JOURNEY THROUGH DAR EL-MÀHASS AND SUKKÔT.
We start for Wadi-Halfa—The Plague of Black Gnats—Mohammed’s
Coffin—The Island of Argo—Market-Day—Scenery of the
Nile—Entering Dar El-Màhass—Ruined Fortresses—The Camel-Men—A
Rocky Chaos—Fakir Bender—The Akaba of Màhass—Camp in the
Wilderness—The Charm of Desolation—The Nile again—Pilgrims from
Dar-Fūr—The Struggle of the Nile—An Arcadian Landscape—The
Temple of Soleb—Dar Sukkôt—The Land of Dates—The Island of
Sai—A Sea of Sand—Camp by the River—A Hyena Barbecue.
We left El Ordee or New Dongola, before sunrise on the twenty-ninth of
February. A boy of about fourteen years old came out from the town,
helped load the camels, and insisted on accompanying me to Cairo. As
my funds were diminishing, and I had no need of additional service, I
refused to take him, and he went home greatly disappointed. We were
all in fine health and spirits, from the two days’ rest, and our ships
of the Desert sailed briskly along the sands, with the palmy coasts
green and fair on our right. For some miles from the town the land is
tolerably well cultivated, but the grain was all much younger than in
the neighborhood of Old Dongola. Beyond this, the country was again
deserted and melancholy; everywhere villages in ruin, fields given up to
sand and thorns, and groves of date trees wasting their vigor in rank,
unpruned shoots. The edge of the Desert was covered with graveyards to
a considerable extent, each one boasting its cluster of pyramids and
cones, raised over the remains of holy shekhs. Towards noon I dismounted
for breakfast in a grove of sont trees, but had no sooner seated myself
on my carpet, than the small black flies came in such crowds that I was
scarcely able to eat. They assailed my temples, ears, eyes and nostrils,
and it was utterly impossible to drive them away. I was half crazy
with the infliction, and at night my neck and temples were swollen and
covered with blotches worse than those made by mosquito stings. In fact,
mosquitoes are mild and merciful in comparison. Had not my road been
mostly in the Desert, away from the trees, I could scarcely have endured
the journey. The few inhabitants along the river kindled fires of green
wood and sat in the smoke.
In the afternoon the monotony of the Desert on the western bank was
broken by a solitary mountain of a remarkable form. It precisely
resembled an immense coffin, the ends being apparently cut square off,
and as the effect of a powerful mirage lifted it above the horizon,
it seemed like the sarcophagus of the Prophet, in the Kaaba, to be
suspended between heaven and earth. The long island of Argo, which I
saw occasionally across an arm of the Nile, appeared rich and well
cultivated. It belongs mostly to Melek Hammed, King of Dongola, who was
expected at home the day I passed, on his return from Cairo, where he had
been three months or more, for the purpose of representing to Abbas Pasha
the distressed condition of the country, and obtaining some melioration
of the system of misrule inflicted upon it. Near the town of Argo, on
the opposite side of the island my map indicated a ruined temple, and
I made a strong effort to see it; but at Binni, which was the nearest
point, there was no ferry, and the people knew nothing of the temple nor
of any thing else. I left the main road and followed the bank, but the
terrible flies drove me away, and so, maddened and disgusted, I came at
last to a _sakia_, where the people informed me that the ferry was still
ahead and the ruins already some distance behind me. They said this
deliberately and carelessly, sitting like black spectres in the midst of
thick smoke, while I was crazily beating my ears. “Tell the caravan to
go ahead,” I said to Achmet, at length, “and don’t talk to me of temples
until we have got away from these flies.”
The next morning Achmet had some difficulty in awaking me, so wrapt was
I in dreams of home. I sat shivering in the cool air, trying to discover
who and where I was, but the yellow glimmer of my tent-lining in the
dim light of dawn soon informed me. During the day we passed through
a more thickly settled country, and owing to the partial cultivation
of the soil, were less troubled by that Nubian plague, which is always
worse about the ruined villages and the fields given up to halfeh grass.
