succeed in discovering the well in these uniform desolate mountain
passes. And where was our caravan? Had it found its way to the water? If
they had followed the traces of our donkey as before, they must also
have lost their way. We waited impatiently for Selîm; he could at any
rate bring us back to the Arab huts, which we had seen the previous day.
But one hour followed another; Selîm came not. The sun rose higher, and
robbed of the slight shade of the rock where we had taken refuge, we sat
silently on the burning stones. We dared not leave the spot, for fear of
missing Selîm. Had he met with an accident, or had he so forgotten
himself as only to think of his own safety, and to leave us to our fate,
as had happened some years before to three Turks, who were never seen
again, in the same wilderness! Or was Selîm too weak to return to us? He
had almost always gone on foot, and must have been much more exhausted
than ourselves.
From time to time we mounted the adjacent heights and fired our
muskets,--all in vain! At last we were obliged to resign ourselves to
the melancholy certainty that we should not see our guide again. Noon
had arrived after four hours of waiting, and also the time for
departure, if the hope of reaching the Arab huts, about six hours
distant from us, was to be accomplished. For it would have been
fool-hardy to seek any longer for the well, as Selîm himself had not
found it. Gebel Zeït, where our ship was lying, was three and a half
days’ journey from us; the Nile on the other side of the mountain, five
days’ journey; the camels had drunk nothing for four days, and the
donkey was thoroughly weakened.
We therefore set out. My companion had done everything I had proposed;
but never have I felt my responsibility for others, whose lives,
together with my own, were in jeopardy, so heavily as in that hesitating
resolve. It seemed foolhardy to travel in this totally uninhabited
highland, already confused and even more put out of the way by our
nocturnal windings without a guide, according to the stars; and yet
there was nothing else to be done.
We determined, after much consultation, to ride back into the principal
valley, which we had entered in the morning with such hope. But the
infinite variety of the naked craggy mountains, and the sand and
rubbish-filled valley, treeless and bushless, make so wholly uniform
impressions, that no one of us would have recognised the principal
valley as the right, if the direction and general distance of it had not
told us that it was the right one. At the end of the valley we had again
to enter the region of the hills, between which it seemed possible to
find the Arab huts towards the south, as I had taken the bearing of the
principal peak of the Dochân from the neighbouring hill-fort. The huts
were of course so hidden, that one could ride by them at the distance of
a few minutes, and not observe them; perhaps, too, the mats were set up
in another place. Thus we were lost in the wide burning desert without a
guide, gnawed with hunger, and parched with thirst, and, as far as man
could see, quite abandoned to chance. In silence we journeyed on, each
occupied with his own thoughts, in the glowing noon heat, when
suddenly--the moment will never be forgotten by me!--two men came forth
from behind the rock. They rushed to us, embraced our knees, offered us
water from their jugs, and kept continually repeating expressions of joy
and greetings, with the greatest delight.
“El hamdu l’illah”--Praised be God! resounded on all sides. We were
saved!
Our caravan, whence the two Arabs came, had as usual followed our track,
and therefore like ourselves had lost their way, but Ibrahim Aga, soon
perceiving our confusion, halted sooner, had fires, lighted in the night
on all the hills, with difficulty gathered fuel, and had almost used up
the powder. But the wind set the opposite way, and we heard none of the
signals of our distressed comrades. Next morning they had proceeded, and
by dint of the wonderful memory of Sheikh Selâm, who had once been here
five-and-twenty years ago, had got on the right way to the well. Yet
Ibrahim Aga encamped at an hour’s distance from it, as every trace of us
was lost, and sent in great trouble concerning our fate, Arab patrols
into the mountains to find us.
How strange it was, that we should enter the great valley just in time
to meet such a post! As we had come into the side valley over the
mountain, no trace of our animals--who, of course, besides this could
not be tracked on the stones--could lead into it; had we therefore
started a few minutes later, they would certainly have passed before we
were in sight, and had we come down the valley earlier, we should have
turned to the right towards the huts, and gone away from the caravan far
to the left.
