Haifa, May 30.—Towards evening of the day on which I arrived at the great Druse shrine of Neby Schaib, near Hattin, most of the sheiks who were expected had arrived, with their retinues. It might have been a feudal gathering of olden time; the noisy welcome of the chiefs, the clansmen singing war-songs and firing guns, the women following on donkeys, all combined to make a scene which carried one back to the Middle Ages, and I never wearied looking at it.
My tent was pitched on the lowest terrace of the sacred building, for it is not allowed to the unbeliever to pass the night within those holy precincts. Indeed, it was an unprecedented privilege to be permitted even to camp on the terrace, where there was only just room for my tent, nor should I have been allowed to edge in so close to the mysteries of Druse worship had there been five square yards of level ground within a quarter of a mile. But the precipitous rocks frowned above us all around, and the comparatively open space below was crowded with camels, horses, and donkeys, compelled to chum together, whether they liked it or not, and where the incessant din added to the general uproar of the place. The constant and stentorian braying of donkeys, varied occasionally by a horse fight, mingled with the barking of dogs, the shrill scream of welcome or ululation of women, the loud singing and clapping of hands of the dancing circles, and the firing of guns, all augured badly for a night's rest.
However, there was no thought of going to bed yet; great piles of rice on which whole sheep had been skilfully dissected were now borne in on round platters, each carried by two men. There must have been from three to four hundred people now collected at the shrine, and the feeding of such a multitude was no joke. Of these nearly half were women, all in gala dress, the favourite colours being blue, green, and red. I don't know that I ever remember in the same number to have seen a larger proportion of pretty women.
When I went up-stairs to the large vault which contains the tomb of the prophet I came upon them unexpectedly, all seated on the floor around the circular mats of parti-coloured straw which they use as tablecloths. The room, which was seventy feet long by forty wide, was crowded with this laughing, chattering, feeding, feminine multitude, with their glorious eyes, white, regular teeth, bewitching smiles, and delicate fingers plunged up to the knuckles into huge piles of greasy rice. Their invitation that I should come and take pot-luck with them produced a mixed sentiment in my breast. However, it was only said as a joke, for even had I desired I should not have been allowed to accept it. The entertainment was exclusively feminine, and I was surprised at so little reverence being shown to the venerated shrine by the close proximity of all this festivity.