The view from the summit of Gibeah is as interesting as it is commanding. Three miles to the southeast is Anâta, the Anathoth of the Bible and the birthplace of Jeremiah. Never large, it still retains its diminutive proportions. Standing on a low, broad ridge, surrounded by green fields, twenty huts occupy the site of this once priestly city. Of the ancient town all that now remains are portions of an old wall, a spacious cistern, and fragments of marble columns. It was hither Solomon banished Abiathar for attempting to raise Adonijah to the throne of his father David.[451] But Anathoth is chiefly significant as the native city of the greatest of prophets, whose courage was equal to his danger, whose fortitude never forsook him, and whose zeal for God was only excelled by the terribleness of his persecutions. In the darkest hour of his country’s history, Jeremiah was called to lament the desolations of Zion, to reprove kings, and to die for the truth. Offended at the severity of his denunciations, his townsmen drove him from the place of his birth, and, flying to Jerusalem for refuge, his fidelity to God, his unblanched courage in reproving royal crimes, and his horrid pictures of coming ruin, evoked the angry passions of those whom he would have reformed, and the plaintive bard of Israel was added to the long but honored list of martyrs.
Turning to the northwest, the tower of Geba of Benjamin was visible,[452] and three miles beyond were the rocks of Michmash, where Jonathan surprised and defeated the Philistines, and where are still to be seen the famous rocks Bozez and Seneh.[453] After glancing at other memorable places, which, together with those mentioned, we had previously visited, we descended from the summit of the hill, and at its base entered a noble field of lentiles or pottage, such as Esau sold his birthright for.[454] When young it resembles a pea-vine. It grows to the height of eight inches, and when harvested it is pulled like flax. It is cooked like beans, with the exception that the water is allowed to evaporate, when the softened grain is stewed with butter and onions, making a delicious dish, and one worth a birthright to a famishing hunter.
The sun was setting, and the shadow of the mountains darkened the plains when we resumed our journey. The lateness of the hour required dispatch, and Beeroth, the place where we were to spend the night, was six miles to the north. Unfortunately we were without a guide, and our path was simply a camel track, devious, stony, and uncertain. Though we knew the general direction of Beeroth, yet the number of small villages in the vicinity, the growing darkness, and the uncertainty of the road, baffled all effort to find the place. Overtaking an Arab belonging to Beit Untâh, he agreed for a present to serve us as guide. Not suspecting deception, we followed him nearly to his own town, which he assured us was the desired place. But knowing from our maps that Beeroth was to the right of the path, and Beit Untâh to the left, we refused to follow him farther. Truth is an unknown virtue in the Arab character, and he who confides in it leans upon a broken reed. For the paltry sum which a night’s lodging would bring, this man was leading us astray.