Travels in Ethiopia, above the second cataract of the Nile

by G. A. Hoskins

CHAPTER II.

COMMENCEMENT OF THE JOURNEY ACROSS THE GREAT NUBIAN DESERT. — DESCRIPTION OF THE CARAVAN. — ADVANTAGES OF TURKISH DRESS AND CUSTOMS. — PROVISIONS NECESSARY FOR THE DESERT. — AKABA, OR MOUNTAIN PASSES. — DEAD CAMELS. — FEAR OF ROBBERS. — ANXIETY ABOUT THE STOCK OF WATER. — ARAB OPINION OF TRAVELLERS. — ALARMING DIMINUTION OF OUR WATER. — DEAD BODIES OF SLAVES AND CAMELS. — HOJAB EL JENOUS. — BAB EL KOROSKO. — AGE OF THE CAMEL. — BAHR BELA MA, OR SEA WITHOUT WATER. — MERAGE. — PERILS AND CHARMS OF THE DESERT LIFE. — DILET EL DOOM, VALLEY OF THE SHADE OF THE DOOMS. — GOLD MINES. — OMRISHI SUFIR. — WELLS NOW DRY. — EL MURRAH, OR THE WELL OF BITTER WATERS. — HIEROGLYPHICS ON THE ROCKS. — COLONY OF BISHAREEN. — HEIGHT AND CHARACTER OF THE MOUNTAINS. — ARAB SONGS. — GAZELLE. — DANGER OF LEAVING CARAVAN. — ABSAH GOLD MINES. — STORMS IN THE DESERT. — CAMBYSES. — BRUCE. — ARAB MANNER OF MOUNTING THE CAMEL. — MANNER IN WHICH THE ARABS REPOSE. — ARRIVAL AT THE NILE. — ESTIMATE OF THE LENGTH OF THE ROUTE AND GENERAL PACE OF THE CAMEL.

The Great Nubian Desert.—Feb. 16. This morning, at eight o’clock, we left Korosko, and entered the Desert. Having omitted until now giving a description of my caravan, I may mention, as useful to future travellers, the provisions and equipments which may be considered as necessary for a journey of this description. Both my artist, Signor B. and myself, wear the Turkish Nizam uniform. A traveller might, without much risk, retain his European dress; but it is most prudent and desirable to adopt the Turkish, as being the best suited, not only to the climate, but also to serve the important object of commanding respect. Those travellers who refuse this tribute to the customs of the country pay dear for their prejudice. If it does not expose them to frequent insult, they are at all events less esteemed by the natives; and they lose a decided advantage, in not having the comfort and luxury of a dress so admirably suited to the climate and manners of the East. Our unnatural tight trousers, waistcoats, and coats, with their padding, braces, straps, starch, stiffners, and stocks, in a tropical country would be intolerable. Another advantage of this comfortable and graceful costume is, that it enables you to repose with ease in any position. To sit bolt upright, on a hard chair, in such a latitude as this, is what no one could endure, who had experienced the luxurious ease of the Turkish divan. The rest of my caravan consisted of a guide (Habeer) on his dromedary; a very picturesque-looking fellow. Besides the usual arms of the Arabs, the long spear, sword, and shield of the hippopotamus, he had also a brace of pistols attached to his saddle, which he took great pride in displaying. He was very independent, and conscious of the importance of his office, so that I was afraid at starting he would not have been so manageable as I afterwards found him. My dragoman, Mahomet Abdini, a native of Cairo, was the cleverest servant I ever knew in any country: his wily tongue and insinuating address were often of more service to me than my piastres. I had, besides, a Greek servant, named Ibrahim, alias Michele; a Mahometan with the Arabs and Turks, and a Christian with his own countrymen. He speaks Italian fluently, and also the Turkish, Greek, and Arabic. He is the musician of the party; and his singing, accompanied by his fiddle, is vastly agreeable to the natives, but, being in the harsh style of the modern Greeks, is grating to my ears. I had, besides, a Copt, who had served me long and usefully at Thebes, in the dignified station of umbrella-bearer. Including, therefore, our Ababdes, owners of the camels, the full complement of my little caravan amounts to twelve persons and eleven camels. My stock of provisions chiefly consists of a large sack of Cairo biscuit, and another of rice. Besides these two chief requisites, and also charcoal, I have a good supply of groceries, tea, sugar, coffee, and wax candles, and last, but most important, twenty geerbahs of water, which I expect will be amply sufficient for the eight days of desert journey, though the Signor has forewarned me, most anxiously, more than fifty times, che beve molto. This is the desert in which Bruce and Burckhardt suffered so much. They took the easterly and more direct track, which commences at Deroueh, a little below Assuan, and therefore had a longer space to traverse, with, however, the advantage of meeting repeatedly with good water. At a quarter past six, P.M., we encamped. Our road this day has been through a succession of narrow valleys, called Akaba, or mountain passes, and small plains, bounded by low picturesque hills. The valleys are covered with sand, in some places two feet deep, but generally much less, and sometimes the bare rock is visible. Sandstone forms the base of the valley and of the hills. There are, however, some of slate, varying from 150 to 180 feet in height. I observed a great variety in their forms. We have already met with a few of the horrors of the desert, particularly numbers of dead camels, some of which had perished lately, and vultures were feeding on their carcases. They seem also to have attracted the hyænas from their dens, as I discerned on the sand numerous traces of those animals. Some of our water-skins, I am sorry to find, are bad. I marvel Signor B. did not perceive this at Korosko, as he took an active part in tying them up. The journey from Assuan has injured them, yet, with care, I hope to have a sufficient supply. This evening the camel men objected to pitching my tent, saying that they were afraid of robbers. I did not yield to their alarms, as sleeping in the open air is an Eastern custom which I am not much inclined to try at this season of the year. I cannot conceive a tent to be much additional attraction to Arab plunderers, if there are any; but the depredations upon the water, I fear, are by my own Ababdes, as their own supply is small. I have, therefore, caused all the geerbahs to be carried into my tent. If we run short, and have to suffer, it shall not be for want of precautions. While my camel men were thus occupied, one of them asked me why I was subjecting myself to the danger and fatigue of such a journey, when I was rich enough to stay at home. The Arabs are now not so much surprised at travellers going to Wady Halfah. So many make that journey, that it is no longer a novelty; besides that, the Cangias (boats of the Nile), though any thing but agreeable to Europeans, appear luxurious to the peasants. They can easily conceive the pleasure of sailing in what they consider delightful conveyances, listening to the songs of the boatmen, smoking all the day, and eating and drinking of the best the villages can afford; but that travellers should voluntarily expose themselves to the fatigues and heat of the desert, apparently for the sake of a few old stones, is to them quite incomprehensible.

