At nine in the morning the caravan was before the hotel door and we were at breakfast.  There was a commotion about the place.  Rumors of war and bloodshed were flying every where.  The lawless Bedouins in the Valley of the Jordan and the deserts down by the Dead Sea were up in arms, and were going to destroy all comers.  They had had a battle with a troop of Turkish cavalry and defeated them; several men killed.  They had shut up the inhabitants of a village and a Turkish garrison in an old fort near Jericho, and were besieging them.  They had marched upon a camp of our excursionists by the Jordan, and the pilgrims only saved their lives by stealing away and flying to Jerusalem under whip and spur in the darkness of the night.  Another of our parties had been fired on from an ambush and then attacked in the open day.  Shots were fired on both sides.  Fortunately there was no bloodshed.  We spoke with the very pilgrim who had fired one of the shots, and learned from his own lips how, in this imminent deadly peril, only the cool courage of the pilgrims, their strength of numbers and imposing display of war material, had saved them from utter destruction.  It was reported that the Consul had requested that no more of our pilgrims should go to the Jordan while this state of things lasted; and further, that he was unwilling that any more should go, at least without an unusually strong military guard.  Here was trouble.  But with the horses at the door and every body aware of what they were there for, what would you have done?  Acknowledged that you were afraid, and backed shamefully out?  Hardly.  It would not be human nature, where there were so many women.  You would have done as we did:  said you were not afraid of a million Bedouins—­and made your will and proposed quietly to yourself to take up an unostentatious position in the rear of the procession.

I think we must all have determined upon the same line of tactics, for it did seem as if we never would get to Jericho.  I had a notoriously slow horse, but somehow I could not keep him in the rear, to save my neck.  He was forever turning up in the lead.  In such cases I trembled a little, and got down to fix my saddle.  But it was not of any use.  The others all got down to fix their saddles, too.  I never saw such a time with saddles.  It was the first time any of them had got out of order in three weeks, and now they had all broken down at once.  I tried walking, for exercise—­I had not had enough in Jerusalem searching for holy places.  But it was a failure.  The whole mob were suffering for exercise, and it was not fifteen minutes till they were all on foot and I had the lead again.  It was very discouraging.