A journey to Central Africa

by Bayard Taylor

Shekh Abd e’-Djebàl.

I was welcomed to Abdôm by the Shekh or holy man of the place, who met me on the verge of the Desert, and conducted me to the best of his two houses. Shekh Mohammed, Abd e’-Djebàl (Mohammed, the Slave of the Mountains), was a dignified old man of sixty, with a gray beard and brown complexion, and was the owner of a water-mill, several fields of wheat and cotton, and an abundance of palm-trees. He had two wives, each of whom, with her family, occupied a separate house—a great mark of discretion on the part of Mohammed. Domestic quiet was thus secured to him, while he possessed that in which the Arab most glories and rejoices—a numerous family of children. His youngest wife, a woman of thirty, immediately vacated the house on my arrival, and took up her temporary residence in a tent of palm-matting, with her four children. The dwelling into which I was ushered was a square structure of clay, one story high, with one door and no windows. It had a flat roof of palm logs, covered with thatch, and the inside walls were hung with large mats, plaited with brilliantly-colored palm blades. Fancy vessels of baked clay, baskets, ostrich eggs, and other ornaments were suspended from the roof in slings of palm fibre, and a very large white mat covered half the floor. Here my bed was laid, and my camp-stool, placed in front of it, formed a table. The Shekh, who was with me nearly all the time of my stay, sat on the floor in front of me, and never entered or departed from the house, without saying “Bismillàhi” (“in the name of God”), as he crossed the threshold. Outside of the door was a broad divan, running along the north side of the house. It therefore pointed towards Mecca and was a most agreeable praying-place for the holy man. On my arrival, after first having taken a bath in the Nile, I sat there the rest of the day, tasting the luxury of coolness and shade, and steeping my eyes in the balm of refreshing colors. A clump of some twenty date-trees grew in front of the door, throwing over us a gorgeous canopy of leaves. Fields of wheat in head, waist-deep, surrounded the house, insulating it in a sea of greenness, over which I saw the hills of the Desert, no longer terrible, but soft and fair and far as clouds smouldering in the roseate fires of an Eastern sunrise.

Very early the next morning the Shekh and his sons and their asses were in readiness to accompany me to Djebel Berkel. We walked down between the Shekh’s gardens to the Nile, where the ferry-boat was waiting to convey us across. I was enchanted with the picture which the shores presented. The air was filled with a light, silvery vapor (a characteristic of sultry weather in Africa), softening the deep, rich color of the landscape. The eastern bank was one bower of palms, standing motionless, in perfect groups, above the long, sloping banks of beans in blossom. Such grace and glory, such silence and repose, I thought I had never before seen in the vegetable world. Opposite, the ruined palaces of the old Shygheean Kings and the mud and stone hovels of modern Merawe rose in picturesque piles above the river bank and below the red sandstone bluffs of the Nubian Desert, which overhung them and poured the sand through deep rents and fissures upon their very roofs. The mosque, with a tall, circular minaret, stood embowered in a garden of date-palms, under one of the highest bluffs. Up the river, which stretched glittering into the distance, the forest of trees shut out the view of the Desert, except Djebel Berkel, which stood high and grand above them, the morning painting its surface with red lights and purple shadows. Over the misty horizon of the river rose a single conical peak, far away. The sky was a pale, sleepy blue, and all that I saw seemed beautiful dream-pictures—every where grace, beauty, splendor of coloring, steeped in Elysian repose. It is impossible to describe the glory of that passage across the river. It paid me for all the hardships of the Desert.

When we touched the other shore and mounted the little donkeys we had taken across with us, the ideal character of the scene disappeared, but left a reality picturesque and poetic enough. The beasts were without bridles, and were only furnished with small wooden saddles, without girths or stirrups. One was obliged to keep his poise, and leave the rest to the donkey, who, however, suffered himself to be guided by striking the side of his neck. We rode under a cluster of ruined stone buildings, one of which occupied considerable space, rising pylon-like, to the height of thirty feet. The Shekh informed me that it had been the palace of a Shygheean king, before the Turks got possession of the country. It was wholly dilapidated, but a few Arab families were living in the stone dwellings which surround it. These clusters of shattered buildings extend for more than a mile along the river, and are all now known as Merawe. Our road led between fields of ripening wheat, rolling in green billows before the breeze, on one side, and on the other, not more than three yards distant, the naked sandstone walls of the Desert, where a blade of grass never grew. Over the wheat, along the bank of the Nile, rose a long forest of palms, so thickly ranged that the eye could scarcely penetrate their dense, cool shade; while on the other hand the glaring sand-hills showed their burning shoulders above the bluffs. It was a most violent contrast, and yet, withal, there was a certain harmony in these opposite features. A remarkably fat man, riding on a donkey, met us. The Shekh compared him to a hippopotamus, and said that his fat came from eating mutton and drinking om bilbil day and night. At the end of the town we came to a sort of guard-house, shaded by two sycamores. A single soldier was in attendance, and apparently tired of having nothing to do, as he immediately caught his donkey and rode with us to Djebel Berkel.