It was market-day at the village of Hafier, and we met and passed many
natives, some with baskets of raw cotton and some with grain. I noticed
one man riding a donkey and carrying before him a large squash, for which
he would possibly get twenty paràs (2½ cents). My camel-men, who had
neglected to buy dourra in El Ordee, wanted to stop until noon in order
to get it, and as I would not wait, remained behind.
The scenery had a wild and picturesque air, from the isolated mountain
peaks, which now appeared on both sides of the river Djebel Arambo, with
its high, precipitous sides and notched summit, stood steeped in soft
purple vapor—a beautiful object above the long lines of palms and the
green level of the islands in the river. The fields on the western bank
were mostly taken up with young wheat, though I saw a single one of ripe
barley, which a black Baràbra was reaping, cutting off the stalks about
one-third of the way below the heads, and depositing them in heaps. By
noon, I knew from the landmarks that we must be opposite the island of
Tombos, where there are some ruins. I made inquiries for it, but the bank
was almost deserted, and the few inhabitants I found gathered in straw
huts here and there among the rank palm-groves, could tell me nothing
about it. All agreed, however, that there was no ferry at this part of
the Nile, and to swim across was out of the question. The crocodiles
swarm here, and are quite delicate in their tastes, much preferring white
flesh to black. So my hope of Tombos vanished like that of Argo.
Beyond the island is a little ruined village, called Hannek, and here
I took leave of Dar Dongola, in which I had been travelling ten days,
and entered Dar El-Màhass, the kingdom of my friend Melek Dyaab. The
character of the country changed on the very border. Long ridges of
loose blocks of sandstone and granite, as at Assouan and Akaba Gerri,
in Soudân, appeared in front, at first on the western bank, but soon
throwing their lines across the stream and forming weirs and rapids in
its current. The river is quite narrow, in some places not a hundred
yards broad, and leads a very tortuous course, bearing away towards the
north-west, until it meets the majestic barrier of Djebel Foga, when it
turns to the north-east. About two hours after passing Djebel Arambo,
which stands opposite the northern extremity of Tombos, we reached the
large and hilly island of Mosul, where the river divides its waters and
flows for several miles through deep, crooked, rocky channels, before
they meet again. Here there is no cultivation, the stony ridges running
to the water’s edge. The river-bed is so crowded and jammed with granite
rocks, that from the shore it appears in some places to be entirely cut
off. At this point there are three castellated mud ruins in sight, which
at a distance resemble the old feudal fortresses of Europe. The one
nearest which we passed was quadrangular, with corner bastions, three
round and one square, all tapering inward towards the top. The lower
part of the wall was stone and the upper part mud, while the towers
were nearly fifty feet high. That on an island in the river, strongly
resembled an Egyptian temple, with its pylons, porticoes, and walls of
circuit. They were evidently built before the Turkish invasion, and were
probably frontier forts of the Kings of El-Màhass; to prevent incursions
from the side of Dongola.
We reached the eastern base of Djebel Foga about four o’clock, and I
thought it best to encamp, on account of the camel-men, who had a walk
of twenty-three miles with bags of dourra on their shoulders, before
they could reach us. I had no sooner selected a place for my tent, on
the top of a high bank overlooking the river, than they appeared, much
fatigued and greatly vexed at me for leaving them in the lurch. I ordered
my pipe to be filled, and smoked quietly, making no reply to their loud
complaints, and in a short time the most complete harmony prevailed in
our camp. The Nile at this place flowed in the bottom of a deep gorge,
filled with rocks. The banks were almost perpendicular, but covered with
a rich growth of halfeh, which our camels greedily cropped, at the hazard
of losing their balance and tumbling down into the river. I fancied there
was already a taste of Egypt in the mountain air, and flattered myself
that I had breathed the last of the languid atmosphere of Soudân.
