In Both WorldsHolcombe, William H. (William Henry)
Religion
In Both Worlds
Holcombe, William H. (William Henry)
Lazarus, of Bethany, Saint -- Fiction
“Oh yes!” I continued, in a supplicating tone; “that basket has food and
wine for my poor father, the leper, and a bouquet and a letter from
Martha, and a pair of sandals from little Mary—”
Overcome with emotion I burst into tears.
The guide drew a deep sigh; and when I looked up into his face it was
radiant with a sweet and benevolent expression. He had either heard me or
he comprehended intuitively the nature of my distress. He shook his head
and made a deprecating gesture with his hand. He then drew me off
strongly, but so gently that I was partially reassured, and walked meekly
at his side, overwhelmed with surprise and sorrow.
After passing over several rough ridges we turned into a deep ravine. The
guide made me go in front. The pathway down this narrow gorge, this cleft
between two mountains, was rough and dangerous. There were deep holes or
pits upon one side, and frightfully overhanging rocks upon the other. It
was so dark and precipitous in some places that I could scarcely believe
we were not descending into the bowels of the earth. We suddenly emerged
from this monstrous fissure on a little mound made by the soil washed down
from above, and found ourselves on the shore of the Dead Sea.
I had never seen such an expanse of water before, and was charmed with the
sight. Away to the left was the plain of the Jordan and the sacred river
of that name, invisible at a distance among its reeds and rushes. Opposite
arose the reddish-brown mountain chain which borders the sea on the west.
Far down to the right stretched a range of high hills of a bluish gray
color. In front, and widening away to the south, lay the mighty surface of
the sea, shining like a burnished mirror in the noon-day sun. A fine
breeze was blowing; but there was only a faint ripple on the water, for
its heavy salt waves can scarcely be stirred by the wind—like the soul of
a wicked man, which cannot be moved by the Spirit of God.
I was recalled from that delicious reverie into which every one is
transported by a view of the sea; for my guide pointed to a clump of
stunted trees or rather large bushes near the beach. Half hidden by them
was a tent of alternate white and red canvas, in front of which a large
boat was drawn up on the sand. Two rough-looking fellows lay in the boat
asleep. There was no human habitation anywhere about this lonely spot.
These people belonged on the other side of the sea. They were ready for
flight in a moment. They were wild, roving, secretive, fugitive. They were
engaged in some unlawful business. I had fallen into the hands of robbers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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