Behind the hill on which my house, Kasr Hassuna, was built there stood another great, isolated, limestone rock about 70 feet high with a circumference of about 400 yards. One evening, when I was climbing on this rock looking for a hawk’s nest, I came across the entrance of what I supposed to be a cave right at the top. I went in, but as I found that it stretched far into the rock I sent for my servants and an electric torch; then armed with this I pushed on into the darkness. There was a narrow tunnel about 5 feet high and 3 feet wide cut out of solid rock, and sloping downwards so steeply that in some places one could almost have sat down and tobogganed along. The tunnel, which was about 10 or 11 yards long, terminated at the mouth of a deep, dark shaft like a well, going straight down into the depths of the earth. I did no more exploring that day.
On the next morning some of the sheikhs, who had evidently heard of my discovery from the servants, told me the following story very solemnly. Many years ago, in the time of their grandfathers, Sheikh Hassuna, the owner of the kasr—castle—discovered, as I had, the tunnel in the rock. He naturally supposed that it was the entrance to a place of hidden treasure, but he did not like the idea of going down the shaft himself, and he could find nobody else who would. There was at this time a very venerated Fiki in Siwa, and eventually Sheikh Hassuna persuaded him to make the first descent, in order that he might exorcise the jinns and make it safe for the sheikh to secure the treasure. The Fiki was lowered at the end of a rope, with a torch, a Koran and a supply of incense. A few seconds afterwards the people who were in the tunnel and looking into the pit were startled by a rushing of wings and a great cloud of black smoke, which was the jinns escaping from the place. When they hauled up the Fiki he told them the following tale. At the bottom of the pit there was a vast chamber hewn out of stone, and at one end of it there was an iron door. When the Fiki began to read from the Koran the door swung open and two terrible jinns passed out of it, escaped up the shaft, and another jinn, a female, with huge wings, appeared and ordered him to depart and to warn all others never to visit the place again. So since that day nobody in Siwa disturbed the genii of the hill. Finally, the sheikhs advised me, if I would go down, to take with me somebody who could read the Koran.
The same afternoon I called on an old Sudanese Fiki, called Haj Gabreen, and invited him to come exploring with me. He was a stalwart old Sudani about sixty years old, much respected by his compatriots of the Camel Corps and reputed skilful in doctoring and magic. He was decidedly nervous, but at length agreed to come, mainly, I suppose, owing to the audience of Camel Corps men who were listening. The affair was now, to my mind, patronized by the Church. I got a dozen of my stoutest men and a long rope. They lowered me down first, then a couple of men, followed by the Fiki who bumped from side to side with many groans and ejaculations of “Ya salaam”—“wallahi.” It was very disappointing. The shaft was about 25 feet deep, narrow at the top, but widening as it got lower. At the bottom there certainly was a sort of chamber cut out of the rock, but very roughly done; the floor of it was covered with a mass of loose stone and rubble which had evidently fallen in at some time, possibly during one of the earthquakes which are mentioned as occurring frequently at Siwa by the eighteenth-century travellers who visited the oasis. There was absolutely nothing in the shape of a door or a tomb, but one could not tell what there was further down as it was choked with loose stuff.
I had men working at it for several days, trying to clear out the debris, but there seemed to be no end to it, and as one had to haul up every basket of stone to the top and then pass it from hand to hand along the tunnel, the difficulty was very great. The atmosphere, too, was very close and hot. Eventually we came to some large pieces of detached rock which we were unable to raise, and as the work had no appreciable result I finally gave it up.
Some time afterwards I went to see the tombs of the kings at Thebes. My orderly, who had been at Siwa, was with me, and we were both struck by the similarity between the tombs of the kings and the underground place at Siwa, the latter of course being on a very small scale. Later, when I discovered that Siwa was at one time famous for its emerald mines, the idea suggested itself that this might have been an old mine. Unfortunately, not being an archæologist, I was unable to determine from the size and construction of the place whether it was likely to be a tomb or not. I afterwards discovered another passage, narrow but higher, cut into the outside of the rock about half-way down, apparently with the idea of tapping the shaft, but it only reached a few yards and then seemed to have been left uncompleted.
Haj Gabreen, the old Fiki who went down the shaft with me, evidently spread a very fantastic rumour of my discoveries, because after I left Siwa I got messages from the Governor inquiring whether I really had found an iron door in the middle of the hill.
There seemed to be an abnormally large number of old men in Siwa, as the climate is apparently conducive to old age. Siwans, like many other natives, are very vague about their own ages. Often if one asks them how old they are they reply, “Whatever age you would wish,” or sometimes, “The same age as your Excellency”—which they seem to consider a polite answer. Certainly most of the deaths that occur are those of young children or very old people. Considerable deference is paid to old age, although it may not always be accompanied by corresponding virtue. When I was at Siwa the “Oldest Inhabitant” was a wrinkled old man called Haj Suliman, the grandfather of one of the principal merchants. He used to spend most of his time sitting outside his house gossiping to the passers-by, and I often stopped to talk to him. Unfortunately he was deaf and had no teeth, so conversation between us was not very brisk. He and his relations told me that he was 102 years old; he looked about 90, and could not have been less than 85. He used to tell me about his one and only visit to Cairo, some sixty years ago, on his way home from Mecca. He also remembered and described quite clearly the visit of a certain English traveller to Siwa in 1869.
One day I heard a great deal of noise in the neighbourhood of Haj Suliman’s house; on inquiry I was told that there was a “fantasia” going on, so I strolled over to see it. I found a number of dancers, music in the shape of drums and whistles, and free “lubki” being handed round. Carpets were spread in the courtyard and Haj Suliman, very gaily dressed, was receiving the company, surrounded by his sons and grandchildren. He looked very pleased with himself and invited me to drink tea, which I did. All the time he stood near, evidently expecting me to say something to him. Eventually I asked him why he was giving a “fantasia”—at which the whole family began talking and telling me that it was for a wedding. “But where is the bridegroom?” I asked, and Haj Suliman leant forward with a silly grin on his antique face. Then, to my amazement, they told me that the old gentleman himself was the bridegroom, this being his thirty-sixth wedding and the bride was 14 years old. I realized that he had been expecting my congratulations, so I offered them, as he was evidently not of the opinion that “crabbed age and youth cannot live together.” He died suddenly about eight months later, “a victim of connubiality.” I had seen him the day before in his garden working hard with an enormous iron hoe as big as a spade, which is much used in Siwa.
Another very old man in Siwa was an aged Sudani who sold a queer little collection of oddments in a corner of the market. At one time he had acted as postman for the Senussi between Siwa and Kufra. He told me, and I heard it besides from various sources, that he used to go alone to Kufra by a track across the sand-dunes south of Siwa. He was paid three pounds for each trip, but the danger was enormous; if his camel had strayed or fallen ill he would have been absolutely done for. Another queer old character was an old woman called Hanoui, who was at one time a secret agent and remarkably clever at acquiring information. She was also useful when one wanted to get baskets made.
The only real industry in Siwa, and it is not an important one, is the making of mats and basket work from palm fronds. Mats and large coarse hampers for carrying dates on camels are made by men. The mats are usually round, very strong, lasting and useful. The Arabs buy large quantities of them when they come down for dates in the autumn. The baskets are made entirely by women. They are manufactured from thin strips of palm leaves which become like raffia; sometimes they are coloured with dye, but the better kinds are ornamented with minute patterns of coloured silk worked into the sides, and decorated with tassels of variegated coloured silks and scarlet leather flaps in which to fasten cords for holding them.