About two o’clock, we arrived in the camp, which we entered amid shouts
of joy from all present. The greatest astonishment was expressed at not
finding Selîm with us; he was given up by every one. I did not, however,
allow the camp to be broken up, but had the camels led to the well
alone. The Arabs were again sent into the mountains to search for Selîm,
and I remained quietly in my tent for the rest of the day.
Towards evening some Arabs returned from the well, and with them, loaded
on a camel, Selîm. They had found him lying speechless, with open mouth,
and his body swollen from intemperate draughts of water, by the edge of
the well. How he had come thither, we did not immediately learn, as he
answered to none of our questions. He must, however, have found his way
by chance out of the mountains, or by the wonderful innate power of
tracing the way peculiar to the Arab. Now he was probably speechless
more by the fear of the serious consequences of the miserable trick he
had played us. When he perceived that we regarded him with some pity, he
soon recovered. But I did not keep him about me any more; for the
remainder of the journey I took the old trustworthy Sheikh Selâm, as a
guide for our advanced party, and left the other with the caravan.
Gebel Dochân, the Porphyry mountain, which had been our actual reason
for coming this way, and had caused the whole undertaking, was, however,
found to be far behind us. We had, as I had suspected, notwithstanding
Selîm’s assurances to the contrary, ridden by its foot for several
hours, as we erroneously thought the well was near it. None of the
caravan had seen the old quarries, and the remains of the ancient
colony. Notwithstanding this, I determined to make a second attempt on
the ensuing day; and in this I succeeded.
With the dawn, I set forth with Max, the Sheikh Selâm, and a young
sturdy Arab. The huts had not been observed by the caravan, and lay much
too far to the east for us. We therefore rode straight for the highest
peak of the Dochân group. Chance decreed that we should, when in the
vicinity of the ruins, meet an Abdi from those huts with some camels,
for which he was seeking a grazing-place. With his assistance we arrived
at our destination.
We first found the great mouth of a well, built up of rude stones,
measuring twelve feet in diameter, but it was now ruined and filled up.
On the western side, were five pillars of a hall, seemingly covered at
an earlier period, a sixth was destroyed. Three hundred paces further up
the valley, on a granite rock, projecting from the left side, a temple
was built, but which was now in ruins. The walls had been piled upon
rude stones, but the finer architectural portions well chiselled out of
red granite. A stair of twenty steps led from the north, on the paved
court, surrounded by a wall, in the centre of which a rude altar of
granite stood. Four cells adjoined this court on the left, the most
southern of which, however, had now partially fallen down, together with
the rock foundation; to this, as there was space on the rock, a still
smaller chamber had been added, in which a larger, but also uninscribed
altar stood. Before these spaces in the middle of the court, there
stood, at an elevation of some feet, and grounded with sharp blocks of
granite, an Ionian portico, consisting of four monolithic pillars,
slender and swelling, the bases and capitals of which, together with the
cornice and architrave, lay around in pieces. The long dedicatory
inscription informed us that the temple was dedicated, in the time of
the Emperor Hadrian, to Zeus Helios Sarapis, by the Eparch Rammius
Martialis. To the left of the wall, the ruins of the town lie on an
eminence. It was four-cornered, and, as usual, defended by towers. In
the middle there was again a well, the principal requirement of every
station, built of burnt brick, and stuccoed. Eight rude thin granite
pillars formed the entrance to the well.
An old steep roadway leads up the adjacent mountains, and conducts to
the porphyry quarries, which, hard under the top of the mountain, gave
the beautiful dark red porphyry in which so many of the monuments of the
Imperial time were hewn. Its broad veins lay between another blue-white
sprinkled, and an almost brick-red stone, and were worked to a
considerable depth. We found five or six quarries by each other, the
largest forty square paces in extent. I could nowhere find chisel holes
for splitting; for the blue-stone lying next to the quarry, rubbed
almost as fine as sand, seemed to indicate the employment of fire. By
the town, too, I found considerable heaps of ashes.
From the quarries I climbed to the height of the mountain, which gave a
splendid view of the neighbouring mountains, in the steeply-descending,
first hilly, and then sandy plain, towards the sea, and beyond the blue
mirror to the opposite high chain of Tôr, After taking a number of
observations I descended, and was back in our camp near the Moie
Messâid, after sunset.