Desert.—Feb. 17. A fearful accident has befallen us. To our utter dismay, four of our largest geerbahs are empty, the water having leaked out during the night. The skins are old, although the best we could procure at Assuan. The rest seem good: Heaven grant that they may prove so! the consequences of another such accident might be fatal. We have passed to-day the bodies of seven human beings who have doubtless recently perished from thirst and fatigue; we have seen also dead camels without number. We have travelled twelve hours through valleys of the same character as those we passed yesterday. Some of the hills might be from 230 to 250 feet in height, but the greater number from 100 to 150 feet. Many, like those of yesterday, are isolated, and some standing in the centre of the valleys. They consist chiefly of slate, but some are of sandstone. They are called Hojab el Jenous, from there being several representations of buffaloes drawn on the rocks by some rude artists, probably Arabs. The valleys are almost entirely covered with sand, on which I found many round balls, of the form of peaches, of iron glance. At sunset we left the valleys, the last hills of which are rather higher than the others, and are called Bab el Korosko, or the Gate of Korosko, and encamped behind a small hill, at the commencement of a large sandy plain, called Atmoor Bahr Bela Ma, that is, the sea without water. We have been twenty-two hours en route in these valleys, which I consider not less than sixty miles, from the rate we have travelled. The Ababdes occasionally sing to animate their camels. The effect in accelerating their speed is quite extraordinary. First one camel-driver sings a verse, then the others answer in chorus. It reminded me somewhat of the Venetian gondoliers.[5] I noticed that they lingered near the bodies of the dead camels, being apparently more affected by them than by those of the slaves. The latter they perhaps knew not, while the camels were old acquaintances. I have often made attempts to learn the age which this animal usually attains, but have never been able fully to ascertain it. The general answer is, a hundred years. By examining and tracing the traditionary stories on the subject, I am led to conceive their span of life equal to that of man, and subject to similar frequent contingencies from different causes, such as extremes of heat and cold, excessive fatigue, and particularly the great neglect of the owners. This evening I have bestowed great pains on the preservation of the water, having suspended the suspicious geerbahs in my tent.

