From my camp. Wed 25 Arak el Emir ['Iraq el Amir]. (Arabia, suggests Dr R. [Rosen] in case you shouldn't know where the above important place is.) Well we left yesterday after lunch, after a tremendous getting off, such a packing and saying goodbye! I never had my hand kissed so often! It was blazing hot, but a furious wind got up as we rode down to Jericho. It made us a little cooler but raised such storms of dust as I have never seen. We could neither speak, nor hear, nor see, and when we arrived in Jericho we looked as if we had just been dug up from an untimely grave. We spent a very comfortable night and got off at 5 this morning. The wind had gone and had taken with it the heat and the flies so that we had a most pleasant ride across the Ghor [El Ghor]. We crossed the Jordan by the bridge and then turned away a little further northwards than my former road, getting into the foothills about 8. From thence we rode up a long winding grassy valley, very pretty, with plenty of corn in it and all the fields full of lovely pink hollyhock and flowering caper, which is like St John's Wort, but with pink stamen and white petals. This valley led us up onto a little Col from whence we looked down into the beautiful Wady Sir [Wadi es Sir] with Arak el Emir lying in the bottom of it and heights thinly covered with oak behind. Now this place is very interesting. It was a palace built by an enterprising gentleman called Hyrcanus about 200 years before Christ and Josephus describes it so accurately that one can to this day trace the lines of the moats and tanks and gardens. Of the palace little remains except a great pan de mur built of enormous stones, the upper ones carved with lions. You can trace a long road leading up to some cliffs about 2 quarters of a mile behind (from these the place takes its name, 'Arak meaning cliff) in which are cut a regular town of caves, one of them being an enormous stable with mangers for 100 horses cut in its walls. We got here at 1, very hungry and instantly lunched by the stream which is bordered by thickets of oleander in full flower, too exquisite. We have spent a most agreeable afternoon here and Hanna has given us an excellent dinner. Nina and Dr R. are perfectly delightful travelling companions. We have just been agreeing that this is the only real kind of existence and all other dwellings but a tent are merely a kind of makeshift. I bathed in the river and imagine my disgust just as I was going to undress, at seeing a young Arab climbing down an impossible hillside to ask me for tobacco. I had none and begged him to depart which he did and left me and my river in peace. The only drawback of this place is that I believe it to be the original home of all thistles. There are also snakes and scorpions but their sting is scarcely as dangerous. There are hundreds of fireflies outside my tent and earwigs within. Thurs 26. [26 April 1900] We got off at 6.30 and rode all up the Wady Sir [Wadi es Sir], a most beautiful green valley full of oaks growing in clusters as though they were in an English park. Corn and water mills and every sign of prosperity showed us that we were reaching the Circassian country. Their first village was Es Sir at the head of the valley, good stone built houses, with verandahs supported by wooden pillars, neat clean courtyards with a couple of figtrees and a few willows growing in them and a tidy well clad population - it was extraordinarily un-Arabic. These people have fled before the Russians and have been settled here by the Sultan. I expect they in their time will drive the careless lazy Arabs out and become a rich colony. From Es Sir we got into a really good road such as carts can go along, Circassian made of course, which led us onto a high plateau covered with cornfields and down into the Zerka [Zarqa] valley, the Jabbok of the Old Testament, at the bottom of which lies Amman ['Amman]. It is a town with a long history. It was the capital of the Ammonites (Rabboth Ammon was its name); David took it and the tribe of Reuben held it. The Romans rebuilt it with great splendour and called it Philadelphia, the Arab invasion destroyed it and now the Circassians have repeopled it and built their neat one storied houses with the stones of citadel and temple. Our camp lies in front of the largest and most perfect theatre I have yet seen - the Circassians live in its great corridors - on one side of it are the ruins of the Odeon, on the other a long row of Corinthian columns which lined the Avenue de l'Opera, so to speak, and in front runs the charming stream, edged with willows. Through the town this stream was arched over by a continuous bridge, parts of which remain, for the valley is narrow and they wanted all the space they could get for their columned streets. Further up, the ruins of the enormous Thermae, walls of what is said to be the Forum built into Circassian houses, and the big outer wall of a