On the 19th of March we crossed the plain to the Enned Mountains,
running along the seacoast, and passing them by a cross valley. A rich
fountain was here, the running water of which accompanied us for a long
distance. I should take it to be the _Fons Tadmos_ of Pliny, as its
water has only become salt and undrinkable by the natron layer of the
surface. The ruins of Abu Shâr, the ancient _Myos hormos_, or
_Philoteras portus_, we left to the right, and encamped on the peninsula
of Gimsheh, called by the Arabs Kibrît, from the quantity of sulphur
which is found there.
Yesterday morning we rode between the Enned Mountains and the sea-shore
to the Gulf of Gebel Zeït. The ridges of Tôr, which floated milky-blue
upon the watered mirror before sunrise, contrasted delicately with the
heavens; first with the rising sun were its outlines lost.
After dinner we arrived at Gebel Zeït, “the oil mountain.” Our ships,
sent for from Kossêr, had made the passage in six days, and already
awaited our arrival four days. The camels were dismissed here, and went
back the same evening.
A quarter north of our anchorage lay the Zeïtieh; so are the five or six
pits called which are excavated in the shore-sand or rock, and are
filled with black-brown syrup-like earth oil. Some years ago
investigations were commenced here by Em Bey, who hoped to find coals in
the depths, without however, up to this time, arriving at such a result.
Last evening was calm. In the first night there arose a slight wind from
the north, which we immediately used for departure. With a favourable
wind we might have made the passage in a single night; but now the day
is again closing, and the haven is not yet reached. The long oars, too,
which are now brought into employment, scarcely bring the loaded vessel
on.
The sailors of the sea are very different from those of the Nile. Their
manner is far more equable, less false and less creeping. Their songs,
beginning with the first stroke of the oar, consists of short broken
lines, given out one by one and taken up by others, while the rest make
short tones at equal intervals. The rais, on a higher seat, also rows.
He is a negro, like several others among the sailors, but one of the
handsomest and most powerful blacks that I have ever seen--a real
Othello, when, with his athletic movements, he rolls his yellow-white
eyes, shows his gleaming white teeth, and commences the song with a
piercing, yelling, but practised voice, leading it for some time.
LETTER XXXII.
CONVENT OF SINAI.
_Easter Monday, March 24, 1845._
We landed on Good Friday evening, by moonlight, at Tôr. The harbour is
so full of sand, that our vessel was obliged to remain some hundred
paces from the shore. A skiff took us to land. Here we were received by
the old Greek, Nikola Janni, who had formerly also received Ehrenberg,
Léon de Laborde, Rüppell, Isenberg, and other well-known travellers, and
who had favourable testimonials to show of his conduct towards them.
After a long bargaining with the insolent Arabs, who, as soon as they
perceived our haste and impatience, sought every means to take advantage
of us, we set off, with as few necessaries as possible, for the land
journey, early the day before yesterday from Tôr, and let the ship go on
to Cape Abu Zelîmeh to await us there.
Our road led in a direct northern direction through the plain El Ge’âh,
which is about five or six hours wide, between the sea and the
mountains, at the mouth of the Wadi Hebrân. But I made an excursion on
the road to the warm wells of Gebel Hammân. These lie at the southern
end of the isolated chain of mountains, which, beginning at Tôr, run an
hour’s distance to the sea-shore. I met the caravan again by the
fountain El Hai, which is pleasantly situated amongst palm-gardens on
the road. The land rises gradually from the sea-shore till behind these
wells. As soon as we had gained a complete view of the whole plain, and
the summit of the high mountain which runs down in a steep and regularly
descending chain to the end of the peninsula, I took the bearings of all
the most remarkable points, entrances of valleys, and mountain-tops,
which the guides were able to name. About half-past five, I arrived at
the foot of the mountain. Here already at the entrance of the valley I
remarked on the black blocks the first Sinaïtic inscriptions. A little
further we came to a streamlet shaded by a few palms, where we encamped
for the night.