The next morning led us deeper into the rocky chaos. The bed of the Nile
was properly a gorge, so deep was it sunk among the stony hills, and
confined within such narrow limits. The ridges of loose blocks of granite
and porphyry roll after each other like waves, and their crests assume
the most fantastic variety of forms. They are piled in heaps and balanced
on each other, topped with round boulders or thrown together in twos and
threes, as if some brood of Titan children had been at play in those
regions and were frightened away in the midst of their employment. It is
impossible to lose the impression that some freak of human or superhuman
fancy gave the stones their quaint grouping. Between the ridges are
shallow hollows, terminating towards the west in deep, rocky clefts, and
opening on the river in crescent-like coves, between the jaggy headlands
which tumble their boulders into its bed. High peaks, or rather conical
piles of porphyry rock, rise here and there out of this sterile chaos.
Toward the east, where the Nile winds away in a long chain of mazy
curves, they form ranges and show compact walls and pinnacles. The few
palms and the little eddies of wheat sprinkled along both banks of the
river, are of a glorious depth and richness of hue, by contrast with
the gray and purple wastes of the hills. In the sweet, clear air of the
morning, the scenery was truly inspiring, and I rode over the high ridges
in a mood the very opposite of that I had felt the day previous.
The Nile makes a great curve through the land of Màhass, to avoid which
the road passes through an _akaba_, about forty miles in length. At the
corner, where the river curves at a right angle from west to south, is a
small ruined place called Fakir Bender. The high bank is a little less
steep here than at other places, and its sides are planted with lupins.
At the end of the village is an immense sont tree, apparently very old.
A large earthen water-jar, with a gourd beside it, stood in the shade.
The _fakeer_, or holy man, from whom the place is named, was soon in
attendance, and as our camels knelt under the tree, presented me with a
gourd of cool water, “in the name of God.” I gave him ten paràs before
we left, but he did not appear to be satisfied, for these holy men have
great expectations. I ordered two water-skins filled, and after an hour’s
delay, we entered on the akaba.
Over rough and stony ridges, which made hard travelling for the camels,
we came upon a rolling plain, bounded in the distance by a chain of
hills, which we reached by the middle of the afternoon. The path, instead
of seeking a pass or gorge, led directly up the side, which, though not
very high, was exceedingly steep and covered with loose sand, up which
the camels could scarcely climb. The top was a stratum of red porphyry,
cropping out of the sand in immense masses. Behind us the dreary Desert
extended to Djebel Foga and the mountains about the cataract: the palms
of the Nile were just visible in the distance. Crossing the summit ridge,
we entered a narrow plateau, surrounded by naked black peaks—a most
savage and infernal landscape. The northern slope was completely covered
with immense porphyry boulders, among which our path wound. Nearly every
rock had a pile of small stones heaped upon it, as a guide to caravans,
and merely for descending this ridge there were at least two hundred of
them. The plain now extended away to the north and east, bounded by a
confusion of black, barren mountains, out of which rose two lofty peaks.
Towards evening we met a Nubian family, with their donkeys, on their way
southward. They begged for water, which we gave them, as their supply
was entirely exhausted. I found a bed of hard gravel large enough for
my tent, but we had great difficulty in driving the pegs. The camel-men
selected the softest places among the rocks for their beds, but the
camels stretched their long necks on all sides in the vain search for
vegetation. I sat at my tent door, and watched the short twilight of the
South gather over the stony wilderness, with that strange feeling of
happiness which the contemplation of waste and desolate landscapes always
inspires. There was not a blade of grass to be seen; the rocks, which
assumed weird and grotesque forms in the twilight, were as black as ink;
beyond my camp there was no life in the Desert except the ostrich and the
hyena—yet I would not have exchanged the charm of that scene for a bower
in the gardens of the Hesperides.
The dawn was glimmering gray and cold when I arose, and the black
summits of the mountains showed dimly through a watery vapor. The air,
however, was dry, though cool and invigorating, and I walked ahead for
two hours, singing and shouting from the overflow of spirits. I hoped
to catch a glimpse of the Nile before mounting my dromedary, but one
long black ridge of stones rose after another, and there was no sudden
flash of green across the darkness of the Desert. At last, towards noon,
through a notch in the drear and stony chaos, the double line of palms
appeared in the north east. The river came from the east, out of the
black mountain wilderness. The valley is very narrow, and cultivation
is only possible in the coves of soil embayed among the hills. I came
down on one of them—a meadow of halfeh, back of the little village of
Koyee—and stopped an hour to rest the camels. A caravan of merchants,
bound for Kordofan and Dar-Fūr, had just encamped there, to rest during
the hot hours, according to their custom. Among them were some _hadji_,
or pilgrims from Dar-Fūr, on their way home from Mecca, and a negro from
Fazogl, who had belonged to a European, and had lived in Naples. He was
now free and going home, wearing a shabby Frank dress, but without money,
as he came at once to beg of me. A Nubian woman came from the huts near
at hand, bringing me a large gourd of buttermilk, which I shared with the
camel-drivers.