We now approached the mountain, which is between three and four miles from the town. It rises from out the sands of the Nubian Desert, to the height of five hundred feet, presenting a front completely perpendicular towards the river. It is inaccessible on all sides except the north, which in one place has an inclination of 45°. Its scarred and shattered walls of naked sandstone stand up stern and sublime in the midst of the hot and languid landscape. As we approached, a group of pyramids appeared on the brow of a sand-hill to the left, and I discerned at the base of the mountain several isolated pillars, the stone-piles of ruined pylons, and other remains of temples. The first we reached was at the south-eastern corner of the mountain. Amid heaps of sandstone blocks and disjointed segments of pillars, five columns of an exceedingly old form still point out the court of a temple, whose adyta are hewn within in the mountain. They are not more than ten feet high and three in diameter, circular, and without capital or abacus, unless a larger block, rudely sculptured with the outlines of a Typhon-head, may be considered as such. The doorway is hurled down and defaced, but the cartouches of kings may still be traced on the fragments. There are three chambers in the rock, the walls of which are covered with sculptures, for the most part representing the Egyptian divinities. The temple was probably dedicated to Typhon, or the Evil Principle, as one of the columns is still faced with a caryatid of the short, plump, big-mouthed and bat-eared figure, which elsewhere represents him. Over the entrance is the sacred winged globe, and the ceiling shows the marks of brilliant coloring. The temple is not remarkable for its architecture, and can only be interesting in an antiquarian point of view. It bears some resemblance in its general style to the Temple-palace of Goorneh, at Thebes.

The eastern base of the mountain, which fronts the Nile, is strewn with hewn blocks, fragments of capitals, immense masses of dark bluish-gray granite, and other remains, which prove that a large and magnificent temple once stood there. The excavations made by Lepsius and others have uncovered the substructions sufficiently to show the general plan of two buildings. The main temple was at the north-eastern corner of the mountain, under the highest point of its perpendicular crags. The remains of its small propylons stand in advance, about two hundred yards from the rock, going towards which you climb the mound formed by the ruins of a large pylon, at the foot of which are two colossal ram-headed sphinxes of blue granite, buried to their necks in the sand. Beyond this is a portico and pillared court, followed by other courts and labyrinths of chambers. Several large blocks of granite, all more or less broken and defaced, lie on the surface or half quarried from the rubbish. They are very finely polished and contain figures of kings, evidently arranged in genealogical order, each accompanied with his name. The shekh had a great deal to tell me of the Franks, who dug up all the place, and set the people to work at hauling away the lions and rams, which they carried off in ships. I looked in vain for the celebrated pedestal; it has probably become the spoil of Lepsius.

While taking a sketch of the mountain from the eastern side, I found the heat almost insupportable. The shekh looked over my shoulder all the time, and at the end pronounced it temam—“perfect.” I then proposed climbing the mountain, as he had said one could see the whole world from the top. He was bound to go with me wherever I went, but shrank from climbing El Berkel. It would require two hours, he said, to go up. After eating a slice of watermelon in the shade of one of the pillars, I took off my jacket and started alone, and very soon he was at my side, panting and sweating with the exertion. We began at the point most easy of ascent yet found it toilsome enough. After passing the loose fragments which lie scattered around the base, we came upon a steep slope of sliding sand and stones, blown from the desert We sank in this nearly to the knees, and slid backward at each step at least half as far as we had stepped forward. We were obliged to rest every three or four steps, and take breath, moistening the sand meanwhile with a rain of sweat-drops, “Surely there is no other mountain in the world so high as this,” said the shekh, and I was ready to agree with him. At last we reached the top, a nearly level space of about ten acres. There was a pleasant breeze here, but the Ethiopian world below was dozing in an atmosphere of blue heat. There was too much vapor in the air to see the farthest objects distinctly, and the pyramids of Noori, further up the river, on its eastern bank, were not visible. The Nile lay curved in the middle of the picture like a flood of molten glass, on either side its palmy “knots of paradise,” then the wheat fields, lying like slabs of emerald against the tawny sands, that rolled in hot drifts and waves and long ridgy swells to the horizon north and south, broken here and there by the jagged porphyry peaks. Before me, to the south-east, were the rugged hills of the Beyooda; behind me, to the north and west, the burning wilderness of the Great Nubian Desert.

As I sought for my glass, to see the view more distinctly, I became aware that I had lost my pocket-book on the way up. As it contained some money and all my keys, I was not a little troubled, and mentioned my loss to Shekh Mohammed. We immediately returned in search of it, sliding down the sand and feeling with our hands and feet therein. We had made more than half the descent, and I began to consider the search hopeless, when the shekh, who was a little in advance, cried out: “O Sidi! God be praised! God be praised!” He saw the corner sticking out of the sand, took it up, kissed it, and laid it on one eye, while he knelt with his old head turned up, that I might take it off. I tied it securely in a corner of my shawl and we slid to the bottom, where we found Achmet and the young shekhs in the shade of a huge projecting cliff, with breakfast spread out on the sand.

It was now noon, and only the pyramids remained to be seen on that side of the river. The main group is about a third of a mile from the mountain, on the ridge of a sand-hill. There are six pyramids, nearly entire, and the foundations of others. They are almost precisely similar to those of the real Meroë, each having a small exterior chamber on the eastern side. Like the latter, they are built of sandstone blocks, only filled at the corners, which are covered with a hem or moulding; the sides of two of them are convex. On all of them the last eight or ten courses next the top have been smoothed to follow the slope of the side. It was no doubt intended to finish them all in this manner. One of them has also the corner moulding rounded, so as to form a scroll, like that on the cornice of many of the Egyptian temples. They are not more than fifty feet in height, with very narrow bases. One of them, indeed, seems to be the connecting link between the pyramid and the obelisk. Nearer the river is an older pyramid, though no regular courses of stone are to be seen any longer. These sepulchral remains, however, are much inferior to those of Meroë.