Christian basilica. The Acropolis stands high up on the hill opposite to us. On the way up, we passed a charming, richly decorated bit of a mausoleum and the columns of a big temple. They say the foundations of the citadel date from the dark ages, before David, any time you please, but there will soon be little left of the big walls for the Circassians are industriously carrying them down piecemeal to build them into their houses. The whole top of the hill is covered with the ruins of the temples and forts, and there is one lovely little domed building, all arcaded and carved within, which is said to be Persian. It is not unlike the work at Mashetta [Qasr el Mushatta]. We arrived here at 10.30, lunched and rested and have had a very pleasant afternoon examining and photographing all these ruins. The Circassians are most friendly. As we walked along the streets we were constantly offered cups of coffee, which we usually accepted for it was very good. The weather is heavenly - a bright sun and cool air, and we are very happy. Fri 27. [27 April 1900] We left Amman ['Amman] this morning soon after 6 and after riding for an hour or two over the corn covered plateau we got into lovely valleys scattered over with terebinths, most agreeable riding. At a little place called Yajuz where we stopped to examine some Roman ruins, we met a French archaeologist, Charcot by name, who was camping there under the big terebinths. He is going up to Damascus [Dimashq (Esh Sham, Damas)], so I shall probably see him again. We wanted to copy an inscription on the tomb of an Arab sheikh and M. Charcot very obligingly made us a rubbing of it which he is going to bring to Damascus. We lunched on a hill top, under a tree, with the most lovely view before us, Gilead to the left, the Ajlun mountains to the right and far away the tops of the Mountains of Samaria. A very agreeable ride, with the beautiful wooded Ajlun hills in front of us, brought us down to the Zerka [Zarqa] valley at 3.30. We are camping by the same river that we were on last night, but it has made a long detour since we left it. The valley is lovely, the oleanders a mass of pink flower. We have just scattered along the banks to bathe and come back much revived. Last night at Amman, the people brought us quantities of coins and things, not very interesting but genuine without doubt. We finally had to turn them out, in a friendly manner, Nina saying to Musa, our kavass that they were nice people (in German) "Ya" replied Musa doubtfully "aber bleiben, nicht gehen." The sentiment applies to all the population of these parts; you may take it for granted wherever I mention them. Sat 28. [28 April 1900] After a most delicious night by the Zerka [Zarqa] and a morning bath in it before sunrise, we were off at 6.35. We rode up a lovely country, all thick cornfields scattered over with little oaks, smiling and prosperous beyond words and the Circassians working in it everywhere, the fathers of industry. After an hour and a half's ride suddenly we saw in front of us magnificent ruins, a great triumphal arch and hundreds of columns - it was Jerash [Jarash]. This place has no history. It was one of the Roman towns of the Decapolis and it must have been of surprising magnificence. It lies chiefly on the western side of the valley, what ruins there were to the east being concealed or destroyed by the big prosperous Circassian village which has grown up in the last few years. You can trace the line of the wall right up the hillside and along the crest both on the east and the west. Directly we had chosen our camping ground, I flew off with my camera to get the lovely morning sun on the ruins. It is all very florid, something like Palmyra [Tadmur], says Dr R. [Rosen], but bigger. You go under the arch, pass a great stadium, and find yourself in a big open place with an almost complete circle of Corinthian columns round it. On one side, perched up on a hill, is a lovely temple and a theatre near it, the proscenium of which is wonderfully perfect; on the other a street runs north through the town and the whole street is bordered on either side by columns, many dozens of which are still standing. Presently you come to a carrefour with 4 blocks of building on which statues stood, and another columned street leading out at right angles; then a fine building with elaborate niches and cornices, and then the Propylaeum of the great Temple of the Sun which stands, almost perfect, on a height above. There is another theatre near to it and, opposite, great ruins of baths; and so the columned street continues to the ruined gateway at the northern end, just opposite our camp. A mill stream runs through this gateway now and the lower part of the city wall is built into the mill. The corn is standing high down the streets between the columns, and all over the great courts and roads leading to the Temple of the Sun. All round rise the low hills covered with