in the region known as Gebel Dukhân, “the Hills of Smoke,”
in the Eastern Egyptian Desert, some twenty-seven miles from the
Red Sea, opposite the southern end of the Peninsula of Sinai. Two
or three travellers during the last century have visited them,
and recently the Survey Department of the Egyptian Government
has published a technical report on the whole district; but
with the exception of this and an article by the German explorer
Schweinfurth, the literature on the subject, such as it is, seems
to be more or less untraceable. In 1887 a gentleman of the name
of Brindley obtained a concession there for the re-working of the
quarries, but the project fell through owing to the difficulties
of transporting the stone. In 1907 Mr John Wells, the Director of
the now defunct Department of Mines, decided to make an expedition
to Gebel Dukhân to report on the possibilities of reopening the
old works; and it was with considerable pleasure that I received,
and found myself able to accept, his invitation to accompany him,
in order to see how far the Department of Antiquities could concur
in the projects of modern engineers.
[Plate XV:
Illustration: The start from Keneh. Native police loading the
camels.—Page 91.
Illustration: Midday rest at El Ghaiteh. Camels feeding from the
bushes.—Page 96.]
We set out from Keneh, a town on the Nile some 400 miles above Cairo,
in the middle of March: a time of year when one cannot be sure
of good weather in Egypt, for the winter and the summer together
fight for the mastery, and the hot south winds vie with the cold
north winds in ferocity. Sand-storms are frequent in the desert in
this month, and these, though seldom dangerous, can be extremely
disagreeable. We were, however, most fortunate in this respect; and,
in spite of the fact that the winds were strong, I do not recall
any particular discomfort experienced from them, though memory
brings back the not rare vision of men struggling with flapping
tents and flying ropes. Our caravan consisted of some fifty camels,
of which about thirty-five carried the baggage and water; a dozen
were ridden by ourselves, Mr Wells’ police, our native assistants,
and others; and two or three belonged to the Shêkh and the guides.
The business of setting out is always trying to the patience. The
camelmen attempt to load their beasts lightly in order that more
may be employed; they dawdle over the packing that the day’s
journey may be short; the camels, unused to their burdens, perform
such antics as may rid them the most quickly of the incubus; the
untried ropes break as the last knot is tied, and the loads fall to
the ground; the riding-camels are too fresh, and, groaning loudly,
revolve in small circles, as though one’s whistle of encouragement
were a waltz. There are no people in the world so slovenly, so
unpractical, or—if one may use a very slang word—so _footling_,
as the inhabitants of the Eastern Desert. One has heard so often
of the splendid desert tribes, of fine figures and flashing eyes,
of dignity and distinction, of gracious manners and lofty words,
that one has come to expect the members of one’s caravan to be
as princely as they are picturesque. It is with a shock that one
finds them to be but ragged weaklings, of low intelligence and little
dignity. Is this, one asks, the proud Bedwi whose ears are now being
boxed by one’s servant? And are these the brave sons of the desert
who are being kicked into shape by that smart negro policeman, the
son of slaves? Look now, eight or ten of the Bedwin have quarrelled
over their camels, and are feeling for their knives in preparation
for a fight: shall we not see some stirring action, redolent of the
brave days of old? No; the black policeman seizes his camel-whip
and administers to as many as he can catch of the flying wretches
as sound a beating as any naughty boys might receive. Lean-faced,
hungry-eyed, and rather upright in carriage, one may expect them to
be quick-witted and endowed with common-sense. Yet of all stupid
people these unwashed miseries are the stupidest; and as one sees
them at the starting of a caravan, muddling the ropes, upsetting
the loads, yawning, scratching themselves, squabbling in high, thin
voices, and tripping over their antiquated swords and long guns,
one’s dream of the Bedwin in this part of the desert fades and
no more returns.
Perhaps, however, it is the point of view which is at fault. Did
one live in the desert without a deed to do or a thought to think
beyond those connected with the little necessities of life, and
with so vague a knowledge of time and distance as such an existence
requires, one’s notion of the practical might be different, and
one’s idea of intelligence might be less lofty. Perhaps, too,
one has not yet met with the genuine types of the race; for the
camel-drivers employed by an economical Shêkh, and the goatherds
who wander through the valleys, may be but the riff-raff cast off
from the more remote tribes. Moreover, there are a few exceptions
to the general rule which may be met with even amongst the camelmen,
but these are hardly sufficiently notable to record.
