ARRIVAL AT JAFFA. 323 came in soft-flowing showers. Mr. Hardegg, our consul, came on board. Mr. Hardegg is an American citizen of German descent, who came to Palestine under the inspiration of a religious conviction that it was necessary for Christian people to occupy the Holy Land. This enterprise did not flourish, and Mr. Hardegg devoted himself to hotel keeping, and gave us welcome to one of the most pleasant hotels in the East. About eleven o'clock in the morning we landed. The Turkish Government for the cost of one of the Constantinople palaces could make a comfortable and safe harbor, but this is not Turkish policy, and among the theories which animate this strange people is that the surest way to protect a coast like that of Syria is to make access dangerous. The shore is marked by a series of jagged irregular rocks, against which the breakers dash, and it requires all the expertness of practiced boatmen to shoot between them. We were taken on the "Vandalia's" boat, the crew pulling their measured stately stroke. I would much rather, in a sea, trust myself to the Arab boatmen, who wabble about their huge clumsy boats with a skill which does not belong to man-of-war discipline. But we shot through the rocks, and came to the greasy stone steps, which were filled with howling Arabs. There was some difficulty in making our way through the greasy mob, and Mr. Hardegg was compelled to address them in tones of authority and menace; but in time we made our entrance, and walked into Jaffa through one of the dirtiest streets in the world. Our home with Mr. Hardegg was in the suburbs of the town. The rain had increased the discomforts of the street. But the sensation of being on the holy soil of Palestine, of walking under the walls of a town sacred to all who believe in Christian. teachings, made us think lightly of the mud through which we trudged. The consul lives in a little settlement that looks like one of our Western railway towns. Here was the Kansas order of architecture, which was homelike in its homeliness. These houses are all that remain of a movement that took its rise in New England some years ago, a movement based upon the belief that the way to follow Christ was to come and occupy Palestine. The Bible is sprinkled with texts that justified this enterprise, and our New England friends came and camped in Jaffa. They built houses, planted orange trees, and one would suppose that upon soil so fertile and in a climate so mild there would have been a practical success-the achievement of material benefits something like what the Mormons achieved in Utah. But the colony did not thrive. There is something in Turkish rule that would stifle even New England thrift, and those in charge of the colony seem to have been dreamy and light-headed CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPULCHER. -lacking in the strong, mighty So ment had to reach out its arms and bring the wandering saints home again. One or two of the original members of the colony still live here. Mr. Floyd, whom we were afterward to know as our guide in Jerusalem, an active and intelligent man, keeps his house and manages tourist parties through the Holy Land. But the movement has vanished, and all that remain are a few wooden houses with a familiar New England look, and some groves of orange trees, which were in full leaf and fruit, and brightened up with an imperial coloring the landscape under our chamber windows. We made a pilgrimage through the mud and the narrow, dingy streets, to the house of Simon the Tanner. On our way we noticed that Jaffa had put on a little finery in the way of ribbons and flags and wreaths in honor of General Grant's coming. There was an archway, and an inscription over it, "Welcome General Grant." There was a large tent, called the headquarters of tourist expeditions through the Holy Land. The proprietor was at the door in a state of enthusiasm, and gave us three cheers all by himself as we passed along, and wanted us to come in and drink champagne. He informed us that he was the most celebrated dragoman in the East, and that if we did not wish to fall into the hands of Bedouins, we should patronize him and not the concern over the way. So you see how this commercial age has carried its spirit of emulation into the Holy Land. We passed through narrow streets and down slippery stone steps over a zigzag route, until we came to a low stone house. This we were told was the house of Simon the Tanner. You know the story of Tabitha, by interpretation called Dorcas, the woman full of good works and alms-deeds; how she became ill and died, and how Peter knelt down and prayed, and turning to the body bade Tabitha to rise, and how she rose again, and many believed in the Lord. We enter the house and see an Arab woman grinding corn. We go up a narrow stone stairs on the outside of the house, and come to the roof, a walled roof paved with stone. Here Simon the Tanner and Peter his friend would sit and take the air, and look out upon the sea, that rolled beneath them even as we behold it now, and talk no doubt of the many wonders that had been seen in Jerusalem. It was on this housetop where Peter came to pray, and where being hungry he fell into a trance, and saw the vision recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, of the vessel descending from the heavens with all manner of beasts and creeping things and fowls of the air. From this house came that fine gospel truth, the finest of all political truths, that God is no respecter of persons. Tradition at least assigns this as the house, and it is as well not to challenge your traditions, but to look and believe. When we had seen the house of Simon the Tanner we had seen all that was sacred or memorable about Jaffa. We might have hunted up the spot where Bonaparte put to death his prisoners, but our visit to the Holy Land is not affected by French history. We prepared for Jerusalem. The distance is forty miles, and all that could be done for us were three clumsy wagons without tops, with Mr. Hardegg on horseback as an escort. Our party for Jerusalem included four of the "Vandalia's" officers, Lieutenant-Commander A. G. Caldwell, Lieutenant J. W. Miller, Engineer D. M. Fulmer, and Midshipman W. S. Hogg. It was too early in the season to see Palestine in its glory; but the plain was rich and fertile, sparkling with lilies and scarlet anemones, with groves of orange trees bending under their golden fruitage, the almond trees coming into bloom. We had been so many days in Egypt with no forest companions save the drooping datepalms that we missed the parched and barren fields. It was grateful, then, to see Palestine in its greenness. Even the rain was so homelike that we welcomed it and drove steadily through it until, when the sun went down, we were in the town of Ramleh, where we remained for the night. Our first lodging in the Holy Land was humble enough, for by the time we RAMLEH. reached Ramleh the rain was pouring. 327 Still we were in the most cheerful humor, ready only to see the bright side of everything. Even Caldwell-who had to put on his uniform and sword to go out into the mud, with an Arab carrying a lantern walking ahead and two soldiers behind, and various dogs howling in escort-even Caldwell, who had to call on the governor, seemed to think that there never was so jolly an errand. None of us volunteered to go along. We preferred to sit on the large benches in a room partly dining room, partly kitchen, partly parlor eggs frying in one corner, servants eating in another, with a huge lazy dog very much at home. Caldwell came back in a half hour dripping, and reported the governor in a fine state of health and propriety, and we went to bed bivouacking on beds that were regarded with natural suspicion. Before retiring we had marching orders for six in the morning, and although six is an early hour we were all in readiness, the General first at his post. It was seven before we left Ramleh and pushed on to Jerusalem. There are no interesting facts about Ramleh, except that it is of Saracen origin. The tradition that here lived Joseph of Arimathea is not accepted, and the town was not deemed worthy |