Yesterday we went through the Wadi Hebrán, which divides the Serbâl
group from the chain of mountains of Gebel Mûsa, crossed the Nakb el
Eg’âui, which forms a division between east and west, and here turning
to the south over Nakb el Haui (the wind-saddle) we reached the convent
by sunset on Easter Sunday. We were, as all travellers are, drawn up to
the entrance in the high fortress-wall, although there is another even
with the ground through the cloister garden, which however is never used
but from inside. The worthy old prior of whom Robinson writes, died in
the same year at Cairo, and has been replaced by another, Demetrios
Nicodemos, who has the rank of a bishop. As this convent is a Greek one,
instead of arriving during the Easter festival, we came during the
strict fast. But, notwithstanding this, the lives and ways of the four
priests and the
[Illustration: Inscriptions on the north wall of the Convent of Mount
Sinai.]
twenty-one lay brothers do not make such an edifying impression as we
had hoped. A dismal spirit of wearied indolence and ignorance lies like
a heavy cloud on their discontented countenances. And yet these
fugitives from a world of care, living under an ever cheerful, temperate
climate, can alone of all the inhabitants of these arid deserts stay
under the dark shade of cypresses, palms, and olive trees, besides
having the care of a library of 1,500 volumes, without in the least
degree thinking of its most beautiful destination as an ἰατρεῖον ψυχῆς.
We have to-day been up Gebel Mûsa. It formed, in my opinion, and also
according to the description of former travellers, the centre of the
whole chain of mountains. This, however, is not the case. It belongs
rather, as well by the planimetrical extent of the primitive rock, as by
its elevation, to the north-east descent. The convent lies at an exact
distance, _three times nearer_ to the east than the west side of the
mountain. Gebel Katherine, which lies next to it on the south, is higher
than the almost hidden summit of Gebel Mûsa, which is invisible to the
whole neighbourhood. Beyond Mount Katherine there arise, by degrees,
higher and higher mountains,--Um Riglên, Abu Shégere, Qettâr, &c., as
far as Um Shôman, which towers above all, and lies in the centre between
the east and west slopes of the total elevation, and forms the north
crown to the long ridge running south along the whole peninsula. The
whole way up Gebel Mûsa, with the many points to which there are saintly
legends attached, was a walk through nature in its wildest and most
magnificent state, just as in our country one is led through an
historical, ruined castle, where the private rooms, study, &c., of some
great king are pointed out.
After our return from Gebel Mûsa, we went up the brow of the mountain
called Hôreb, which Robinson considers to be the true Mount Sinai,
instead of Gebel Mûsa, which has been till now supposed to be so. We
passed many hermitages and chapels till we came to the last, situated in
a hollow in the rocks, behind which the principal summit of Hôreb rises,
rugged and grand. No footway leads up to it. We scrambled first through
a steep cleft in the rock, then over the southern brow of the rock
itself. At half-past five we were up just over the great plain Râha,
upon the majestic, rounded mountain-top, which stands out so boldly from
the plain. Robinson appears first to have tried this way, and then to
have given it up, and to have ascended to the top of Sefsâf, which is
certainly higher, but lies rather to the west, and does not stand out as
the summit we climbed, which forms an exact centre to the plain.[106]
Our guides all remained behind, excepting an Arab boy, as the ascension
was almost dangerous. Even this situation did not prevent the thought
from rising, as to whether Moses had ever stood upon any of these
mountains which are visible from the plain, if we receive the account
literally. We did not ascend Gebel Katherine, as it has less to do with
history than Gebel Mûsa.
LETTER XXXIII.
ON THE RED SEA.
_April 6, 1845._
I shall employ the time of our quiet seavoyage, which will take some
days, in arranging the manifold materials collected on the peninsula,
and to mark down the principal events of our journey. I will send a more
copious account from Thebes.[107] These lines, however, will be given to
Seid Hussen, at Qeneh, and be forwarded by the first opportunity.
