FROM SHENDY TO KHARTOUM.
Arrival at Shendy—Appearance of the Town—Shendy in Former
Days—We Touch at El Metemma—The Nile beyond Shendy—Flesh
Diet vs. Vegetables—We Escape Shipwreck—A Walk on Shore—The
Rapids of Derreira—Djebel Gerri—The Twelfth Cataract—Night
in the Mountain Gorge—Crocodiles—A Drink of Mareesa—My
Birth-Day—Fair Wind—Approach to Khartoum—The Junction of the
Two Niles—Appearance of the City—We Drop Anchor.
The morning after visiting the ruins of Meroë I reached the old
Ethiopian town of Shendy. It lies about half a mile from the river, but
the massive fort and palace of the Governor are built on the water’s
edge. Several spreading sycamore trees gave a grace to the shore, which
would otherwise have been dull and tame. Naked Ethiopians were fishing
or washing their clothes in the water, and some of them, as they held
their long, scarlet-edged mantles above their heads, to dry in the wind
and sun, showed fine, muscular figures. The women had hideous faces,
but symmetrical and well developed forms. A group of Egyptian soldiers
watched us from the bank before the palace, and several personages on
horseback, one of whom appeared to be the Governor himself, were hailing
the ferry boat, which was just about putting off with a heavy load of
natives.
We ran the boat to the shore, at a landing-place just above the palace.
The banks of the river were covered with fields of cucumbers and beans,
the latter brilliant with white and purple blossoms and filled with
the murmuring sound of bees. Achmet, the raïs and I walked up to the
capital—the famous Shendy, once the great mart of trade for the regions
between the Red Sea and Dar-Fūr. On the way we met numbers of women with
water-jars. They wore no veils, but certainly needed them, for their
faces were of a broad, semi-negro character, and repulsively plain. The
town is built in a straggling manner, along a low, sandy ridge, and is
upwards of a mile in length, though it probably does not contain more
than ten thousand inhabitants. The houses are mud, of course, but rough
and filthy, and many of them are the same circular _tokuls_ of mats
and palm-sticks as I had already noticed in the smaller villages. The
only decent dwelling which I saw had been just erected by a Dongolese
merchant. There was a mosque, with a low mud minaret, but neither in
this nor in any other respect did the place compare with El Mekheyref.
The bazaar resembled a stable, having a passage through the centre,
shaded with mats, and stalls on either side, some of which contained
donkeys and others merchants. The goods displayed were principally blue
and white cotton stuffs of coarse quality, beads, trinkets and the like.
It was market-day, but the people had not yet assembled. A few screens
of matting, erected on sticks, were the only preparations which had
been made. The whole appearance of the place was that of poverty and
desertion. Beyond the clusters of huts, and a mud wall, which ran along
the eastern side of the town, the Desert extended to the horizon—a hot,
white plain, dotted with clumps of thorns. On our return to the boat, the
raïs pointed out the spot where, in 1822, Ismaïl Pasha and his soldiers
were burned to death by Mek Nemr (King Leopard), the last monarch of
Shendy. The bloody revenge taken by Mohammed Bey Defterdar (son-in-law of
Mohammed Ali), for that act, sealed the fate of the kingdom. The seat of
the Egyptian government in Soudân was fixed at Khartoum, which in a few
years became also the centre of trade, and now flourishes at the expense
of Shendy and El Metemma.
Burckhardt, who visited Shendy during the reign of King Leopard, devotes
much space to a description of the trade of the town at that time. It was
then in the height of its prosperity, and the resort of merchants from
Arabia, Abyssinia, Egypt, and even Syria and Asia Minor. It was also one
of the chief slave-marts of Central Africa, in which respect it has since
been superseded by Obeid, in Kordofan. The only commerce which has been
left to Shendy is that with Djidda and the other Arabian ports, by way
of Sowakin, on the Red Sea—a caravan journey of fourteen days, through
the country of Takka, infested by the wild tribes of the Hallengas and
Hadendoas. Mek Nemr, according to Burckhardt, was of the Djaaleyn tribe,
who are descendants of the Beni Koreish, of Yemen, and still retain the
pure Arabian features. I was afterwards, during my stay in Khartoum,
enabled to verify the declaration of the same traveller, that all the
tribes of Ethiopia between the Nile and the Red Sea are of unmixed Arab
stock.
