We left Nazareth on the morning of the 11th of November, making a late start, and the sun was already two hours on its course before we lost sight of the white houses of Nazareth and rode down through the ravines into the plain of Esdraelon. Pella was to have been the end of the first stage, but the sky clouding up and threatening a deluge, even before we had passed the villages of Nain and Endor, it seemed hopeless to attempt getting across the Jordan that day. Lunch was discussed on the green bank of Goliath's river, the Nahr Jâlûd, which runs into the Jordan after watering Beisân; and we then walked our horses through the ruin of the beautiful Saracenic Caravanserai, overhanging the stream, known as the Khân el Ahmar, or ‘the Red.’ But an hour later, while passing through the squalid village of Beisân, and casting a hurried glance at the imposing and widespread ruins of the ancient Scythopolis of the Decapolis, the threatened rain came in torrents, and the sky giving sure tokens of something more than a passing shower, at 4 o'clock it was determined to seek shelter and a night's lodging in the hospitable tent of an Arab whom we found camped, below, in the valley of the Jordan.

For about ten hours the rain continued with but little abatement, soaking through the hair walls, dripping from the roof of our host's abode, and further causing the sheep and goats to be disagreeably anxious to participate with us in the comparative shelter which the same afforded.