We left the convent on the 25th of March toward evening, and went down
the broad Wadi e’ Shech. I chose this roundabout way, because formerly
(before the wild defile, Nakb el Haui, was rendered passable) this was
the only way the Israelites could go when they wanted to reach the
plain of Râha.[108] We remained during the night in the upper part of
the valley, near the tomb of the holy Shech Sâlih, after whom the valley
takes the name Wadi e’ Shech. In the lower part of the valley begins the
manna-rich tarfa-bushes and gradually the Sinaitic inscriptions become
more numerous. Before, however, we reached the end of the valley we
quitted it, and turned to the left into the Wadi Selâf, which unites
further down with the Wadi e’ Shech, in order to reach the foot of
Serbâl by the shortest road. This immense height, towering over the
mountainous landscape, we had often seen in our road when we had a clear
view; and the accounts the Arabs gave of the fertile and well-watered
Wadi Firân at its foot had made me desirous to make a nearer
acquaintance. I had determined to ascend the mountain, and for this
reason turned into the Wadi Rim, which runs into Wadi Selâf, into which
Serbâl descends. When we had ridden a little way up this valley, we came
to an old stone hut, which must have been inhabited by a hermit. Soon
after, we found some Arab tents, and at a little distance several
sittera-trees, which we chose as a resting-place.
On the 27th of March we rose early to ascend the mountain. The only way
to Serbâl, Derb e’Serbâl, leads from the Wadi Firân through Wadi Aleyât
up the mountain. We were obliged to go round to the south-east end of
the mountain, in order to mount it behind on the south; as it would have
been far beyond our strength to have climbed up through the ridge cleft,
which falls steep, and in a direct line between the two eastern summits.
A quarter-hour from our resting place we came to a well, shaded by
_nebek hamâda_ and palms, whose fresh and pure waters were walled in for
a depth of some feet. We then went over a little mountain ridge, upon
which stood several stone huts, into another branch of the valley of Rim
(Rim el Mehâsni), and reached in an hour and a-half the south-east
corner of the mountain. From hence we followed a beaten path, which
sometimes was even paved. This led us to an artificial terrace, and a
wall, which appeared to be the ruins of a fallen house, and to a cool
well, shaded by high rushes, a palm, and several _jassur_ (of which
Moses’s staves were cut); the whole mountain being covered with _habak_
and other sweet-scented herbs. Some minutes further we came to several
rock caverns, which must once have served as hermits’ cells; and after
four hours’ further journeying, we arrived at a small plain, which lay
between the heights, upon which we found another house with two rooms. A
way led from this level to the edge of the west side of the mountain,
which at first steep and rugged, then in soft broad slopes, sinks to the
sandy plain el Ge’ah. It opened to me here a glorious prospect over the
sea to the opposite coast, and the Egyptian mountains which bound it.
From here the mountain path suddenly sank by the rugged precipice into a
wild deep mountain hollow, around which the five summits of Serbâl unite
in a half circle, and form a towering crown. In the middle of this
hollow, called Wadi Si’qelji, lie the ruins of an old convent, to which
the mountain path leads, but which unfortunately we could not visit for
want of time.[109]
I then went back across the level, and began first to ascend the
southern Serbâl summit. When I had nearly reached the steep height, I
thought that the second summit appeared to be somewhat higher. I hurried
down again to seek a road to this. We passed a small water-fall, and
were obliged to go almost all round the hollow before we succeeded in
ascending the north-east side. Here, to my astonishment, I found between
the two points into which the summit is split, a fruitful little plain,
well covered with bushes and herbs, from which I first ascended one
point and then the other, and with the assistance of my experienced
guides, and the compass, I took the bearings of all the principal
points which could be seen around. I could distinguish quite plainly
that beyond Gebel Mûsa the mountains rose higher and higher, and that
the distant Um Shômar towered over all. We did not begin to return till
towards four o’clock. The long round by which we mounted we were obliged
to avoid on our return, in order not to be in the dark. We determined,
therefore, to make our way down the steep rock cleft, which led in a
straight line to our camp in the Wadi Rim, and like the chamois to
spring from block to block; and we got down this impassable road, (the
most difficult and fatiguing that I ever went in my whole life,) in
about two hours and a-half with trembling knees to our tent.