I set the camels in motion again, and we entered a short akaba, in order
to cross a broad stony ridge, which advanced quite to the river’s edge.
The path was up and down the sides of steep hollows, over a terrible
waste of stones. Down these hollows, which shelved towards the river, we
saw the palms of the opposite bank—a single dark-green line, backed by
another wilderness, equally savage. Through all this country of Màhass
the Desert makes a desperate effort to cut off the glorious old River. It
flings rocks into its bed, squeezes him between iron mountains, compels
him to turn and twist through a hundred labyrinths to find a passage,
but he pushes and winds his way through all, and carries his bright
waters in triumph down to his beloved Egypt. There was, to me, something
exceedingly touching in watching his course through that fragment of the
pre-Adamite chaos—in seeing the type of Beauty and Life stealing quietly
through the heart of a region of Desolation and Death. From the stony
slopes of the hills I looked down on his everlasting palms with the same
old joy new-created in my heart.
After passing the akaba, I came to a village which I took to be Soleb,
but on inquiring, the people pointed ahead. I rode on, around a slight
curve of the trees, and was startled by a landscape of most unexpected
interest and beauty. Before me, over the crest of a black, rocky ridge,
a cluster of shattered pillars stood around the falling doorway of a
temple, the whole forming a picturesque group, cut clear against the
sky. Its tint of soft yellow-gray, was finely relieved by the dark green
of the palms and the pure violet of some distant jagged peaks on the
eastern bank. Beyond it, to the west, three peaks of white and purple
limestone rock trembled in the fiery glare from the desert sands. The
whole picture, the Desert excepted, was more Grecian than Egyptian, and
was perfect in its forms and groupings. I know of no other name for the
ruin than the Temple of Soleb. It was erected by Amunoph III. or Memnon,
and the Arcadian character of the landscape of which it is the central
feature, harmonized thoroughly with my fancy, that Amunoph was a poet.
The temple stands on the west bank, near the river, and from whatever
point it is viewed, has a striking effect. The remains consist of a
portico, on a raised platform, leading to a court once surrounded by
pillars. Then follows a second and more spacious portico, with a double
row of three pillars on each side. This opens upon a second pillared
court, at the opposite end of which is a massive doorway, leading to
the adyta of the temple, now completely levelled to the earth. The
entire length of the ruin is about two hundred feet. There are nine
pillars, with a single block of their architrave, and portions of two of
the porticoes still standing: the remainder of the temple is a mass of
ruins. The greatest pains have been taken to destroy it completely, and
all the mound on which it stands is covered with huge blocks, thrown one
over the other in the wildest confusion. In one place, only, I noticed
the disjointed segments of a column, still lying as they fell. The
pedestals remain in many places, so that one can partially restore the
original order. When complete, it must have been a majestic and imposing
edifice. The material is the white limestone of the adjacent mountains,
veined with purple streaks, and now much decomposed from the sun and
rain. From the effect of this decomposition, the columns which remain
standing are cracked and split in many places, and in the fissures thus
made, numbers of little swallows and starlings have built their nests,
where they sit peeping out through the sculptures of gods. The columns
and doorways are covered with figures, now greatly blurred, though still
legible. I noticed a new style of joining the portrait of a monarch with
his cartouche, the latter representing his body, out of which his head
and arms issued, like the crest of a coat of arms. The columns represent
the stalks of eight water-plants bound together, with a capital, or
rather prolonged abacus, like the Osiride column. They are thirty feet in
height, without the pedestal, and five feet in diameter. This is the sum
of my observations: the rest belongs to the antiquarian.
