We took candles and descended to the dismal cell-like chambers where Jesus sat at meat with Martha and Mary, and conversed with them about their brother.

We could not but look upon these old dingy apartments with a more than common interest.
We had had a glimpse, from a mountain top, of the Dead Sea, lying like a blue shield in the plain of the Jordan, and now we were marching down a close, flaming, rugged, desolate defile, where no living creature could enjoy life, except, perhaps, a salamander.

It was such a dreary, repulsive, horrible solitude! It was the "wilderness" where John preached, with camel's hair about his loins--raiment enough--but he never could have got his locusts and wild honey here.

We were moping along down through this dreadful place, every man in the rear.

Our guards--two gorgeous young Arab sheiks, with cargoes of swords, guns, pistols and daggers on board--were loafing ahead.
"Bedouins!" Every man shrunk up and disappeared in his clothes like a mud-turtle.
My first impulse was to dash forward and destroy the Bedouins.