a stunted oak and the Circassians come and go along the beautiful road that they have made and build acanthus leaves and the inscriptions of emperors into their tidy houses with small concern for the wonderful city which they have inherited. We have had a peaceful afternoon, an early lunch and a long rest. I have just read Mother's article on thrift, which I admire very much. I now feel that I need not hesitate to extend my journey to any limit - isn't that the right lesson to be derived from it? but seriously, I think it's a very beautiful and good bit of morals. After tea Dr R. and I walked all over the ruins a second time. They looked most lovely in the evening light. I have since bathed in a stream with a pergola of vines above me and a lot of lovely Roman stones tumbling into the river on purpose to hold my soap. We have been watching the Circassians driving in their cows - hundreds of them, cows I mean, more than I have yet seen in the whole of Syria. Sun 29. [29 April 1900] Irbid. This is a surprising country! there is a post office here, so I'm going to post you this letter. We have had a 7 hours' ride over dullish country for the most part. We climbed [on sheet left blank overleaf:] How stupid I am! I didn't see this page was blank! [Continued on separate sheet:] up and down wooded valleys till we came out onto the great plain of the Hauran, covered with corn, through which we rode for 3 or 4 hours. Far away, but half hidden by a mist of heat, we could just see the JeBell Druze [Duruz, Jabal ad] to the East - my destination. We lunched in a place called El Husn [Husn], in the house of a Greek priest who was extremely friendly and brought us leben and butter to add to our provisions. We got here about 3, a bare village perched up on a hill, on top of which we have pitched our tents. It is a very old site; a ruined Cyclopean wall runs round it and there are many Greek and Roman inscriptions. I have bought some lovely Roman glass, dirt cheap; if only I get it safe home, it shall be a present to you. Hanna and I have been packing it in the canteen. Nina and I have received about 30 ladies - they were very nice, aber bleiben nicht gehen. Here the Rosens leave me, alas! they have been the most delightful of travelling companions. They go westward to the Lake of Tiberias and so home; I eastward and in 2 days I shall reach Bozrah [Busr'a ash Sham] at the foot of the JeBell Druze. I think my chances of getting right up into the hills seem good; at any rate I shall make a determined attack and unless the government stops me, I fancy I shall do it. Everyone in Jerusalem [(El Quds esh Sherif, Yerushalayim)] and Jericho told me it was quite impossible - but, we shall see. I shall dodge the government as much as possible. I might get to Damascus [Dimashq (Esh Sham, Damas)] in 3 days from here, by railway from Mezeirib [Maharrat al' Muzayrib], but if I carry out my plans, it will take me about ten. It's exciting starting off into the wonderful unknown by myself, though I'm awfully sorry to part with the Rosens. There are such a lot of black beetles in my tent! yesterday it was earwigs. I hope it will be earwigs again tomorrow. It's such a lovely night, with a cool air on our hilltop after the hot day. We can see Mount Hermon [Sheikh, JeBell esh] from here, dimly. I hope at dawn we shall distinguish all its snows. You will have had my telegram from Damascus before this letter reaches you. Ever your very affectionate daughter Gertrude. I may add that I am enjoying myself very much! Monday 30 Dera'a [Dar'a]. This morning we none of us had a very long way before us, so I didn't get up till 6.30, which was most pleasant. When I looked out of my tent door, there was Mount Hermon [Sheikh, JeBell esh], gleaming in all its snows, right in front of me. It was so beautiful that I had the greatest difficulty in not turning my face northwards and making straight for it, but the Druze [Duruz, Jabal ad] mountains were standing mistily on the eastern horizon and I must try for them first. We breakfasted, as usual, in front of the Rosens' tent, with Hermon occupying the fourth place at our table and at 8.30 we very sadly parted and I went east and they west. I have 2 muleteers, Muhammad and Yakoub, and Hannah [see also Hanna]. I rode for 3 hours over the great Hauran plain, through sheets of corn. There were villages scattered about and the people looked prosperous. There were also tracts of country ploughed and laying fallow for next years' crop. They practically never manure so that they can't grow barley 2 years running. They say that formerly when the Arab tribes used to come down here with all their camels and things the crops were even better for the animals manured the land, but now they don't come much so far west. The maps mark this country as Bellonging to the 'Anazeh, a great tribe which stretches to the Euphrates, but they appear to have withdrawn their black tents