At last a start was made; and riding north-eastwards over the hot,
sandy plain, we trotted slowly towards the distant limestone hills
which rose above a shifting mirage of lake-like vapour. For some
miles our road led over the hard, flat desert; but opportunely at the
lunching hour we passed a spur of rock which afforded welcome shade,
and here we rested for an hour or so. At this point there is a well,
known as Bir Arras, rather prettily situated amidst tamarisk-bushes
and desert scrub; but as it is only ten miles distant from Keneh
it is not much used by travellers. Riding on in the afternoon,
we verged somewhat to the left, and passed along a valley much
broken up by low mounds of sand collected round the decayed roots
of bushes; and here several thriving tamarisks and other small
trees lent colour to the scene. Soon we turned again to the left,
and presently crossed two projecting spurs of the low hills, upon
which beacons of stone had been erected in Roman days, on either
side of the track, to mark the road. It is interesting to find that
along the whole length of the route from Keneh to the quarries these
piles of stone have been placed at irregular intervals in order that
the traveller should have no difficulty in finding his way. Towards
evening the tracks led us up the clearly marked bed of a dry river,
bordered by tamarisks and other bushes; and, passing along this for
a short distance, we called a halt, and pitched the tents amongst
the sand hillocks to one side. The following morning we were on
the road soon after sunrise; and, riding along the dry river-bed,
we presently reached the Roman station of El Ghaiteh, which lies,
in all, some seven and a half hours’ trot from Keneh. This is the
first of the Roman posts on the road from Keneh to Gebel Dukhân,
and here the ancient express caravans halted for the night. At
the foot of a low hill there is a fortified rectangular enclosure,
in which several rooms with vaulted roofs are built. The walls are
constructed of broken stones, and still stand some twelve feet or
more in height. The entrance is flanked by round towers, and passing
through it one sees on the left a large tank, built of burnt bricks
and cement, in which the water, brought from the well in the plain,
was stored. Just to the north of the station there are the ruins
of the animal lines, where rough stone walls have been built on a
well-ordered plan, forming a courtyard in which the stalls run in
parallel rows. Above the enclosure, on the hill-top, there are some
carefully constructed buildings of sun-dried brick, which may have
been the officers’ quarters. Resting in the shade of the ruins,
one’s eye wandered over the sun-burnt desert to the hazy hills
beyond, and thence back along the winding river-bed to the bushes at
the foot of the hill, where the camels lazily cropped the dry twigs,
and where green dragon-flies hovered against the intensely blue
sky. Then again the ruins claimed one’s attention, and presently
one seemed to forget the things of the present time, and to drift
back to the days when the blocks of Imperial Porphyry were heaved and
hoisted, carried and dragged along this road to the Nile and to Rome.
[Plate XVI:
Illustration: The Roman station at El Ghaiteh, looking down from
the officers’ quarters on the hill. A dry river-bed bordered by
bushes runs across the plain.—Page 96.
Illustration: A tank for storing water inside the station of El
Ghaiteh.—Page 96.]
A ride of somewhat over three hours across wide, undulating,
gravel plains brought us to the next Roman station, known as Es
Sargieh, which lies between two low mounds just to the north of
the main track. Here a large excavation has been made in order
to obtain water, and at its edge there are the remains of troughs
and tanks constructed of brick and cement. The sand and clay from
the excavation has been thrown up in an embankment, so as to form
a rectangular enclosure. At one end there are the ruins of a few
chambers, and the animal lines near by are clearly marked. Es Sargieh
marks the point where the road divides, one track leading to Gebel
Dukhân, and the other to the white granite quarries of Um Etgal;
and it was thus an important watering-station.
From this point for the rest of the day our road lay across a
hard flat plain, bounded in the distance ahead by the dim peaks
of granite mountains. As we had stopped some considerable time at
the two Roman ruins, the baggage camels and men had pushed far in
advance, and, with characteristic stupidity, continued to do so,
though the sun went down and the stars came out. It was not till
long past dinner-time that, riding furiously through the darkness,
we managed to catch them up; and hungry, aching, and cross, we
quickly devoured a cold meal and rolled into bed. During the night
a gale of wind came near to overthrowing the tents, for we had
bivouacked where we had overtaken the caravan, upon the exposed
plain. The night air felt bitterly cold as, clad in pyjamas, one
pulled at ropes and hammered at pegs; but it was a surprise to find
the thermometer standing at 32° Fahrenheit at this time of year.
