When we reached our halting-place for the night we found our tents pitched, table set, and our meal ready to be served up. Selim had got over his fright, and was anxious to do his best to make up for the inconvenience he had put us to during the day; the Ababdi guide likewise arrived before we turned in for the night. Our camp was near another Roman station, known by the name of the well close by, Bîr Hagi Suliman. Whatever else of interest there may be in a desert highway, the vital importance of water (even though it be brackish) is such that the name of the supply is the name the district is known by. Beer runs this close in London, judging from the names of public-houses being so conspicuous on any omnibus route. Should you ask an Ababdi Arab where the Hydreuma was he would shrug his shoulders; but if you mention a well, el Bîr, anywhere within fifty miles, he will be able to direct you. The similarity in the name of their water-supplies to that of the British favourite drink is a curious coincidence.
The domed enclosure of the Bîr Hagi Suliman was in good repair, and a tablet in the wall bore these three names and a date: ‘Briggs, Hancock, and Wood, 1832.’ Probably the names of three Englishmen who were prospecting for gold in these regions.
We decided the next morning to follow the caravan road, and that we should return from Kosseir by a second route which joins this one near the well. No archæological find was as welcome as the first rays of sun which fell on our perishing bodies. To get out of the cold wind and creep along the rocks which first caught the morning sun was our only thought. One is obliged to dress in thin summer clothes, as these valleys are very hot by the time the sun is high in the heavens. I strapped enough blankets round me to give me the appearance of a well-packed breakable object stowed on the top of a camel, and I kept near the useful Selim, so as to enable him to catch the blankets as I shed them. I had hardly got down to my cotton suit when we arrived at another Roman station. It seemed as difficult to avoid Roman ruins here as to get away from trippers in the Nile valley. Some Cufic inscriptions on a doorpost interested us the most, as an indication of this route being used soon after the Mohammedan conquest of Egypt. Our ornithologist had his sketch-book out to note the flight of some sandgrouse which rose from amongst the ruins as we entered them.
We had met but one or two nomad Arabs since we left the oasis of Lakéta, so that our interest was considerably excited when we perceived a considerable caravan advancing towards us in the distance. They were undoubtedly Arabs from the Hedjaz who had crossed the Red Sea to barter their camels in the Nile valley—queer customers for so small a party to meet in this lonely place. We were miles ahead of our baggage train, and I found that my companions had, as I had done, packed their revolvers in their kit-bags. We consoled ourselves with the thought that our want of precaution would not be suspected by the people we were approaching, and I was more anxious to get a shot at them with a hand camera than with any more deadly weapon. They were a most picturesque lot, and might have posed for a group of Hyksos invaders, or, to come to modern times (which only their long-barrelled guns suggested), they might have been a small host of the Midianite Arabs who plunder the pilgrims on the Mecca road. Some of their womenfolk were with them, but enclosed in litters on the camels’ humps.
DOORWAY IN THE TEMPLE OF ISIS
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I managed with difficulty to get a couple of snapshots: the head of my own camel had to be avoided, and I wished not to attract too much attention from the evil-looking men, who greeted neither us nor the two Arab servants in our party—a most unusual occurrence anywhere in the Near East.
The first bit of news we heard, when we got back to Luxor, was that a party of three Egyptians had been attacked by Arabians travelling from Kosseir to Keneh, and the date given was that of the day after we had met these people. One Egyptian had been killed, and the two others had managed to escape. The attacking party could have been no other than the one we passed. Whether they were ever brought to justice, or whether they were able to recross the Red Sea and get safe back to the Hedjaz, I was never able to ascertain. Little news, except that which an occasional European paper gave us, reached my camp at Der el-Bahri when I was reinstalled there.