The palace of the Governor, which was a building of considerable extent,
had heavy circular bastions, which were defended by cannon. Its position,
on the bank of the Nile, was much more agreeable than that of the city,
and the garrison had settled around it, forming a small village on its
eastern side. The white walls and latticed windows of the palace reminded
me of Cairo, and I anticipated a pleasant residence within its walls, on
my return to Shendy. As I wished to reach Khartoum as soon as possible I
did not call upon the Governor, but sent him the letter of recommendation
from Yagheshir Bey. From Shendy, one sees the group of palms which serves
as a landmark to El Metemma, the capital of a former Ethiopian Kingdom,
further up the Nile, on its opposite bank. This is the starting point
for caravans to Merawe and Dongola through the Beyooda Desert. We passed
its port about noon, and stopped a few minutes to let the raïs pay his
compliments to the owner of our vessel, who was on shore. He was a little
old man, with a long staff, and dressed like the meanest Arab, although
he was shekh of half a dozen villages, and had a servant leading a fine
Dongolese horse behind him. The boat of Khalim Bey, agent of the Governor
of Berber and Shendy, was at the landing place, and we saw the Bey, a
tall, handsome Turk in a rich blue and crimson dress, who sent a servant
to ask my name and character.
The scenery of the Nile, southward from Shendy, is again changed. The
tropical rains which fall occasionally at Abou-Hammed and scantily at
Berber, are here periodical, and there is no longer the same striking
contrast between desert and garden land. The plains extending inward from
the river are covered with a growth of bushes and coarse grass, which
also appears in patches on the sides of the mountains. The inhabitants
cultivate but a narrow strip of beans and dourra along the river, but
own immense flocks of sheep and goats, which afford their principal
sustenance. I noticed many fields of the grain called _dookhn_, of which
they plant a larger quantity than of dourra. Mutton, however, is the
Ethiopian’s greatest delicacy. Notwithstanding this is one of the warmest
climates in the world, the people eat meat whenever they can get it,
and greatly prefer it to vegetable food. The sailors and camel-drivers,
whose principal food is dourra, are, notwithstanding a certain quality
of endurance, as weak as children, when compared with an able-bodied
European, and they universally attribute this weakness to their diet.
This is a fact for the lank vegetarians to explain. My experience
coincided with that of the Ethiopians, and I ascribed no small share of
my personal health and strength, which the violent alternations of heat
and cold during the journey had not shaken in the least, to the fact of
my having fared sumptuously every day.
After leaving Shendy, the Nile makes a bend to the west, and we went
along slowly all the afternoon, with a side-wind. The shores were not
so highly cultivated as those we had passed, and low hills of yellow
sand began to show themselves on either hand. The villages were groups
of mud _tokuls_, with high, conical roofs, and the negro type of face
appeared much more frequently among the inhabitants—the result of
amalgamation with slaves. We saw numbers of young crocodiles which my
sailors delighted to frighten by shouting and throwing sticks at them, as
they sunned themselves on the sand. Wild geese and ducks were abundant,
and the quiet little coves along the shore were filled with their young
brood. During the day a large hawk or vulture dashed down to within a
yard of the deck in the attempt to snatch a piece of my black ram, which
Beshir had just killed.
The next morning we had a narrow escape from shipwreck. The wind blew
strong from the north, as we reached a twist in the river, where our
course for several miles lay to the north-west, obliging the men to take
in sail and tow the vessel. They had reached the turning-point and the
sail was blowing loose, while two sailors lay out on the long, limber
yard, trying to reef, when a violent gust pulled the rope out of the
hands of the man on shore, and we were carried into the stream. The
steersman put the helm hard up, and made for the point of an island which
lay opposite, but the current was so strong that we could not reach it.
It blew a gale, and the Nile was rough with waves. Between the island
and the southern shore lay a cluster of sharp, black rocks, and for a
few minutes we appeared to be driving directly upon them. The raïs and
sailors, with many cries of “O Prophet! O Apostle!” gave themselves up to
their fate; but the strength of the current saved us. Our bow just grazed
the edge of the last rock, and we were blown across to the opposite
shore, where we struck hard upon the sand and were obliged to remain two
hours, until the wind abated. I was vexed and impatient at first, but
remembering the effect of a pipe upon a similar occasion, I took one, and
soon became calm enough to exclaim: “it is the will of Allah!”
While the boat was making such slow headway, I went ashore and walked an
hour or two among the fields of beans and dourra. The plains for several
miles inland were covered with dry grass and thorn-trees, and only needed
irrigation to bloom as a garden. The sun was warm, the bean-fields alive
with bees, and the wind took a rich summer fragrance from the white and
purple blossoms. Near one of the huts, I accosted a woman who was weeding
among the dourra. She told me that her husband had deserted her and taken
another wife, leaving her the charge of their two children. He had also
taken her three cows and given them to his new wife, so that her only
means of support was to gather the dry grass and sell it in the villages.