Having camped in the darkness, it was not till daybreak that we
realised that we had now crossed the plain, and were already near
the mouth of a valley which led into a region of dark rocks between
two ranges of hills. Not long after sunrise we mounted our camels,
and presently passed into this valley. Jagged cliffs towered above
the road, and behind them the soft brown hills rose in an array of
dimly seen peaks. A ride of two hours up this valley—that is to
say, altogether about five hours’ trot from Es Sargieh—brought
us to the Roman station of El Atrash. There is a fortified enclosure
containing several regularly arranged buildings, a tank, and a deep,
circular well constructed of brick. The gateway is flanked by brick
towers up which the steps can still be traced. Outside the enclosure
there are the usual animal lines; and near by there lies a large
block of porphyry which must have been abandoned for some reason on
its way to the river. The scenery here is wild and desolate. There
was a feeling, as the eye passed from range to range of menacing
hills and up to the grey clouded sky, that one was travelling in
the moon. The day was cold and misty, and the sharp air already
told of the altitude to which we had risen—now nearly 2000 feet.
From here the road led through valleys lying between hills of
ever-increasing height. The colour of the rocks now changed from a
deep brown to a kind of soft purple; while the ground over which we
were moving, being composed of particles of red granite, turned to
a curious rosy hue. It was as though one were looking through tinted
glass; and these combinations of colour—the red valley, the purple
hills, and the grey sky—gave to the scene a beauty indescribable.
We lunched in the shadow of the rocks, and sleeping on the ground
thereafter one’s dreams were in mauves and burnt-siennas.
Mounting again and riding along this wonderful valley, feeling
more than ever like Mr H. G. Wells’ men in the moon, early in the
afternoon we reached the Roman station of Wady Gatâr, which lies
in a hollow amidst lofty hills, some three and a half hours’ ride
from El Atrash. The station consists, as before, of an enclosure,
chambers, disused well, and animal lines; but it is more ruined
than the other posts which we had seen. There is a well not far from
this point, to which the camels were sent to be watered; and we were
thus able to spend a quiet afternoon in our camp amongst the hills.
Towards sunset I climbed to the top of a low mound of rocks which
overlooked the fortress, and there the silence of the evening and the
strangeness of the surrounding hues enhanced to a point almost of awe
the sense of aloofness which this part of the desert imposes upon
one. On the right the line of a valley drew the eyes over the dim,
brown waves of gravel to the darkness of the rugged horizon. Behind,
and sweeping upward, the sky was a golden red; and this presently
turned to green, and the green to deep blue. On the left some
reflected light tinged the eastern sky with a suggestion of purple,
and against this the nearer mountains stood out darkly. In front the
low hills met together, and knit themselves into shapes so strange
that one might have thought them the distortions of a dream. There
was not a sound to be heard, except once when an unseen flight
of migratory birds passed with a soft _whir_ high overhead. The
light was dim,—too dark to read the book which I carried. Nor
was there much desire to read; for the mind was wandering, as the
eyes were, in an indistinct region of unrealities, and was almost
silent of thought.
Then in the warm, perfect stillness, with the whole wilderness laid
prone in that listless haze which anticipates the dead sleep of
night, there came—at first almost unnoticed—a small, black,
moving mass, creeping over an indefinite hill-top. So silently
it appeared, so slowly moved nearer, that one was inclined to
think it a part of the dream, a vague sensation passing across
the solemn, sleepy mind of the desert. Presently, very quietly,
the mass resolved itself into a compact flock of goats. Now it was
drawing nearer, and one could discern with some degree of detail
the little procession—the procession of dream-ideas one might have
said, for it was difficult to face facts in the twilight. Along the
valley it moved, and, fluttering in the wind, there arose a plaintive
bleating and the wail of the goatherd’s pipe. He—one could see
him now—was walking in advance of his flock, and his two hands
held a reed from which he was pouring the ancient melodies of his
race. From the hill-top I could soon look down on the flock as it
passed below. It had become brown in colour; and as the pipe ceased
awhile the shuffle and patter of a hundred little creatures could
be heard. It was a gentle sound, more inclined to augment than to
diminish the dreamy character of the procession. Behind the flock
two figures moved, their white garments fluttering in the wind,
changing grotesquely the form and shape of the wearers. Over the
gravel they went, and at a distance followed the dogs of the herd,
growling as they passed. Over the gravel and down the valley, and
with them went the gentle patter and the wandering refrain of the
reed pipe. Then a bend in the path, or may be the fading of the
dream, and the flock was seen no more. But in the darkness which
had gathered one was almost too listless to feel that aught had
passed beyond one’s pale.
