A Baptist Abroad: Travels and Adventures of Europe and all Bible Lands — Text and Context

A Preacher’s Gaze on Damascus

Whittle’s account of Damascus is anchored in biblical narrative. He visits the wall where Paul was let down in a basket, noting the wall is “some thirty feet high” and surmounted by a house occupied by a Christian family. He remarks that the reputed houses of Ananias and Judas are “certainly very old,” adding dryly: “if Ananias and Judas did not live in them at the time of Paul, some other people did.” This blend of piety and wry observation recurs throughout. Whittle explicitly links his own preaching to Paul’s fate: “If I should to-day begin to proclaim the gospel of Christ with the same zeal… I would have to be let down over the walls in a basket, or else be butchered on the street.” The passage reveals how Whittle uses biblical typology to frame his own experience, while also acknowledging the uncertainty of traditional identifications.

Leprosy, Naaman, and the Limits of Description

Chapter XXVIII, “The Naaman Hospital for the Leprosy,” is the most detailed excerpt. Whittle recounts Naaman’s story from 2 Kings, then visits the leper hospital in Damascus. He describes the scene with visceral language: “Living Corpses—Walking Skeletons.” The chapter heading lists “An Indescribable Scene—An Indelible Picture—Horrible Dreams.” Whittle’s method is to juxtapose scriptural narrative with contemporary observation. He quizzes Johnson on the origin of leprosy, citing Strabo’s claim that it “was generated in Egypt among the Jews.” The dialogue form—Whittle and Johnson exchanging questions—gives the travelogue a Socratic texture. Yet Whittle admits the limits of his description: the scene is “indescribable,” and the picture remains “indelible.” This tension between the urge to report and the inadequacy of language is a recurring structural feature.

Voice and Structure: The Traveler as Conversationalist

Whittle’s prose is marked by direct address and dramatic immediacy. He calls out “Abraham, Abraham” and receives a crisp “Sir?” He issues commands: “Bring out the horses, and let’s go to the hospital.” The narrative moves through dialogue, as when Johnson asks “Whittle, how long has the leprosy existed?” and Whittle replies with a mini-lecture. This technique creates a sense of shared discovery. The catalog subjects—Europe and Middle East—are unevenly treated; the excerpts suggest Palestine dominates. Whittle’s denominational lens is explicit: he visits Baptist-related sites and reflects on his own preaching. The book’s structure, with 55 text sections and a word count over 125,000, indicates a sprawling, episodic work. Readers should expect a personal, opinionated guide rather than a systematic survey.

Whittle’s travelogue rewards readers who enjoy nineteenth-century Protestant commentary on Bible lands. His voice is distinctive—part preacher, part tourist, part antiquarian. The excerpts show a writer unafraid to admit uncertainty (“with what degree of certainty, I can not say”) and to blend humor with horror. The book’s uneven coverage (short European chapters, long Palestinian ones) reflects the author’s priorities. Approach it as a period piece that reveals how a Baptist minister saw the world in 1890, rather than as a comprehensive guide.

Sometimes I think back to Whittle’s quiet awe before Damascus, how a traveler’s faith colors every stone he touches. That same gentle wonder seems to linger in the yellowed pages of By-gone Tourist Days: Letters of Travel — Key Ideas to Explore, as if both men simply paused and let the old roads speak for themselves.