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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



We were soaked through and miserably 

 cold. One thing only comforted me, and 

 that was the merry song of the engines. 

 Whether "in breeze or gale or storm," 

 they heeded not. On through the rain 

 and wrack they bore us, as in the times 

 of warmth and sunshine, singing their 

 deep-throated song — "All goes well !" 



Fortunately I knew the country very 

 well, for after passing Nazareth I had 

 to follow the winding course of the val- 

 leys, owing to low clouds, until the Jor- 

 dan was reached. 



The River Jordan presented an extra- 

 ordinary sight. The main stream has 

 eroded a narrow channel between wide 

 banks, down which its waters meander in 

 an aimless way, zigzagging a serpentine 

 course across a forbidding plain of great 

 barrenness and desolation. A narrow 

 green belt, somber in color as age. pur- 

 sues the river through the Jordan Valley, 

 which for the greater part is an arid 

 waste, speckled with sparse and stunted 

 shrubs. The river enters the Dead Sea 

 at nearly 1,300 feet below the level of the 

 Mediterranean. 



TRAVELING IN TIIK AIR BELOW SEA-LEVEL 



The Sea of Galilee is, roughly, 700 

 feet above Dead Sea level, and, as we 

 were flying 500 feet above the river, most 

 of our journey through the Jordan Valley 

 was done at an elevation several hundred 

 feet below the level of the ocean. 



On reaching the Sea of Galilee the 

 weather improved. As we passed over 

 the great lake, where deep-green waters 

 rest in a bowl encompassed by abrupt 

 hills, strange emotions passed over me, 

 for below us lay a hallowed place — a 

 scene of ineffable charm, peace, and 

 sanctity. 



I now headed the Vimy northeast for 

 Damascus and climbed up to 5,000 feet. 

 ( )ccasional cloud patches passed 'below 

 us, but the landscape for the most part 

 was drear and featureless, save for a line 

 of snow-clad summits that lay away to 

 the north, Mount Hermon and the Anti- 

 Lebanon Mountains. 



The flight through Palestine had been 

 an ordeal ; extreme weariness gripped us 

 all, for we were still soaking wet and 

 very cold. 



Then once more joy rilled our thankful 



hearts when our straining eyes picked up 

 Damascus, a miraged streak on the hori- 

 zon of a desert wilderness. The streak 

 became irregular. It grew into a band 

 assuming height and breadth, minute ex- 

 crescences, and well-defined contours. 

 Color crept in ; details resolved, devel- 

 oped, enlarged ; a city arose from out the 

 waste of sands, an oasis, glorious, mag- 

 ical, enchanting — this was Damascus. A 

 city almost ethereal in its beauty, rearing 

 a forest of slender minarets and cupolas, 

 surrounded by dense groves and woods, 

 had sprung into being, as if by magic, 

 from the Syrian desert. 



WE LAND IN DAMASCUS 



Although one of the world's most an- 

 cient cities, age has dealt lightly with 

 Damascus. From the air it appears no 

 older than the blaze of poplars and cy- 

 presses that features the gardens and 

 shades the sun-baked mud-houses and 

 mosques. Beyond the city, beautiful gar- 

 dens and glades extend, gradually dwin- 

 dling and blending into the desert spaces. 



To the north and west rise the multi- 

 colored foothills of the Anti-Lebanon 

 Mountains, flanked by the higher peaks 

 with radiant snow mantlings. 



Damascus invited and offered a haven 

 of rest. Great was our joy on touching 

 the ground ; greater still to be welcomed 

 by old comrades, and to be cared for. 

 The Vimy, too, was looked after. Ben- 

 nett and Shiers attended to their beloved 

 engines, while I overhauled the controls, 

 and my brother Keith filled up with 

 "shell, " to be ready for an early start on 

 the morrow. 



A NIGHT IN OLD DAMASCUS 



After attending to the machine, we 

 drove in another machine — a Ford — into 

 Damascus and took lodgings at the lead- 

 ing hotel, where the fare was excellent 

 and sleep undisturbed by the parasites 

 common to the country. Damascus is 

 wholly Oriental, though in many ways it 

 is adopting Western fashions and cus- 

 toms. Trams run in the city, and though 

 their speed harmonizes with the indolent 

 habits of the Orient, they seem strangely 

 out of place, as also does the electric light, 

 that sheds its beams of searching and 

 misplaced effulgence in the bazaars and 