We left Wady Gatâr the next day soon after lunch and entered another
fine valley. On the right the granite cliffs sloped up to the misty
sky in clean, sheer faces of rock. On the left range after range of
dimly peaked hills carried one’s thoughts into the clouds. The
afternoon was sunless and the air bracing and keen. The camels,
after their long drink, were ready for work, and we were soon
swinging up the valley at a brisk trot. The road turned from side
to side, now leading in a dozen clear tracks up the wide, gravelled
bed of some forgotten torrent, and now passing in a single narrow
path from one valley to the next. With every turn new groups of
mountains became visible and higher peaks slid into sight. The
misty air lent a softness to these groups, blending their varied
colours into almost celestial harmonies of tone. Gradually the
ranges mounted, until at last, as the afternoon began to draw in,
the towering purple mountains of Gebel Dukhân rose from behind
the dark rocks to the left of our road.
It was almost sunset before we reached the foot of this range,
and the cloudy sun was passing behind the more distant hills as a
halt was called. We were now in a wide, undulating valley, which was
hemmed in by the superb mountains on three sides and disclosed low,
open country towards the north-east. The beams of the hidden sun
shot up from behind the dark hills in a sudden glare of brightness,
and presently the clouded sky turned to a deep crimson. The lofty
peaks of the southern mountains now caught the disappearing sunshine
and sprang out of the mist in a hundred points of vivid red. For only
a few minutes the conflagration lasted, but before it had fully died
out the vaporous outlines in the far distance towards the north-east
took form and colour, and the last gleam of sunlight revealed,
some twenty miles away, the thin line of the sea, and above it the
stately mountains of Sinai. A moment later the vision had passed,
the sun had set, and in the gathering darkness the baggage camels,
lumbering round a bend, came into sight, calling our attention to
more material things.
In the semi-darkness, while our meal was being prepared, we visited
a Roman station which stands in the Wady Bileh at the foot of the
Gebel Dukhân mountains, about three and a quarter hours’ trot
from the fortress of Wady Gatâr. The porphyry quarries and the
settlement lay in the valley at the other side of the range of
hills at the foot of which we were now standing; and to reach them
one might either climb by an ancient path over a pass in the range,
or one might ride round by the tortuous valley—a journey said to
be of nearly thirty miles. This station was thus the first night’s
halting-place for express caravans returning from the quarries. At
one side of the wide, ancient road stands the usual small enclosure,
having a doorway flanked with towers, and containing a few ruined
chambers and a well. At the other side a cluster of granite rocks
rising into a small mound had been surrounded by a stout wall,
either in order that it should serve as a fortress, or because these
rocks were for some reason sacred. There was nothing particularly
noteworthy about the station, but, lying amidst such wild and
magnificent scenery, it assumed in the half-light a charm which
will not soon be forgotten.
[Plate XVII:
Illustration: The excavation inside the enclosure of El
Sargieh.—Page 97.
Illustration: The Roman station at El Greiyeh. The animal lines. The
brick pillars supported the roof under which were the night
stalls.—Page 139.]
At dawn next morning we set out on foot to climb over the pass
to the quarries. The sun was struggling to penetrate the soft
mists as we started the actual ascent, and the air was cold and
invigorating. Here and there one could detect the old Roman path
passing up the hillside, but it was so much broken that a climb up
the dry watercourse, across which it zigzagged, was preferable. At
the immediate foot of the pass there is a small Roman fort
containing three or four rooms, and at the highest point, which
is 3150 feet above sea-level, there is a ruined rest-house, where
the tired climber, no doubt, was able to obtain at least a pot of
water. Here at the summit we had a wonderful view of the surrounding
country. Behind us the mountains rose in a series of misty ranges,
and before us lay the valley of Gebel Dukhân winding between the
porphyry hills, while beyond them the northern mountains rose to some
6000 feet in the distance. The Roman road, descending on this side,
was well preserved, and we were able to run down the 1200 feet or so,
which brought us breathless to the level of the valley. The temple,
town, and quarries lay about a mile down the Wady, at a point where
there was a considerable breadth of flat gravel between the hills
on either side.
