I am very weary. But, now, just
before me the Jordan - sacred stream! And then, on the other side,
rest! Happy, soul-cheering thought!
"At the Bridge"
CHAPTER VIII.
The bridge of Jisr el Mejamia was at the time of my visit the only
available one for travel between the Sea of Galilee and the Dead
Sea. It is a stone bridge and was built by the Romans nearly, or
quite, two thousand years ago. It could scarcely be crossed by
carriages at present as the ascent to the highest point is by a
kind of step arrangement. It even seemed a wise precaution for us
not to attempt to ride over on horse-back - the stones were very
smooth and slippery. The present name of the structure means
"bridge of the messengers," and it was so named because here
messengers from various points in the land used to meet to
exchange messages.
I am glad to reach this place, for again I am very tired. The
distance traveled to-day is said to be fifty miles. But when we
arrive here the road and bridge are crowded with sheep and goats
being brought in from the valley for safety in the night. My first
sight of the Jordan, which at this place is clear and sparkling,
does not particularly impress me. I long for rest, and so we do
not tarry, but pass directly into the village lying just at the
west end of the bridge.
Oh, the wretchedness of this place! I wonder what kind of
entertainment I can find here. There is little choice as to a
place of lodging. The best and only accommodation that the
miserable village affords is what was formerly used by robbers as
a prison-house for their victims, but which is now used as a kind
of store-room. There is but one room, and its earthen floor is
littered over with filth of almost every description, while dust
and cob-webs everywhere abound. This is the RECEPTION-ROOM for our
party of four.
While my dragoman busied himself in getting supper, I sat on a box
making notes of what I had seen and experienced that day. Just
then the place served as KITCHEN and WRITING-ROOM. I wrote
rapidly, and as I wrote the thought that somewhere that day I had
crossed the path of the Master in his Perean ministry thrilled me.
I said, "Mr. Barakat, I am going down to the Jordan for a while
after supper." He replied, "All right, and I'll go with you'."
"No," said I, "I want to be alone down at the bridge." He simply
said, "I'll go with you."
Our supper was a light affair, but our host brought a platter of
something that looked like dark beeswax, but which proved to be a
palatable food called "halawa." We ate from the floor of this
room, which then became our DINING-ROOM.