I gave her a few piastres, which she received gratefully. In the
afternoon we passed the main bend of the river, and were able to make use
of the wind, which by this time was light. The sailor who had been left
ashore during the gale overtook us, by walking a distance of eight or ten
miles and swimming one of the smaller arms of the river. The western bank
of the river now became broken and hilly, occasionally overhung by bluffs
of gravelly soil, of a dark red color. On the top of one of the hills
there was a wall, which the raïs pointed out to me as _kadeem_ (ancient),
but it appeared too dilapidated to repay the trouble of a visit.
On the following day, the scenery became remarkably wild and picturesque.
After passing the village of Derreira, on the right bank, the Nile was
studded with islands of various sizes, rising like hillocks from the
water, and all covered with the most luxuriant vegetation. The mimosa,
the acacia, the palm, the sycamore and the _nebbuk_ flourished together
in rank growth, with a profusion of smaller shrubs, and all were matted
together with wild green creepers, which dropped their long streamers
of pink and purple blossoms into the water. Reefs of black rock, over
which the waves foamed impetuously, made the navigation intricate and
dangerous. The banks of the river were high and steep, and covered
with bushes and rank grass, above which the rustling blades of the
dourra glittered in the sun. The country was thickly populated, and
the inhabitants were mostly of the Shygheean tribe—from Dar Shygheea,
the region between Dongola and Berber. The sakias were tended by Dinka
slaves, as black as ebony, and with coarse, brutish faces. At one point
on the eastern shore, opposite the island of Bendi, the natives had
collected all their live stock, but for what purpose I could not learn.
The shore was covered with hundreds of camels, donkeys, sheep, cows and
goats, carefully kept in separate herds.
After threading ten miles of those island bowers, we approached Djebel
Gerri, which we had seen all day, ahead of us. The Nile, instead of
turning westward around the flank of the mountain, as I had anticipated
from the features of the landscape, made a sudden bend to the south,
between a thick cluster of islands, and entered the hills. At this point
there was a rapid, extending half-way across the river. The natives call
it a _shellàl_ (cataract), although it deserves the name no more than the
cataracts of Assouan and Wadi-Halfa. Adopting the term, however, which
has been sanctioned by long usage, this is the Twelfth Cataract of the
Nile, and the last one which the traveller meets before reaching the
mountains of Abyssinia. The stream is very narrow, compressed between
high hills of naked red sandstone rock. At sunset we were completely shut
in the savage solitude, and there we seemed likely to remain, for the
wind came from all quarters by turns, and jammed the vessel against the
rocks more than once.
The narrow terraces of soil on the sides of the mountains were covered
with dense beds of long, dry grass, and as we lay moored to the rocks, I
climbed up to one of these, in spite of the raïs’s warnings that I should
fall in with lions and serpents. I lay down in the warm grass, and
watched the shadows deepen in the black gorge, as the twilight died away.
The _zikzak_ or crocodile-bird twittered along the shore, and, after it
became quite dark, the stillness was occasionally broken by the snort of
a hippopotamus, as he thrust his huge head above water, or by the yell
of a hyena prowling among the hills. Talk of the pleasure of _reading_ a
traveller’s adventures in strange lands! There is no pleasure equal to
that of _living_ them: neither the anticipation nor the memory of such a
scene as I witnessed that evening, can approach the fascination of the
reality. I was awakened after midnight by the motion of the vessel, and
looking out of my shelter as I lay, could see that we were slowly gliding
through the foldings of the stony mountains. The moon rode high and
bright, over the top of a peak in front, and the sound of my prow, as it
occasionally grated against the rocks, alone disturbed the stillness of
the wild pass. Once the wind fell, and the men were obliged to make fast
to a rock, but before morning we had emerged from the mountains and were
moored to the bank, to await daylight for the passage of the last rapid.
In the mouth of the pass lies an island, which rises into a remarkable
conical peak, about seven hundred feet in height. It is called the
_Rowyàn_ (thirst assuaged), while a lofty summit of the range of Gerri
bears the name of _Djebel Attshàn_ (the Mountain of Thirst). The latter
stands on a basis of arid sand, whence its name, but the Rowyàn is
encircled by the arms of the Nile. In the Wady Beit-Naga, some three or
four hours’ journey eastward from the river, are the ruined temples of
Naga and Mesowuràt, described by Hoskins. The date of their erection has
been ascertained by Lepsius to be coeval with that of Meroë. We here saw
many crocodiles, basking on the warm sand-banks. One group of five were
enormous monsters, three of them being at least fifteen, and the other
two twenty feet in length. They lazily dragged their long bodies into the
water as we approached, but returned after we had passed. The zikzaks
were hopping familiarly about them, on the sand, and I have no doubt that
they do service to the crocodiles in the manner related by the Arabs.
