SYRIA, THE LAND OF LEBANON
ways been subject to forays by robber tribes from the desert;[1] and the "great wind from the wilderness" which smote the dwelling; of Job's eldest son[2] would perhaps nowhere else blow with such fury as on this high, open plateau.
There was just such a great wind from the wilderness the last time I went to Damascus. The Hauran bears a deserved reputation for coolness and healthfulness; but that day, as happens two or three times each summer, there was a sirocco. The wind was indeed blowing—blowing a furious gale of perhaps thirty-five miles an hour; but it came straight from the eastern desert and scorched as if it had been a blast from an opened furnace door. I did not have a thermometer with me; but, from sirocco experiences elsewhere, I should judge that the temperature in the train was not under a hundred and five degrees. The drinking-water that we had brought for the journey became warm and nauseating; but we put it to good use in soaking the back of our necks, where it evaporated so quickly in the dry, burning wind that it stung like ice for a few seconds, and then was gone. Strange as it may seem, the only other way to mitigate the heat was to shut the car windows and keep the breeze out.
There were fortunately some interesting incidents to enliven the long; hot ride over the monotonous plain. We did not see any of the renowned "strong
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