The bark was meanwhile to follow us to the port of Messelemîeh, i. e. to the landing place nearest to this principal trading place of the whole Sudan. Besides Jussuf we took the khawass and Gabre Máriam with us, who placed himself behind me on the dromedary, where there is always a little place left for an attendant, like the dickey of a coach; he rides on the narrow back part of the animal, and holds on with his hands. The day was very hot and the ground burnt. The few birds which I saw were different from those inhabiting the banks of the river.
At about half way we came to a village called Tâiba, which is only inhabited by Fukara, (pl. of Fakir). These are the literati, the holy men of the nation, a kind of priests, without exercising sacerdotal functions; they can read and write, allow no music, no dancing, no feasting, and therefore stand in great odour of sanctity. The Sheikh of this village is the supreme Fakir of the district. Everybody believes in him as a prophet; what he has prophesied, happens. The deceased Ahmed Pasha had him locked up a month before his death; “God will punish thee,” he returned in answer to the decree, and a month afterward the Pasha died. This is a very rich man, and owns several villages. We looked him up and found him in his house at dinner; about twenty persons were seated round a colossal wooden bowl, filled with boiled durra broth and milk. The bowl was pushed before us, but it was impossible for us to partake of this meal. We conversed with the old Fakir, who replied with free, friendly, and obliging dignity, and then asked our names, and our object in travelling. Every person who entered, even our servants, approached him reverently, and touched his hand with the lips and forehead. The office of Sheikh is hereditary in his family; his son, therefore, obtains almost as much honour as himself, and thus it is explicable how, when the Sheikh is a Fakir, the whole place may become a holy village. E’Damer, on the island of Meroe, was formerly such a Fakir place. The inhabitants of Tâiba, probably of Arabic race, call themselves Arakin. There are in this neighbourhood a number of such local names, the origin of which is difficult to be assigned.
When we had smoked out our pipes, we left this assembly of holy men, and rode off. Half an hour from Messelemîeh, we came to a second village called Hellet e’ Solimân. We dismounted at a house built by the deceased Mak or Melek Kambal of Halfâi, when he married the daughter of the Defalla, to whom the village belonged; now it is the property of his brother’s son Mahmûd Welled Shanîsh, who is also called Melek, but is only guardian of Kambal’s little son, Melek Beshîr. Thus we may see how it has fared here with the ancient honourable title of Melek (king). Mahmûd was not at home, as he had accompanied Ahmed Pasha in his campaign. However, we were entertained in his house according to the hospitable custom of the country. Carpets were spread, milk and durra bread (which does not taste ill) in thin cakes brought; besides another simple but refreshing drink, abreq, fermented sour durra water. Soon after Asser we arrived in Messelemîeh. Emin received us very kindly, and informed us Mohammed Ali’s prime minister, Boghos Bey, whom I had visited in Alexandria, was dead, and Artim Bey, a fine diplomatist of much culture, had been appointed to his place.
We refused the Pasha’s invitation to supper and night’s lodging, and soon rode off to the river, where we hoped to find our bark. As it had not arrived, we passed the night in the open air upon anqarebs. The next morning, the 15th of March, we pushed off for Kamlîn, and arrived there toward evening. The following day we passed with our countryman, Herr Bauer. After we had visited Nureddin Effendi at Wad Eraue, some hours from Kamlîn, we arrived the next day at Soba, where I immediately sent for a vessel found in the ruins of the ancient city, and preserved by the brother of the Sheikh. After waiting a long time it was brought. It proved to be an incense urn of bronze in open work; the sides of the rounded vessel, about three-quarters of a foot in height and breadth, were worked in arabesques; on the upper edge the chains had been attached to three little hooks, of which one is broken away, so that the most interesting part of the whole—an inscription in tolerably large letters running round the top, and worked àjour, like arabesques—is imperfect. This is of the more importance, as the writing is again Greek, or rather Koptic, as on the stone tablet, but the language neither, but without doubt the ancient language of Soba, the metropolis of the mighty kingdom of Aloa. Notwithstanding its shortness, it is of more importance than the tablet, that it also contains the Koptic letters
(sh) and
(ti), which are not to be found in the other. I bought the vessel for a few piasters. This is now the third monument of Soba that we bring with us, for I must add that we saw at Saïd Hashim’s, in Wed Médineh, a little Venus, of Greek workmanship, about a foot high, which had also been found in Soba, and was presented to me by the owner. On the 19th of March, we at length entered again the house of M. Hermanowitch at Chartûm, at a later date, however, than our former reckoning had settled, therefore I had already announced our being later in a letter to Erbkam from Wed Médineh.
LETTER XIX.
Chartum.
March 21, 1844.