Feb. 18. We mounted our camels this morning at half past six, and have had an exceedingly fatiguing ride of thirteen hours, forty miles, without any repose, struggling through one immense down of sand. There were some small hills of sandstone, with occasional thin layers of gypsum. The sand was very fatiguing for the camels: on its surface I found disseminated many of the round balls of iron flint, or iron glance, varying from four to eight inches in circumference. Their exterior is often uneven. I found, also, some balls, hollow like the others, and occasionally two united together. These were silicious conglomerates. I observed, also, numerous quartzose pebbles, and some fragments of white marble, the only specimens I have seen in this desert. The mountains are chiefly of slate. We have suffered very much from the fatigue of this day’s journey, and have still five days’ march through this waterless desert. The only object to interest me, and relieve the weariness of mind and body, has been the merage, so often described. Some travellers state that this phenomenon has deceived them repeatedly. This I am surprised at, since its peculiar appearance, joined to its occurrence in a desert where the traveller is too forcibly impressed with the recollection that no lakes or standing pools exist, would appear to me to prevent the possibility, that he who has once seen it can be a second time deceived. Still this does not diminish the beauty of the phenomenon:—to see amidst burning sands and barren hills an apparently beautiful lake, perfectly calm, and unruffled by any breeze, reflecting in its bosom the surrounding rocks, is, indeed, an interesting and wonderful spectacle; but it is a tantalising sight to the Arabs traversing the desert on foot, always with a scanty supply of water, and often, owing to their great imprudence, wholly destitute of it. There is much of the sublime to elevate, and of real danger to excite the mind, in the passage of the Desert: the boundless plains of sand, the thought of the distance from the habitations of man, and from the most common necessaries of life, the perpetual apprehension of falling short of water, and the certainty, that whoever, from fatigue or illness, is unable to keep pace with the caravan, will at once, with a camel and his share of the provision, be abandoned to his fate. And what a fate! Few left in this manner ever reach their destination. My Ababdes seem, also, to have a great fear of the Bishareen, who occasionally plunder the caravans. These alarms produce a certain excitement, which calls forth all the energy of the traveller: but were these dangers tenfold greater than they really are, the thought that I am approaching nearer and nearer to Meroe would sufficiently animate my courage.

Feb. 19. We mounted our camels this morning at six, and at eleven we left the Bahr Bela Ma, which we had been eighteen hours in crossing (fifty-four miles). Our road began to wind amongst the mountains. The first valley we passed was of considerable breadth, and contained great numbers of doom and acacia trees. The former were not very large, bearing no fruit, and apparently drooping for want of water. In this valley, which is called Dilet el Doom, or Valley of the Shade of the Dooms, I observed traces of torrents. Three hours to the east of it, I am informed that there are appearances of exhausted gold mines, of the habitations of the miners, and the stones used by them in procuring the precious metal. The Arabs informed me that the rain falls here chiefly at the rising of the Nile, but that last year there was none, otherwise we should have seen herbage on the hills;—that twenty-four hours is sufficient to produce it. This valley has the appearance of having once been cultivated; but I could discover no remaining trace of habitations. They tell me that the Bishareen, when there is pasture on the hills, lead here their flocks, and pitch their tents in this pretty valley. Perhaps, when Ethiopia was more populous, and before the gold mines were exhausted, this road was much frequented; and probably, by sinking wells (for I feel persuaded that water might be found in these valleys), and by forming small colonies at suitable stations, a safe and rapid communication may have existed between the centre and extremity of the kingdom. A short distance out of the direct road is a well called Omrisha, now dry, but which contains water during the rainy season. About an hour and a half beyond this is another well, called Sufir, now also dry. The mountains consist generally of flinty slate, some few of sandstone. Their forms are broken, and very picturesque. At two o’clock we passed through a chain of hills, by a road which has evidently been artificially formed. This is another proof that pains have been taken by a more civilised people to diminish the difficulties of travelling in this region. At four P.M. we entered the valley of the spring called El Murrah, or the Well of Bitter Waters, the only one in the Desert that is not now dry; we encamped for the night, that our camels might have time to drink, and our men to repose. On one of the rocks of the valley of the spring are some hieroglyphics. I distinguished the name of the god Horus, and the hawk, the emblem of that divinity. There are four wells within a few feet of each other, all exceedingly salt, and considered by the Arab merchants and Turks as very unwholesome. One, however, is much better than the others. The Arabs and camels drink of this, and we have filled some of our water-skins, in case the stock from the Nile should not be sufficient; otherwise we shall not use it, as it is extremely salt, and strongly impregnated with iron. One of my servants, not content with his allowance of the water of the Nile, drank a large cup of it, which caused nausea and severe purging for some time afterwards. It has not the same effect on the Ababdes, who apparently enjoy it as much as their camels. There are six families of Bishareen stationed here, who attend to cleaning the wells from sand. The Pasha placed them in this valley, but gives them no allowance. They possess camels, with which they trade, and supply the merchants who need these animals. All the caravans give them a trifle. They live in tents made of mats; and their wild appearance, extraordinary head-dress, yet fine features, quite accord with our idea of dwellers in the desert. The nauseous salt water is their only beverage, but does not seem to disagree with them. I never beheld a more sad picture of savagery and desolation than their encampment. The Arab tribes, even the most remote, cannot be called savages, since they speak one of the richest and most beautiful languages in the world, and many of them are versed in the Koran; but the harsh and uncouth gibberish of these wild Bishareen is only intelligible to themselves. They inhabit tracts of country, where Nature seems almost to deny them a subsistence; and not even the terror of the Pasha’s vengeance can restrain their predatory propensities. A European must have powerful protection from their own chiefs to venture into their inhospitable wilds. The traveller who has little of novelty to interest his attention in the dreary desert cannot readily dispel the gloomy impression forced on his mind by contemplating man in this his lowest condition. When he reflects on the abject state of these naked Bishareen, their ignorance of religious principles, of all intellectual and civilised enjoyments, the scanty and precarious means by which their life is supported: a dish of coarse unground dourah, moistened by water of the most disgusting quality; a miserable tent their only shelter from the tropical sun, and from the nightly cold, so bitter in these regions, and so painful from its contrast with the mid-day heat: he is astonished at the physical phenomenon, that the constitution of man can endure so much privation; and he cannot but admire the mysteries of Providence, when he sees a human being of like capacities and passions with himself content and happy in a state so slightly removed from the condition of the brute.