The river was still studded with islands—some mere fragments of rock
covered with bushes, and some large level tracts, flourishing with rich
fields of cotton and dourra. About noon, we passed a village on the
eastern bank, and I sent Ali and Beshir ashore to procure supplies, for
my ram was finished. Ali found only one fowl, which the people did not
wish to sell, but, Turk-like, he took it forcibly and gave them the usual
price. Beshir found some _mareesa_, a fermented drink made of dourra,
and for two piastres procured two jars of it, holding two gallons each,
which were brought down to the boat by a pair of sturdy Dinka women,
whose beauty was almost a match for Bakhita. The mareesa had an agreeable
flavor and very little intoxicating property. I noticed, however, that
after Beshir had drunk nearly a gallon, he sang and danced rather more
than usual, and had much to say of a sweetheart of his, who lived in
El-Metemma, and who bore the charming name of Gammerò-Betahadjerò.
Bakhita, after drinking an equal portion, complained to me bitterly of my
white sheep, which had nibbed off the ends of the woolly twists adorning
her head, but I comforted her by the present of half a piastre, for the
purpose of buying mutton-fat.
As the wind fell, at sunset, we reached a long slope of snowy sand, on
the island of Aūssee. Achmet went to the huts of the inhabitants, where
he was kindly received and furnished with milk. I walked for an hour
up and down the beautiful beach, breathing the mild, cool evening air,
heavy with delicious odors. The glassy Nile beside me reflected the last
orange-red hues of sunset, and the evening star, burning with a white,
sparry lustre, made a long track of light across his breast. I remembered
that it was my birth-day—the fourth time I had spent my natal anniversary
in a foreign land. The first had been in Germany, the second in Italy,
the third in Mexico, and now the last, in the wild heart of Africa. They
were all pleasant, but this was the best of all.
When I returned to the vessel, I found my carpet and cushions spread
on the sand, and Ali waiting with my pipe. The evening entertainment
commenced: I was listening to an Arabian tale, and watching the figures
of the boatmen, grouped around a fire they had kindled in a field of
dookhn, when the wind came up with a sudden gust and blew out the folds
of my idle flag. Instantly the sand was kicked over the brands, the
carpet taken up, all hands called on board, and we dashed away on the
dark river with light hearts. I rose before sunrise the next morning, and
found the wind unchanged. We were sailing between low shores covered with
grain-fields, and a sandy island lay in front. The raïs no sooner saw me
than he called my attention to the tops of some palm-trees that appeared
on the horizon, probably six or eight miles distant. They grew in the
gardens of Khartoum! We reached the point of the broad, level island
that divides the waters of the two Niles, and could soon distinguish the
single minaret and buildings of the city. A boat, coming down from the
White Nile, passed us on the right, and another, bound for Khartoum, led
us up the Blue Nile. The proper division between the two rivers is the
point of land upon which Khartoum is built, but the channel separating
it from the island opposite is very narrow, and the streams do not fully
meet and mingle their waters till the island is passed.
The city presented a picturesque—and to my eyes, accustomed to the
mud huts of the Ethiopian villages—a really stately appearance, as we
drew near. The line of buildings extended for more than a mile along
the river, and many of the houses were embowered in gardens of palm,
acacia, orange and tamarind trees. The Palace of the Pasha had a certain
appearance of dignity, though its walls were only unburnt brick, and his
_hareem_, a white, two-story building, looked cool and elegant amid the
palms that shaded it. Egyptian soldiers, in their awkward, half-Frank
costume, were lounging on the bank before the Palace, and slaves of inky
blackness, resplendent in white and red livery, were departing on donkeys
on their various errands. The slope of the bank was broken at short
intervals by water-mills, and files of men with skins, and women with
huge earthen jars on their heads, passed up and down between the water’s
edge and the openings of the narrow lanes leading between the gardens
into the city. The boat of the Governor of Berber, rowed by twelve black
slaves, put off from shore, and moved slowly down stream, against the
north wind, as we drew up and moored the America below the garden of
the Catholic Mission. It was the twelfth of January; I had made the
journey from Assouan to Khartoum in twenty-six days, and from Cairo in
fifty-seven.