From North Pole to Equator: Studies of Wild Life and Scenes in Many Lands

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

Nearing the first cataract, we see, high on a precipitous headland on the left bank, a wretched and yet impressive piece of Arabic architecture, the sepulchre of Sheikh Musas, the patron saint of the first rapids. Further on lies the island of Elephantine, rich in palms, and immediately beyond is Assuan. The way is hemmed in by masses of rock, from whose surface the waves, storming for thousands of years, have not succeeded in obliterating hieroglyphics graven in the time of the Pharaohs. These rocks compel the boat to follow a tortuous course, till at length it finds a safe landing-place in a calm creek, which is, however, so near the rapids that it is resonant with their raging.

It is venerable ground on which we stand. Through the inscriptions in the sacred characters of the ancient Egyptian people, past ages converse with us in intelligible speech. “Ab”, or ivory-store, was the name of the town Elephantine on the island of that name, and the island remains though even the ruins of the town have almost completely disappeared: “Sun” or Syene was the township on the right bank where the modern Assuan stands. Elephantine was the most southerly harbour of the old Egyptians and the capital of the southern Nile district; it was the ancient depot for produce from the interior, especially for ivory, highly prized then as now. “Sun” was probably only a village of working people, but as such by no means of less importance than Elephantine. For near here, from the earliest times, the “Mat” or “Ethiopian stone” of Herodotus was quarried, and was brought to the river-banks to be loaded on the boats, which bore it to its destination. It was from this place that the valuable stone derived the name of Syenite, which it still bears.[77] Inscriptions which are found on monuments dating from the oldest dynasties of Egyptian kings, that is to say from two or three thousand years before the Christian era, make repeated mention of “Sun”, and countless other hieroglyphics in the adjacent quarries testify to the importance of this industrial village. These quarries extend over many square miles of the desert to the east of the cataract. From them were hewn those immense blocks which form the columns, obelisks, cornices, and lintels of the temples, and fill us with wonder and admiration. With them, too, the ancients roofed in the sepulchral chambers of the pyramids, confident that they would bear the stupendous burden piled above them. “All around us here”, says my learned friend Dümichen, “we see how human hands laboured to loosen the valuable stone from the wall of rock, and to immortalize this or that event in sculpture or inscription. Everywhere the rock has become a memorial of the past, and numerous inscriptions, often on the highest peaks of the mountains, proclaim the glory of the divine trinity worshipped by the first province of Upper Egypt—the Cataract-god Chnum-Ra, and his two consorts Sati and Anuke—or celebrate the exploits of Egyptian kings and high officers of state. Some of these go back to the oldest historic times, and yet how young they seem in comparison with the work, which through innumerable ages the Egyptian Sun-god Ra has wrought upon the stone. For the rocks, all around which are as yet untouched by human hand, present to us a surface covered with a dark crust gleaming like enamel; while the cut surfaces of the syenite (to many of which we may certainly ascribe an age of four thousand years) still show, like the blocks in the quarries, the characteristic red of the granite in its pristine vividness—they are still too young to show the impress of Time’s hand.”

From any of the higher peaks on the banks one can get a survey of a part of the cataract. Two deserts meet at the Nile, and join hands across it by means of hundreds of small rocky islands. Every island splits the stream, forcing it into a narrower channel, through which, however, it rushes all the more violently, ceaselessly dashing against the ruins of the rocky barrier through which it burst hundreds of thousands of years ago. The river seems to be intent on sweeping them away to utter destruction, and to be enraged at finding its opponents still invincible. The thunder of its waters resounds in the ears of the spectator above, and seems to him a fit accompaniment to the magnificent scene beneath him. Restless as the ever-flowing waves, the eye travels over the chaos of rocks; it embraces hundreds of single pictures in one glance, and then combines these into one sublime, harmonious whole, the stiff masses of gleaming rock contrasting sharply with the white foam of the hissing water, the golden-yellow deserts that bound them on either side, and the dark, cloudless sky overhead. The upper region of the rapids is especially charming. A chain of black rocks, the natural boundary-wall between Egypt and Nubia, stretches obliquely across the river, and sweeps out on both right and left bank in a wide curve, thus forming before the eye of the spectator a great basin almost completely surrounded by rocky ramparts. These walls consist in part of continuous masses, but in part also of loose blocks—round, oval, and angular—lying one upon the other as though piled up by the hand of some giant. Here and there portions of this wonderful rampart project and again recede; here and there they rise like islands from the bed of the ancient lake which they encircled before the mighty stream broke its way through.

In the midst of these prehistoric ruins lies the green, palm-clad island of Philæ with its stately temple. I know of no more impressive picture than this. Surrounded by dark, rugged rocks, encompassed by the ceaseless roar of the waves as they beat on its foundations, bedecked with fruitful palms and fragrant mimosas, the temple stands—a striking emblem of inner peace amid raging strife. The river shouts its mighty battle-song; the palms wave back an answer of peace. A worthier place could scarcely be found for the worship of the great god to whom it was dedicated. Amid such solitude, and in such an environment, the spirit of the youths whom the wise priests taught must surely have found both nurture and life, must surely have turned to what is high and holy, have recognized the kernel within the sensory symbolism of their cult, and have beheld the veiled image of Sais.