further eastward, probably because of the encroaching Turkish government. After 3 hours' ride we came to Remtheh [Ramtha], a mud and stone built village standing up on a little hill, with a mosque on top. (By the way, it was very curious yesterday returning to the Arab villages after the neat Circassian streets and courtyards.) The people were very busy cutting grass and bringing it home on the backs of camels, laden string after string of them - they looked rather like the elephants making honey in Alice in Wonderland! In these villages they are nothing but camels, with a little donkey to lead the string. At Remtheh we crossed the Haj [Hajj] road which I last saw at Mashetta [Qasr el Mushatta]. We went up a low ridge of hill with flocks of camels grazing all over it, and lunched on the top. There was a strong cool west wind but the sun was blazing hot, so hot that one had to put on a coat to keep it out. I wear a big white keffieh bound over my hat and wound round me so that only my eyes show - and they are partly hidden by a blue veil - but the chief comfort of this journey is my masculine saddle, both to me and to my horse. Never never again will I travel on anything else; I haven't known real ease in riding till now. Till I speak, the people always think I'm a man and address me as Effendim! You musn't think I haven't got a most elegant and decent divided skirt however, but as all men wear skirts of sorts too, that doesn't serve to distinguish me. Mount Hermon was a great joy all along the road; it looked now like a white cloud hanging in mid air. About 2 we entered Dera'a; built of black volcanic stone, it is, all bare and dusty with a black ruined tower. The mules were behind. Hannah and I rode down to the well at the east of the town and sat there waiting for half an hour in the dust in the sun, watching the countless strings of camels bringing in the corn which is ripe here. They don't reap it, but pluck it up by the roots. At last we rode back to see what the mules were doing and found that they had arrived and that my tents were pitched on a hill by some ruined Roman baths, in sight of Hermon and the JeBell Druze. There is an enormous cemetery behind me. I was too glad to get in out of the dust and the wind and the black town. You wouldn't believe how soon the most unpromising spot changes into a comfy home-like place as soon as one's tents are up and one's horses tethered. I rested and had tea and then made an attempt to see an extraordinary underground town there is here, and which is supposed to Bellong to the times of Og King of Bashan. But I couldn't get anyone who knew the way and after grubbing about under the earth for an hour, amongst the remains of hyenas' meals, I came away disgusted. I think I might if I took trouble get someone who would take me in, but I won't. There are too many smelly bones. There are lots of Roman stones and inscriptions built into the walls here. I received a visit from the Kaimakam's secretary who came to see my teskereh and leave me a soldier to guard my camp. I mentioned in an airy manner that I thought of going to Salkhad, as though I thought they couldn't possibly object, though I believe they probably will. The secretary, however, seemed to take it as a matter of course. I may have no trouble after all. Wed May 2. [2 May 1900] Bosrah [Busr'a ash Sham]. I am deep in intrigues! however I will tell you all from the beginning. Yesterday, Tuesday, I did not get off till 7.30 as I was engaged in bargaining for some very pretty glass jars, which I got. This had to be done secretly, as the Fellahin dig them up and the govt. confiscates them if it knows. We set off with a soldier for guide across the corn covered plains; here and there a black village stood out from the green and the ground was covered with black porous stone. The Volcanic peaks of the JeBell Druze [Duruz, Jabal ad] lay ahead of us, eastwards, all day. At 11 I got to the first really interesting village, Jizeh [Jizah], and here I saw the building of this country. You must understand that the peculiarites of it depend on the fact that there was (and is) no wood at all, and when the Romans made a great colony here in the 1st Century, about, they built entirely with stone - the rafters are long bits of stone stretched across from arch to arch over the rooms, the doors are solid blocks of stone with charming patterns carved on them, the windows, even, are stone perforated with holes and carved between the holes. All this in black basalt; it is most curious to see. There was one perfect house in Jizeh, small and four square with a cornice running round near the top on the outside, but it had no window at all. There was another, the beautiful walls of which were standing and the stone roof, but the original door and windows were gone. It was turned into a mosque. I rode on to Ghusam [Ghasm] where I saw another house with a fine stone door and from here