing all these; I found it a study of beauty, from the morning till the night. From the time when the sun rose over the Moab mountains and brightened our dom trees and kissed our spring, to the evening when the shadow of Quarantania stretched over all our neighbourhood, as it stretched over Jericho of old, and the distant hills and waters and thickets glowed in colours and lights of their own.

The next morning after my walk I was up early, and going a little way from my tent door, I sat down to enjoy it. The servants were but just stirring; my father and Mr. Dinwiddie safe within their canvas curtains. It was very nice to be alone, for I wanted to think. The air was deliciously balmy and soft; another fair day had risen upon us in that region of tropical summer; the breath of the air was peace. Or was it the speech of the past? It is difficult to disentangle things sometimes. I had troublesome matters to think about, yet somehow I was not troubled. I did not lay hold of trouble, all the while I was in Palestine. Mr. Dinwiddie's words had revealed to me that it might be my duty to tell my father all that was in my heart. Suspicions of the fact, only, had crossed my thought before; but "as iron sharpeneth iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend." I saw more clearly. And the longer I sat there on my stone looking over to the line of the Jordan and to the hills through which the armies of Israel had once come down to cross it, the clearer it grew to my mind, that the difficulty before me was one to be faced, not evaded. I saw that papa had a right to know my affairs, and that he would think it became me as a Christian not to make a mystery of them. I saw I must tell papa about myself. And yet, it did not appal me, as the idea had often appalled me. I was hardly afraid. At any rate, there before me the hosts of the Israelites had pa.s.sed over dry shod; though the river was swift and strong; and the appeal of Elisha, - "Where is the Lord G.o.d of Elijah?" - came home to my ear like a blast of the priests' silver trumpets. I felt two hands on my shoulders.

"Studying it all, Daisy?"

"Papa, I am never tired of studying."

"This is a wonderful place."

"Papa, you know little about it yet. Old Jericho was up there."

"You speak as if I had gone to school in 'old Jericho,' " said my father, laughing. "I have the vaguest idea, Daisy, that such a city existed. That is all."

"Sit down, papa, while breakfast is getting ready, and let me mend your knowledge."

So we read the story there, on the stone by the spring. Mr.

Dinwiddie joined us; and it was presently decided that we should spend the morning in examining the ground in our neighbourhood and the old sites of what had pa.s.sed away. So after breakfast we sat out upon a walk over the territory of old Jericho.

"But it is strange," said papa, "if the city was here, that there are no architectural remains to testify as much."

"We rarely find them, sir, but in connection with Roman or Saracenic work. Shapeless mounds, and broken pottery, as you have it here, are all that generally mark our Palestine ruins."

"But Herod?" said papa. "He was a builder."

"Herod's Jericho was a mile and a half away, to the east. And moreover, if anything had been remaining here that could be made of use, the Saracens or Crusaders would have pulled it to pieces to help make their sugar mills up yonder, or their aqueducts."

"There is no sugar cane here now?"

"Not a trace of it. Nor a palm tree; though Jericho was a city of palms; nor a root of the balsam, though great gain was derived to Judea in ancient times from the balsam gardens here."

We mounted our horses and rode down to the site of Herod's Jericho, on the banks of the little stream that issues from the gorge of the Wady Kelt. How lovely, and how desolate, it was. The stream overhung with trees and bordered with oleanders and shrubs of which I have forgotten the names, and crossed by old arches still; and around, the desolate tokens of what once was. Foundation lines, and ruined aqueducts. Mr.

Dinwiddie made us remark the pavement of the road leading up to the Kelt, the old road to Jerusalem, the road by which Jesus went when the blind men called him, and over which, somewhere on its way, stretched the sycamore tree into which Zaccheus climbed. Ah how barren and empty the way looked now!

- with Him no longer here. For a moment, so looked my own path before me, - the dusty, hot road; the desolate pa.s.s; the barren mountain top. It was only a freak of fancy; I do not know what brought it. I had not felt so a moment before, and I did not a moment after.

"Where His feet lead now, the green pastures are not wanting, -" Mr. Dinwiddie said; I suppose reading my look.

"Never, Mr. Dinwiddie?"

"Never!"

"But it _seems_, often, to people, that they are wanting."

"Their eyes are so blinded by tears that they cannot see them, sometimes. Even then, they can lie down and feel them, - feel that they are in them."

"Are there any sycamore trees here now?" my father asked.

"Two or three poor old specimens; just enough to show for the story. Those sycamore figs belong to the low and warm situations; this is the proper place for them."

Papa felt so well that we determined to push on to the Jordan.

It was a hot, long ride, over a shadeless and barren plain; and when we came to the river papa declared himself very much disappointed. But I was not. Narrow and muddy as the stream was, it was also powerful in its rapid flood; no one could venture to bathe in it. The river was much swollen and had been yet more so; the tracks of wild animals which the floods had disturbed were everywhere to be seen. Papa and Mr.

