September 14, 1867: Ayn al Fījah.
“Broke camp at 7 A.M., and made a ghastly trip through the Zeb Dana valley and the rough mountains—horses limping and that Arab screech-owl that does most of the singing and carries the water-skins, always a thousand miles ahead, of course, and no water to drink—will he never die? Beautiful stream in a chasm, lined thick with pomegranate, fig, olive and quince orchards, and nooned an hour at the celebrated Baalam’s Ass Fountain of Figia, second in size in Syria, and the coldest water out of Siberia—guide-books do not say Baalam’s ass ever drank there—somebody been imposing on the pilgrims, may be. Bathed in it—Jack and I. Only a second—ice-water. It is the principal source of the Abana river—only one-half mile down to where it joins. Beautiful place—giant trees all around—so shady and cool, if one could keep awake—vast stream gushes straight out from under the mountain in a torrent. Over it is a very ancient ruin, with no known history—supposed to have been for the worship of the deity of the fountain or Baalam’s ass or somebody. Wretched nest of human vermin about the fountain—rags, dirt, sunken cheeks, pallor of sickness, sores, projecting bones, dull, aching misery in their eyes and ravenous hunger speaking from every eloquent fibre and muscle from head to foot. How they sprang upon a bone, how they crunched the bread we gave them! Such as these to swarm about one and watch every bite he takes, with greedy looks, and swallow unconsciously every time he swallows, as if they half fancied the precious morsel went down their own throats—hurry up the caravan!—I never shall enjoy a meal in this distressful country. To think of eating three times every day under such circumstances for three weeks yet—it is worse punishment than riding all day in the sun. There are sixteen starving babies from one to six years old in the party, and their legs are no larger than broom handles. Left the fountain at 1 P.M. (the fountain took us at least two hours out of our way,) and reached Mahomet’s lookout perch, over Damascus, in time to get a good long look before it was necessary to move on. Tired? Ask of the winds that far away with fragments strewed the sea.”
The valley which we ascend is at first narrow; on the left is the small ‘meadow of Bessîma’, with beautiful verdure. The stream is bordered by poplars and fine walnut-trees. In ¼ hr. we reach a spring, and in 20 min. more the village and (5 min.) spring of El-Fîjeh, a name probably corrupted from the Greek ánoixi (spring). This is still regarded as the chief source of the Barada, though not the most distant, as it supplies that stream with twice as much water as it contains before it is thus augmented. The spring is a powerful volume of beautiful clear water, bursting from beneath ancient masonry, and hastening thence down to the Barada. Above the caverns containing the springs rises a kind of platform , consisting partly of rock and partly of masonry, with the ruins of a small temple built of huge blocks. A few paces to the S. of the spring run parallel walls, each 37 ft. long and 6 ft. thick, connected at the end by another wall 26 ½ ft. long and 3 ½ ft. thick. The whole edifice appears to have been vaulted over. Large stones project from the outsides of the lateral walls. and niches are traceable in the interior. In the direction of the river there was once a portal. The remains of this venerable shrine, which was perhaps dedicated to the river god only, are still enclosed by a grove of beautiful trees.
From Murray:
The Fountain of Fijeh is one of the largest and most remarkable in Syria. It bursts forth from a narrow cave, under an old temple, at the base of a shelving cliff. The mouth of the cave is small, and partly filled up by massive blocks of stone; through this the pent-up water leaps and foams with a roar like that of a stormy sea. It forms at once a rapid torrent, 30 ft. wide, and 3 or 4 deep, which rushes over a rocky bed for 70 or 80 yds., and then joins the Barada. Though not the highest. Ain Fîjeh is the principal source of the river, its volume being 2 or 3 times that of the other stream. Just over the fountain is a small platform of heavy masonry, and behind it the ruins of a temple some 30 ft. square, with massive walls, but without any kind of ornament. To the rt. of the fountain is a singular building, 37 ft. by 27, open to the S.; the walls are 6 ft. thick, built of huge stones, and it was formerly covered by a vaulted roof. The whole structure is manifestly of remote antiquity.
The valley is here about 200 yds. wide; the bottom along the banks of the stream filled with orchards and poplar groves; above these are a few vineyards, carried up the broken mountain sides as far as man can gain a footing; to these succeed jagged cliffs, which rise to the height of 1000 ft. or more above the river's bed. It is a sweet spot for an encampment. One can spread his carpet upon the little platform over the foaming waters, and muse in peace, lulled by their voice; or look up at the beams of the evening sun slanting down the glen, tipping with gold the tops of the poplars and the projecting cliffs. No officious cicerone will intrude upon his privacy—no sturdy amateur bandit will demand bakhshish. Some village girl in her picturesque costume may pause for a moment to look at the stranger, or offer him a blushing apricot from the little basket she poises so gracefully on her head; but from other visitors he feels secure.