Travels in Ethiopia, above the second cataract of the Nile

by G. A. Hoskins

April 4. We have this day passed the Island of Shenderab at half past seven; the Island of Manderab at eight, the village of Korti and islands of Ingolass and of Onato at half past eight; the small village on the western bank, called Ambicol, at ten; the Island of Sennat at one; the village of Defur at three P.M.; Genati at half past three, and stopped for the night at the small Island of Bishaba.[35]

April 5. At seven we passed the village of Debba el Dolib; or, as it is generally called, Debba, the commencement of the road to Kordofan, and the last village of Dar Shageea. With all their faults, the Shageea are the most interesting of the Arab tribes I have seen. Their manly appearance, extreme valour, and open and frank and noble manners, are very engaging; but I am sorry to find that they are addicted to intoxication beyond any tribe I have met with, spending the greater portion of their earnings in bouza, and particularly in the strong spirit of the country distilled from dates. Burckhardt (page 70.) has justly extolled their courage and good faith, and hospitality to strangers that have friends among them: but his account of their schools and learning would scarcely be applicable to the Shageea of the present day, who are too much enamoured of the dance and the cup to submit to the ennui of study.

At half past seven we passed the Island of Geri, and a village called Kutti, on the western bank. At half past four P.M. we passed a small island called Amduburgh, and stopped soon after at Tangus, another small island. The wind being invariably against us, we have scarcely made any progress, and that only by tacking. The river is about half a mile broad in this part of the valley, and occasionally even wider. There is scarcely any cultivated land, except on the islands. The desert, generally, on each side of the river, presents not an object to cheer the eye or relieve the mind. When the banks of the river were sufficiently low to afford us an extensive view, we saw only immense tracts of waste bounded by the horizon. The peasants chiefly inhabit the islands, where they seem to have taken refuge from the encroachments of the desert, being seldom able, with their inadequate means, to resist its approach; but, as I have before mentioned, there are still some villages on the banks, like little oases, but not so beautiful. Notwithstanding some advantage of their situation, and their feeble efforts to protect their fields, year after year the Libyan and Nubian deserts are said to extend their sway.

The gravity of the Arabs, who seldom laugh, and scarcely ever, even under the influence of intoxication, give way to boisterous mirth, must be in a great measure attributed to the character of their country. Considering these people as living under a sky which is ever the same, clear and beautiful, and accustomed to one uniform landscape, the river, its islands, and surrounding wastes; knowing few other nations, creeds, or customs; having ever before their eyes these dreadful wildernesses; experiencing their horrors, and feeling their destructive effects; it is not surprising that we find them more grave than the inhabitants of southern climes in general. Even boys have the carriage and demeanour of men. Neat in their dress and simple in their manners, there is no affectation, no dandyism. How ill-placed would such follies be in a region like this! Natural and easy in their address, erect in their carriage, they often display a calm and noble dignity of demeanour, which I have never seen surpassed in any civilised capital. They salute you courteously, and talk with gravity of your plans. There is no feverish anxiety to shine in conversation, nor any obligation to converse with you. After the first compliments, unless any of them have enquiries to make, they seldom speak. Every day is equally beautiful and unclouded, therefore the weather is rarely, if ever, the subject of conversation; and we have not, as in Europe, the bore of discussing its appearance twenty times a day.

April 6. At six A.M. we passed Ahmoor, a small village on the west bank of the river, and at nine we arrived at Dongolah Agous.

Dongolah Agous.—After having seen that Shendy, Berber, and Metammah, though the capitals of provinces, are but miserable places, I did not expect to find Dongolah otherwise; still I could not have conceived that a town once so considerable, the metropolis of a large district, whose name so often occurs in history, would have presented now so wretched an aspect.

Part of the town is in ruins. The desert has entered into its streets: many of the houses are entirely covered with sand, and scarcely an inhabitant is to be seen. One might have thought that some dreadful convulsion of nature, or some pestilential disease, had swept away the population. Part of the city is, indeed, remaining, but until I entered the houses not a human being did I meet with. I observed some houses in the town, of a superior appearance, having divisions of rooms, galleries, and courts, and evidently belonging to individuals once rich; but they are now almost all deserted. In some of them that we entered I saw some good-looking women: the men were idling away the day smoking and sleeping. Such is the scene of desolation and inactivity which now presents itself to the traveller at Dongolah. The mosque used by the inhabitants, until recently, was a large building, which tradition represents as very ancient, and as being built 200 years before the Hegira: but it is evidently of a much more modern date. It contains some granite columns, of bad workmanship, belonging to the early Christian age.

I asked whether the residence of the Turkish government at El Ourde was the cause why the city was so deserted, but was told that that circumstance had made little or no change. This was the proud reply of poverty. I have been informed by others, that, before the Pasha’s conquest, many of the inhabitants were in better circumstances, and the town more populous, but that they are now scattered elsewhere: many of them fled to Kordofan and Sennaar, on the approach of the Pasha.

I conceive it not improbable that this is the site of Napata. Pliny so distinctly places that city 100 miles lower down the Nile than Gibel el Birkel, that I see no reason for supposing that immense extent of ruins to be the remains of a town which he describes as so very insignificant. Besides the distance agreeing so exactly with Pliny’s account, the position of Dongolah Agous, as a military station, to resist the arms of Petronius, would certainly be advantageous. The desert and the present city may have covered the vestiges of the temples Petronius destroyed.

I left Dongolah Agous at three, without having made any drawings of the place, not conceiving it worth the delay. At half past three we passed the large Island of Gadar; at four, Ullow; and, after passing numerous villages and islands, we stopped for the night at Gemin, a very small village.