Dinwiddie reasoned and argued, while I sat and meditated; in a deep delight that I should see the Jordan at all. We took a long rest there, on its banks. The jungle was a delicious study to me, and when the deep talk of the gentlemen subsided enough to give me a chance, I got Mr. Dinwiddie to enlighten me as to the names and qualities of the various trees and plants. They were of fine luxuriant growth. Poplars and sycamores and other trees, willows, I think, and exquisite tamarisks in blossom; and what I specially admired, the canes.

I understood then how people might go into the plain to see "a reed shaken with the wind." Growing twelve to fifteen feet high, with graceful tufts of feathery bloom which they bow and sway to the breeze in a manner lovely to see.

Another day we rode down to the sh.o.r.e of the Dead Sea; papa being none the worse for his Jordan excursion. Then the rain visited us, and for two or three days we were kept in our tents. With some difficulty I then persuaded papa to go further south, to the sh.o.r.e of the Dead Sea, to some pleasant camping ground by one of its western springs; there rain falls almost never. So, first at Ain Feshkah and then at Ain Jidi, we spent another couple of weeks; without Mr. Dinwiddie it would have been impossible, but his society kept papa from wearying and made everything as enjoyable as could be to both of us. It was the middle of February when we returned to Jerusalem.

The rainy season was not of course at an end yet; but a change of beauty had come over the land. We found fruit trees in blossom, almond and peach; and apricots just ready to bloom.

Corn up and green; and flowers coming and come. I had my own plans, made up from the experience and counsels of my English friends; but papa wanted to see Jerusalem, and I waited. Of course I wanted to see Jerusalem too; and here again Mr.

Dinwiddie was our excellent friend and guide and instructor.

Papa was quite in earnest now; and went about the city examining walls and churches and rock-tombs and all the environs, with a diligent intentness almost equal to mine; and he and Mr. Dinwiddie had endless talks and discussions, while I mused. The words, "Constantine," "Byzantine," "Crusaders,"

"Helena", "Saracenic," "Herod," "Josephus;" with modern names almost as well known; echoed and re-echoed in my ears.

"Daisy!" said papa suddenly in one of these talks, - "Daisy!

you are not interested in this."

"Papa, it is so uncertain."

Mr. Dinwiddie laughed.

"But the question, child; don't you care about the question?

how is it ever to be made certain? I thought this question would engage all your attention."

"How can it ever be made certain, papa? After those hundred and fifty years when there were no Jews allowed here, who was to remember the spot of the Sepulchre? Few but Christians knew it, in the first place."

"Oh, you _have_ thought about it!" said papa. "But are you not interested in a _probable_ site, Daisy?"

"No, papa."

"All these old churches and relics then do not concern you?"

"Papa, I only go to see them for your sake."

"Well," said papa, "now I will go to the Mount of Olives for your sake."

That was my plan; following the advice of the English party, who said they had enjoyed it. We hired for a time a little stone dwelling on the Mount of Olives, from which we had a fine view of the city; and to this new home papa and I moved, and took up our quarters in it. Of all my days in the Holy Land, excepting perhaps the time spent at Jericho and Engedi, these days were the best. They are like a jewel of treasure in my memory.

The little dwelling to which we had come was rougher in accommodation than our tents; but the season was still early, and it gave better shelter to papa. It was a rude stone house, with a few small rooms at our service; which I soon made comfortable with carpets and cushions. The flat roof above gave us a delightful view of the country and abundant chance to examine and watch all its points and aspects. I spent the hours up here or at the window of our little sitting-room; using my eyes all the time, to take in and feast upon what was before them. Only when papa would go out with me, I left my post; to take up the survey from some new point of view. I had a great deal to think of, those days; a certain crisis in my life had come, or was coming; I was facing it and getting ready for it; and thinking and looking seemed to help and stimulate each other. It was wonderful to watch the lights change on Jerusalem; from the first sunbeam that came over the hills of Moab and touched the city, to the full glare of the midday, and then the sunset colours on land and rock and building, transforming the dull greys and whites with a flush of rosy beauty and purple splendour. The tints that hovered then upon the red hills of Moab were never to be forgotten. I watched it, this change of light and shade and colour, from day to day. I learned to know Jerusalem and her surrounding hills and her enclosing valleys; and the barrier wall of Moab became a familiar line to me. All this while, as I said, I had a great deal to think of, and was thinking. Past, present and future chased each other in and out of my head; or rather, it seems to me, dwelt there together.

"Daisy!" - papa called to me when I was on the roof one day. I ran down.

"What are you doing up there?"

"I was looking, papa. I was studying topography."

"Let us go out and study it a little by actual survey. I think a walk would do me good."

We went down first to the valley of the Kedron, and wandered about there; sometimes sitting down under the shade of the olive trees to rest; speculating upon localities, recalling scenes of history; wondering at the path which descends into the valley from St. Stephen's gate and goes on over the Mount of Olives to Bethany. Above all things, that path held my eyes. No doubt the real path that was travelled eighteen centuries ago lay deep beneath many feet of piled-up rubbish; but the rubbish itself told a tale; and the path was there.

After a long stay in the valley, we mounted the hill again, where our temporary home was; and pa.s.sing that, went on to the height of the hill. There we sat down. The westering sun was casting lines of light all over the landscape, which would be soon floods of colour. Papa and I sat down to look and wait.