In the sacred trinity—Isis, Osiris, and Horus—to whom the temple of Philæ was dedicated, Isis stood supreme. “Isis, the great goddess, the queen of heaven, sovereign of all gods and goddesses, who with her son Horus and her brother Osiris is worshipped in every city; the exalted, divine mother, the spouse of Osiris, she is the queen of Philæ.” Such is the tenor of the inscriptions in the temple itself. But records in all the different kinds of writing that were in use at various epochs of Egyptian history tell also of the changes which have befallen the temple in the course of ages, down to the time when the Christian priests, who had succeeded the servants of Isis, were driven from the sanctuary by hordes of immigrant Arabs.

To-day the greater part of Philæ is in ruins. Instead of the solemn chant of the priests, one hears only the simple song of the desert-lark; but the waves of the stream still roar in their strength as they did thousands of years ago. The island is desolate, but the peace of the temple has remained to it. And, in spite of all changes, island and temple are still the jewel of the first cataract.[78]

For some distance upwards from this point the Nile is free from rocks, yet quite incapable of bestowing its blessing upon the shore. Laboriously man endeavours to force from the stream what is elsewhere so lavishly bestowed. Wheel after wheel creaks as it raises the life-giving water to the narrow fringe of cultivation along the banks. But in most places the desert and the rocks press so closely on the river that no space is left for field or grove of palms. For long stretches one sees nothing but stunted weeds, between which the yellow drift-sand rolls ceaselessly down, as though it would help the desert even here to a victory over the sacred giver of fruitful land.

To the south of Wady Halfa, the most southern village of the tract above mentioned, the stream again rages among impeding rocky islands. Countless masses of stone, blocks and cones of rock, compel the river to divide its forces; the eye is bewildered by a chaos of rock and water, the like of which is to be seen nowhere else. When the water is high, the roar of the waves whirling and surging between the rocks drowns the human voice; the river rumbles and thunders, rages and blusters, dashes and hisses, so that the very rocks appear to quake.

Beyond the rapids and whirlpools, which at this point are almost continuous, the full-swollen Nile lies like a broad, calm lake; but this pleasant picture, enhanced by the presence of several green islands, is circumscribed by narrow limits. For, further up, the bed of the stream is again divided by countless rocky islands, which mark the beginning of the “Batte el Hadjar”, or “rocky valley” of the boatmen, in which lie no less than ten considerable rapids. It is by far the dreariest region in Nubia, or in the whole Nile valley. From the river there is usually nothing to be seen but sky and water, rock and sand. The rocks rise steeply, sometimes almost vertically, on either bank, and between them and the countless islands the Nile is so cooped up that during its flood-time it reaches a height of 40 to 50 feet above its lowest level.

The rocky banks of the stream are as smooth as if they had been polished; they gleam and glow by day as if they had just left the earth’s fiery interior. The beneficent stream rushes over them, leaving scarcely a trace behind; indeed, only in a very few places can it possibly exercise its prerogative of blessing. Here and there, in receding creeks, or behind projecting bastions, which divert the violent current, the river deposits its fertile mud and may carry a few seeds to a resting-place. Then, even in this wilderness, there is germination and growth, foliage and flowers. On all the islands in whose rocky clefts mud has been caught and kept, and in all the inlets which the current does not sweep, there is a growth of willows and scattered mimosas, evidences of life in the realm of death. When a willow has found a foothold it sends out root after root, shoot after shoot, and soon the naked ground is clothed in enlivening green. While the water is low the willows gradually spread; when the flood comes the waves roll over both island and willow-beds. Higher and higher rises the stream, fiercer and stronger press the waves; the willows bow before them, but keep firm hold of the rocks. For months the flood buries them, all but a few twigs which project above the boiling, hissing waves; yet the roots hold fast, and the shrubs sprout with renewed vigour as soon as the flood subsides. In such pleasant spots, amid the dreary waste, signs of animal life are to be seen, as in some other parts of the Nile valley. Here and there among the willows a pair of Nile-geese have settled, lively and clamorous; on the rock above, the pretty water-wagtail has made its home; from the shore cliffs sounds the song of the blue rock-thrush or the black wheatear; on the blossoming mimosas a gorgeous sun-bird—the first tropical bird one meets—is busily at work; and now and then one may come upon a flock of pretty little rock-partridges. These, and a few others, form the sparse fauna of the rocky valley, but during the migrating season they are often joined by large flocks of birds, who make the course of the stream their highway to the interior, and rest here and there on the journey. But they hasten on again at their utmost speed, since the rocky valley is incapable of supporting them even for a few days; indeed, it is often difficult to understand where they find their daily bread.