we followed the Roman road to Bosrah - I had seen it more or less all day, and in one place passed a fine bridge over a little dip where perhaps water sometimes runs. Bosrah stood up black and imposing before us for miles before we arrived, a mass of columns and triumph arches with the castle dominating the whole. We got in at 4 and I at once flew off to photograph. The Roman road leads you straight to the splendid Western Gate, the Gate of the Wind it is called. You enter and walk through a good quarter of a mile of pathless desolation, all the houses completely ruined and the fine squared blocks fallen into the streets so that you can barely tell which was house and which street. Then you come to a few fellah houses roughly put together out of the older buildings, and so to a Carrefour with another Triumphal Arch, great ruined baths, and some Corinthian temple columns. To the left stands the big ruined Mosque, built out of a Church which in its turn owed its materials to earlier temples. I went up the square tower of the minaret and looked out over the town - columns and black square towers over every ruined church and mosque and the big castle and the countless masses of fallen stones. I had been joined by a cheerful handsome person, the Ma'mur (the Sultan's landagent) who accompanied me on my walk and climbed with me in and out of the churches and the fallen walls and ruined houses. Such a spectacle of past magnificence and present squalor it would be difficult to conceive. There were inscriptions everywhere, Latin, Greek, Cufic and Arabic, built into the walls of the fellahin houses, topsy turvey, together with the perforated slabs that were once windows and bits of columns and capitals of pillars. After 2 hours of this I began to feel light headed with fatigue and hunger, but the Ma'mur went on gallantly and I dimly remember seeing an enormous tank (like the sea, say my muleteers) with a ruined mosque at one corner. The Ma'mur surmised that this mosque had been the house of some great man, perhaps a Consul! At last he took me to the top of the castle to see the view of the town (very wonderful it was in the gathering dusk) and introduced me to the head of the soldiers who produced chairs and coffee on his rooftop and subsequently glasses of arak and water in his room Bellow. The Ma'mur is a Beyrouti and talks Arabic but the other is a pure Turk and our common tongue is French, most inadequate on his side. At length I induced them to let me go, and retired to my tents Bellow the castle. I found the Mudir (Governor of the town) waiting for me, a handsome dignified Arab, much looked down on by the whipper snapper Turkish officials. We exchanged polite greetings and I retired to my dinner and my bed. This morning, the Ma'mur appeared at 8 to take me to a ruined village to the north. I went first to see the Mudir whom I found sitting in his arched and shaded courtyard. He gave me coffee and negotiations began. "Where was I going?" "To Damascus [Dimashq (Esh Sham, Damas)]" "God has made it! there is a fine road to the west with such and such places in it, very beautiful ruins" "Please God, I shall see them! but I wish first to look upon Salkhad" (this is in the heart of the Druze country where they don't want me to go) "Salkhad! there is nothing there at all and the road is very dangerous. It cannot happen" "It must happen." "There has come a telegram from Damascus to Irbid to say the Mutasarrif fears for the safety of your Presence." (This isn't true) "English women are never afraid" (this also isn't true!) "I wish to look upon the ruins." And so on and so on till finally I told him I was going nowhere today and he said he would come and see me later. We parted, he saying "You have honoured me!" and I "God forbid!" and I rode off with the Ma'mur to a village called Khurbet, crossing a very beautiful Roman bridge on the way. There was nothing of interest there and we turned east to Jemurrin where there are some very beautiful ruined houses. One had a doorway with the top carved with vines and inside a stable with stone mangers for some 20 horses. They used no mortar, but the walls are built in a most wonderful way, the stones being often notched out and filled into one another. We got back about 11 and I went into the castle to photograph a Roman theatre inside it. I lunched after which my two Turkish friends came to call, but fortunately didn't stay long. While they were with me, a Druze sheikh was hanging round my tent, but I could not speak to him under the eyes of the officials. A Bedouin has also been here to ask if I want to go east, but I prefer to put myself under the protection of the Druzes. It's awfully amusing and my servants fully enter into the fun of the thing. If only I could put myself into communication with the Druzes, all would be well. If not I shall try starting very early tomorrow and making a dash for them; once into their country, I'll