Feb. 20. This morning, at six, we left the Bishareen quite in joyance at having received a trifle more than the customary gift of a few piasters, and delighted with the privilege of scrambling for a few pieces of broken glass, which had been thrown out of my tent. I should state that last night, and also for two hours before we set out this morning, they had stationed themselves close to our encampment, like wild animals seeking their prey. Three quarters of an hour after our departure from the well, we left the mountains, and our road then lay over an immense plain of sand, sometimes very difficult for the camels to wade through, but generally not very soft, and indeed, occasionally quite hard. This plain, which is ten hours, or thirty miles, in extent, is almost entirely surrounded by hills. The width varies from about ten to fifteen miles. At five P.M. we again entered into the mountains, and waded through several narrow valleys, containing acacia trees. At six, that is, after twelve hours’ ride, we encamped. The mountains, called Cab el Kofas, or the Spilling of the baskets, particularly one about 400 feet high, at the entrance of this chain, are very picturesque. The effect of a tropical sunset upon them was magnificent. Their general height was about 200 feet, and some were of less altitude. Their form was generally a long continuous chain, with peaks of various forms. I observed some in the distance totally isolated, and having the appearance of pyramids. We should not have passed this plain so rapidly but for the common custom of the Arabs, before mentioned, of urging on their camels by singing: the effect is very extraordinary; this musical excitement increases their pace at least one fourth. I often asked the camel drivers to sing, not only to hasten our progress, but also for the pleasure of hearing their simple melodies. Some of their best songs possess a plaintive sweetness that is almost as touching as the most exquisite European airs. The words are often beautiful, generally simple and natural, being improvisatory effusions. The following is a very imperfect specimen. One takes up the song:—“Ah, when shall I see my family again; the rain has fallen, and made a canal between me and my home. Oh, shall I never see it more?” The reply to this and similar verses was always made by the chorus, in words such as these:—“Oh, what pleasure, what delight, to see my family again; when I see my father, mother, brothers, sisters, I will hoist a flag on the head of my camel for joy!” I asked a fine, handsome lad, who was singing this ranz des vaches of the desert with the feeling of a Swiss, if he would go with me to England, to my village. He asked me how long I had been absent; I told him three years. “No,” said he, “I cannot go with you; if I were to be absent from my family three years, I should be very unhappy—I should be ill.” Near the place where we are encamped is another well, now dry.

Feb. 21. We set out this morning at seven, and proceeded through defiles in the mountains, which at eleven we quitted. The valleys we passed through, for the first four hours, were strewed with quartz, a common kind of porphyry, and fragments of indurated clay slate, approaching to rubbarid jasper. The mountains were chiefly of flinty slate and hornblende. There are a few acacia trees in the valley, and here and there dried up grass. Among the latter we started a gazelle, which Mr. B. and I pursued round an isolated hill at the entrance of a large plain. We could scarcely have lost ourselves, particularly as I had a compass in my pocket; but, on our rejoining the caravan, the Habeer warned us not to leave it again, and told us many instances of Turks and others having been lost by following the gazelles into the mountains. A Nazr and Katshef perished, very recently, by their imprudent eagerness in chasing the animals through their winding valleys. Some time afterwards, a particular search having been made, they were found dead a considerable distance from the road, their hands clenched, apparently in the last agonies of that most horrid of deaths, which is produced by thirst. This creature might have been fancied our evil genius in the guise of a gazelle, tempting us to destruction; for, scarcely did we come within sight of the graceful coquette, than she bounded off, and, after a short career, stopped again.

“Lasciva puella:

Et fugit ad salices, et se cupit antè videri.”—Buc. iii.