at breakfast. There was a commotion about the place. Rumors of war and

bloodshed were flying every where. The lawless Bedouins in the Valley of

the Jordan and the deserts down by the Dead Sea were up in arms, and

were

going to destroy all comers. They had had a battle with a troop of

Turkish cavalry and defeated them; several men killed. They had shut up

the inhabitants of a village and a Turkish garrison in an old fort near

Jericho, and were besieging them. They had marched upon a camp of our

excursionists by the Jordan, and the pilgrims only saved their lives by

stealing away and flying to Jerusalem under whip and spur in the darkness

of the night. Another of our parties had been fired on from an ambush

and then attacked in the open day. Shots were fired on both sides.

Fortunately there was no bloodshed. We spoke with the very pilgrim who

had fired one of the shots, and learned from his own lips how, in this

imminent deadly peril, only the cool courage of the pilgrims, their

strength of numbers and imposing display of war material, had saved them

from utter destruction. It was reported that the Consul had requested

that no more of our pilgrims should go to the Jordan while this state of

things lasted; and further, that he was unwilling that any more should

go, at least without an unusually strong military guard. Here was

trouble. But with the horses at the door and every body aware of what

they were there for, what would you have done? Acknowledged that you

were afraid, and backed shamefully out? Hardly. It would not be human

nature, where there were so many women. You would have done as we did:

said you were not afraid of a million Bedouins--and made your will and

proposed quietly to yourself to take up an unostentatious position in the

669

The Innocents Abroad