move quickly and it will be difficult for the Turks to catch me, for they are horribly afraid of the Druzes. I may fail - God is He who knows! I gather that the 2 Turks would put nothing in my way to stop me out of jealousy of the Mudir who is the local authority. But one can't ever tell how much they say is true and I keep my own counsel as far as possible. As yet, I haven't let on that the places I want really to go to, are not Salkhad at all, but some ruined towns further north, but I expect they know. I shall try for Salkhad, too. There is a beautiful castle there. There are no Druzes living in Bosrah. I escaped from my friends and took a walk by myself this afternoon (I couldn't bear them any longer!) Walking about Bosrah is like trying to walk about a room on the furniture only. The game is never to get off the housetops and one generally succeeds. After tea, the Maamur came to fetch me and took me up to the military gentleman's room in the Castle. They both had their eyes nicely blacked with kohl, but otherwise their toilette was incomplete. The Rais el Askar was being shaved by an orderly when I went in and the Maamur was also shaved while I sat and drank coffee. We then took a walk about the town which I lengthened out till sunset because I wanted to miss the Mudir's visit. But he did not come and I hope this may mean that he doesn't want to know my movements officially. I hope so. Meantime, we all feel like conspirators.

Thurs May 3. [3 May 1900] JeBell ed Druze [Duruz, Jabal ad]. I've slipped through their fingers and as yet I can scarcely Bellieve in my good forturne. The story begins last night; you must hear it all. I dined early and as I was sitting reading in my tent, I heard the voice of the Mudir. I blew out my light and when Hannah came to tell me of his coming, I sent him a message that I was very tired and had gone to bed. I heard this conversation: H. "The lady has been awake since the rising of the sun; all day she has walked and ridden, now she sleeps." Mudir, "Does she march tomorrow?" H. "I couldn't possibly say, Effendim." M. "Tell her she must let me know before she goes anywhere." H. "At your pleasure, Effendim." And he left, but not without having assured me that he meant to stop me. I hastily rearranged my plans. He knew I was going to Salkhad and when he found that I had flown, he would send after me along that road as far as he dared; I decided therefore to strike for a place further north, 'Areh, where I saw in Murray that a powerful Druze sheikh lived. Moreover the road lay past Jemurrin which I knew and whither I could find my way. Providence watched over me, as you will see, in this resolution. I told my servants. Muhammad tried to dissuade me, saying that if I told the Mudir I was going to Suweidah [As Suwayda'], north of 'Areh, he would raise no difficulties as there were Turkish soldiers there, but I knew better, and besides what was the good of being passed from the hands of one Turkish official to another? I afterwards found that M. poor dear! was terrified out his life and was trying all he knew to prevent my going. I went to bed, but what with excitement and dogs, I didn't sleep much. At 2, Hannah called me and I got up into the shivering night. By 3 I was ready and the packing up began under the stars. It was bitter cold, one felt it after the heat of the days and in one's thin summer clothes. I walked backwards and forwards and prayed Heaven that no soldier would look over the Castle wall, see our lantern and come to inquire what was happening. Fortunately the Mudir lived inside the town. The stars began to pale and that darkest moment of the night, when the East whitens, set in. At 4 we were off. It was a ticklish business finding our way in the dark round the walls to the east. I didn't know this bit of the road, having only seen the beginning and the end of it. The houses seemed to finger out towards us and suddenly we would find ourselves heading inwards, and were obliged to retrace our steps. It took us near an hour, but at last we were past the NE corner and I hit on the Jemurrin road. We had met only 2 men driving out their cows. By this time the little band of cloud in the east had turned pink; half an hour later it was gold and we saw the black ruins of Jemurrin in front of us. The sun rose just as we had past them. Now we had to find our way by my excellent map; it was not difficult for we had the Roman road for our guide, but oh, it seemed long, long to the first Druze village. Muhammad was trembling lest he should see either a Druze or a soldier. I feared the latter only, but much. I was borne up by the extraordinary beauty of Hermon [Sheikh, JeBell esh], with the dawn touching its snows. The road rose gradually; we could see nothing ahead but the top of the next slope of corn, and a black village where I hoped we should find Druzes, but which turned out to be only a ruin - Deir Zubeir was its