The town ruins—a cluster of crowded houses enclosed by a fortified
wall—stand on the slope of the hill. A fine terrace runs along the
east side, and up to this a ramp ascends. Passing through the gateway
one enters the main street, and the attention is first attracted
by an imposing building on the right hand. Here there are several
chambers leading into an eight-pillared hall, at the end of which
a well-made and well-preserved plunge-bath eloquently tells of the
small pleasures of expatriated Roman officers. A turning from the
main street brings one into an open courtyard, where there are two
ovens and some stone dishes to be seen, besides a large quantity of
pottery fragments. Around this in every direction the little huts
are huddled, narrow lanes dividing one set of chambers from the
next. The town is, of course, very ruined; but it does not require
much imagination to people it again with that noisy crowd of Greek,
Roman, and Egyptian quarrymen. One sees them prising out the blocks
of purple porphyry from the hillside high above the valley, returning
in the evening down the broad causeway to the town, or passing up
the steps to the temple which stands on a knoll of granite rocks
a couple of hundred yards to the north-east.
The steps lead one up to a platform which formed the forecourt
of the temple. This court is now covered with the ruins of what
was once a fine granite portico rising on the east side. Four
columns supported an inscribed architrave and decorated cornice,
above which was the pediment or pointed roof. Behind this portico
stood the sanctuary, built of broken stones carefully mortared and
plastered to the necessary smoothness. A granite doorway led from
one side into the vestry. In the forecourt, amidst the ruins,
stands the granite altar, in its original position; and near
it lies the architrave with the proud inscription: “For the
safety and the eternal victory of our Lord Cæsar Trajan Hadrian,
absolute, august, and all his house; to the Sun, the great Serapis,
and to the co-enshrined gods, this temple, and all that is in it,
is dedicated.” Then follow the names of the Governor of Egypt,
the Superintendent of the Mines, and other officials.
In the middle of the valley there is the well, which is now choked. A
gallery, the roof of which was supported by five pillars, passes
in a half-circle round one side of the well; and a shallow drain in
the pavement seems to have carried a stream of water along it. Here
the workmen could sit in the shade to ease the thirst which exercise
on the hot hills so soon creates; and on our return journey up the
pass we looked back more than once to this cool gallery and to the
plunge-bath with a kind of envy of the past.
The quarries are cut here and there on the hillside without any
regularity. The blocks of porphyry were prised out of the rock
wherever the work could most easily be carried on, and the action
of the years has so dulled the broken surfaces that they now look
almost like those of the natural mountain. The blocks were carried
down to the Nile, and in fact to Rome, in the rough, without even
a preliminary dressing; for the work in this distant place had to
be shortened as much as possible.
Looking, in the European museums, at the fine capitals, the
polished basins, the statues, and the many other objects cut out
of Imperial Porphyry, one has admired the work of the mason or the
genius of the artist. But here in the Hills of Smoke one thinks of
these antiquities with a feeling bordering on veneration. If the
workmanship tells of an art that is dead, how much louder does the
material cry out the praises of an energy that is also dead? Each
block of stone is the witness of a history of organisation and
activity almost beyond thought. This purple porphyry was not known
to the ancient Egyptians: a Roman prospector must have searched the
desert to find it. One would have thought that the aloofness of the
valley from which it is to be procured would have kept its existence
the secret of the hills; for on the one side a winding pathway,
thirty miles in length, separates the spot from the little-known
main road, and on the other side a barrier of steep hills shuts it
off from the Wady Bileh.
[Plate XVIII:
Illustration: Granite hills to the south of Wady Bileh. The Gebel
Dukhân range is to the north of this wady.—Page 104.
Illustration: Ruins of the Roman temple at Gebel Dukhân, showing
the hillside from which the porphyry was taken.—Page 107.]