disappointing name. There was a man among the corn, however, with the white turban and black keffiyeh of the Druze and I greeted him thus (it is the right form) "Peace be upon you! oh son of my uncle!" He put us into the path, which we had missed. At length we came to the top of the last slope and saw in front of us a rolling fertile, watered country, scattered over with little volcanic hills, and behind it higher hills and the pointed peak of the Kuleib rising over all - the Little Heart, the highest of the JeBell Druze. In front of us, not half a mile away was the big village of Mujeimir. I hurried on. At the foot of the hill on which it lay was a pool and fig trees near by. The women were filling their earthenware jars at the water, Druze women in long blue and red robes and white muslin veils drawn over their heads and round their faces, and by the water stood the most beautiful boy of 19 or 20. I dismounted to water my horse; the boy (his name is Saif ed Din, the Sword of the Faith) came up to me, took my hands and kissed me on both cheeks, rather to my surprise. Several other men and boys came up and shook hands with me, they were all more or less beautiful and so are the women, when you can see their faces. Their eyes look enormous, blacked with kohl, men and women alike; they are dark, straight browed, straight shouldered, with an alert and gentle air of intelligence which is extraordinarily attractive. I asked Saif ed Din if he would show us the way to 'Areh, but he said he was busy and it was only half an hour off, so we rode on. But we hadn't gone a quarter of a mile before he repented and came running after us to offer his services, touching his heart and his forehead in token of obedience. So we went on through meadows and cornfields and vineyards in the pleasant country of little hills and the muleteers began to sing and the kindly white turbaned people working in the vineyards stopped to salute as we passed and I laughed for joy all the way at the thought of the Mudir and the horrible Turks. And so at about 8.30 we reached 'Areh. Some persons of apparent importance were standing by their housedoors at the bottom of the hill so I rode up and gave them the salaam. They took me by both hands and begged me to alight and drink coffee with them. This was just what I wanted, for I needed information. We walked hand in hand, Druze fashion, with our little fingers clasped, not our hands, to the nearest house. As I entered they said "Are you German" and when I told them I was English {upon which} they nearly fell on my neck - you need no other introduction here. With many Mashallahs! they piled all their cushions onto a raised seat for me, brought a stool for my feet and water for me to wash my hands, and then sat round in a circle on the clean matted floor making coffee for me. The nicest of them all, Hammad Hamid, sat by me and laid his hand on my shoulder while he talked to me. I told them all my tale and how I had escaped from the Government and come to them, interrupted by many interjections of welcome and assurances that there was no Government here (Turks, that means) and that I was safe with them and might go where I pleased. And indeed the sense of comfort and safety and confidence, and of being with straight speaking people, was more delightful that I can tell you. They asked about the war and knew the names of all the towns and generals and were very sympathetic about Maurice and were cultivated, civilized human beings. To come to these dignified intelligent people after the gentility of the Turks was like being removed from the company of footmen into that of gentle folk. The coffee finished (very good it was) I asked if I could see the Sheikh. "Sheikh" said they "Yahya Beg is the head of all the Druzes in the land of course you must visit him." So we went off to the top of the little hill on which stands the Beg's verandahed house, Hammad and I finger in finger, and as we went he told me that the Beg had been 5 years in prison in Damascus [Dimashq (Esh Sham, Damas)] and had just been let out, 3 weeks ago, and warned me that I must treat him with great respect. I said my Arabic and not my feelings would be at fault and indeed I would defy anyone not to treat Yahya Beg with respect. He is the most perfect type of the Grand seigneur, a great big man (40 to 50 I suppose) very handsome and with the most exquisite manners. We walked straight into his reception room where he was sitting on a carpet with 6 or 8 others eating out of a big plate. He beckoned me into the circle and I eat too, using the thin slabs of bread for spoon and fork. The food was leban and an excellent mixture of beans and meat. I should have liked to have eaten much more of it, but the Beg had finished and I was afraid it wouldn't be polite. The plate was removed and he piled up his cushions for me on the floor and I waited till he sat down, very politely, for he's a king you understand, and a very good king too, though his kingdom doesn't happen to be a large one. Then I had to tell my tale over again and the Beg shut his big eyes and bowed his handsome head from time to time, murmuring "Dughy, dughy" - it is true - as I spoke. I told him all I wanted to see and that I didn't want to see Suweidah because of the Turks in it - there's a telegraph too, greatest danger of all - and he was most sympathetic and arranged all my travels for me and told me to take Saif ed Din with me and to count on his protection wherever I went. Then he told me all about his imprisonment and how his brother, Shibly Beg, is still a prisoner (but I hear that he is soon to be set free) and one of the old swells with him, Salim Nofib Effendi, told me he had known the Burtons and we talked about them and the war and the exhibition and the topics of the day. So we drank coffee and sauntered out to see the new buildings that Yahya Beg is making to replace the ruins that the Turks had left, fine stone rooms with stone rafters like the Roman work and carved doorways and then someone suggested I should photograph the Beg (to my great delight) and I posed him in his veranda and very splendid he looked. So we parted and I walked down to a delicious water meadow where I found my horses and mules grazing and set off with Saif ed Din and another gentleman called 'Aly, whose functions I don't rightly know, but who seems an agreeable travelling companion. Saif ed Din is an excellent guide; he pointed out to me all the villages and ruins and walls and springs and roads, walking along briskly while I rode, his embroidered skirts neatly buttoned up over a white petticoat. On the way we met a troop of shining ones, all in their best, carrying guns and lances. They were going to congratulate the Beg on his safe return. They stopped to greet me and bid me every kind of welcome - it's a pleasant change after being with people whose one idea is to tell you not to go anywhere! We went gradually upwards towards the second ridge of hills, S ed D showing me the plain where the great battle was fought, 4 years ago; they say 500 Druzes fell and 1400 Turks. At first we went through corn and meadows, then up a stony ground with grass between the stones. The country is thinly peopled. We passed only one village, Afineh, on our 2´ hours' ride; but there are Bedouin scattered about who come in with their flocks for the pasturage and pay rent in money and camels. The Druzes use them as servants. The ruined sites are countless. On the southernmost corner of the ridge, finely situated, is the village of Habran, where I now am. My camp is pitched by a big pond, in a meadow, with evergreen oaks growing about in it and the black village behind. Kuleib stands over me to the north - dear Little Heart! I did not dare to think last night that I should ever be so near it. We got into camp at 12.30; I washed and lunched and slept and at 4 went off with S ed D to explore the village. The outermost point is covered with ruins of what was once a temple; the village is full of the old stone houses, more or less ruined and built up again. The best house I saw, with its arches inside and stone rafters and corBells supporting them, is now used as the Druze church - Helweh, they call it. There was nothing in it but some mats, a big wooden candlestick and some straw objects this shape [sketch] about a foot high. I saw these in the houses, too; I don't know what their use is. The village is beautifully clean, full of fruit trees, and hay drying on the flat roofs. The women were coming down to the various ponds on all sides with their jars for water on their heads. The Sheikh of the village took me to his house, spread some carpets and cushions outside and made me coffee - a lengthy process as you begin from the beginning, roast and pound it. I didn't mind, however, as I lay on my cushions talking to all the pleasant friendly people and watching the light fade on Kuleib. I came back to write to you, but was somewhat interrupted by a charming old gentleman who came and sat with me in my tent - aber bleiben! Since dinner I have been swimming in the pond - it's almost a lake and quite deep. The stars shone into it and quite a respectable moon. The women are very shy; they don't unveil even to me, but they let me photograph them. They appear to spend most of their leisure time mending their mud roofs, but the men treat them with great respect - affection even when they are muddy up to their elbows. Isn't this all too wonderful! I'm so delighted with it. But I began my day at 2, so goodnight. The Sheikh of the village invited me to dinner, but I refused on the plea of fatigue. Today when I was having my first coffee party in Areh, Hamid asked me to tell me something out of the Gospel. I translated for them "Love thy neighbour as thyself" which seemed a good all round maxim, and they were much pleased with it.