Before night, we passed a third akaba, to get around the limestone ridge,
which here builds a buttress of naked rock over the Nile, and at sunset
again saw the palms—but this time the renowned palms of Dar Sukkôt, for
we had crossed the border of Dar El-Màhass. They lined the river in a
thick grove of stems, with crowns of leafy luxuriance. The village of
Noolwee, scattered for half a mile in their shade, was better built than
any I saw in Dongola. Many of the houses were inclosed in square courts,
and had a second story, the massive mud walls sloping towards each other
like a truncated pyramid. Achmet, Ali and myself bought about fifty
piastres worth of the celebrated dates of Sukkôt. They were the largest
and best flavored I ever saw, and are said to preserve their quality
for years. They are sold at a piastre for an earthen measure containing
about two hundred. When gathered, they are first slightly dried in the
large magazines, and then buried in the earth. The population of Sukkôt
subsists apparently on the profits of selling them, for little else is
cultivated along the river. Even here, nevertheless, where the people are
better able to bear the grinding rule of Egypt, one meets with deserted
fields and ruined dwellings. The King of El-Màhass informed me, when
in Khartoum, that his people were obliged to pay six hundred piastres
(thirty dollars) tax on each water-mill, being just double the lawful
amount, (which, alone, is very oppressive), and that his country was fast
becoming depopulated, in consequence.
On the following day I passed the large island of Sai. The country
here is more open and the Nile has a less vexed course. The mountains,
especially the lofty blue mass of Djebel Abyr, have not the forced and
violent forms common to the porphyry formation. Their outlines are long,
sloping, and with that slight but exquisite undulation which so charmed
me in the hills of Arcadia, in Greece, and in Monte Albano near Rome.
Their soft, clear, pale-violet hue showed with the loveliest effect
behind the velvety green of the thick palm clusters, which were parted
here and there by gleams of the bright blue river. From the northern end
of Sai, the river gradually curves to the east. The western shore is
completely invaded by the sands, and the road takes a wide sweep inland
to avoid the loose, sliding drifts piled up along the bank. We had not
gone far before we found a drift of brilliant yellow sand thirty feet
high and two hundred yards in length, lying exactly across our road. It
had evidently been formed within a few days. It was almost precisely
crescent-shaped, and I could not account for the action of the wind in
building such a mound on an open plain, which elsewhere was entirely
free from sand. We rounded it and soon afterwards entered on a region of
sand, where to the west and north the rolling yellow waves extended to
the horizon, unbroken by a speck of any other color. It was a boundless,
fathomless sea of sand to the eye, which could scarcely bear the radiated
light playing over its hot surface. The day (for a wonder) was somewhat
overcast, and as the shadows of small clouds followed one another rapidly
over the glaring billows, they seemed to heave and roll like those of the
sea. I was forced to turn away my head, faint and giddy with the sight.
My camels tugged painfully through this region, and after two hours we
reached a single sont tree, standing beside a well, and called _sugger
el-abd_ (the Tree of the Slave). It was pointed out by the camel-men as
being half-way between El Ordee and Wadi Halfa.
We journeyed on all the afternoon through a waste of sandy and stony
ridges, and as night drew near, I became anxious to reach the river, no
trace of which could be seen. I rode up one of the highest ridges, and
lo! there were the tops of the date-groves in a hollow, not a quarter
of a mile distant, on my right. The camels’ heads were soon turned in
that direction, and I encamped at once on the bank, where my beasts
found sufficient grass and thorns for the first time in three days. The
river here flows in a deep channel, buried among the hills, and there is
neither cultivation nor population on the western bank. On the opposite
side there was a narrow strip of soil, thickly planted with date-trees.
My camel-men kindled a fire in the splendid moonlight, and regaled
themselves with the hind-quarters of a hyena, which they roasted in
the coals and devoured with much relish. I had curiosity enough to eat
a small piece, which was well-flavored though tough. The Nile roared
grandly below our camp all night, in the pauses of the wind.
[Illustration: Abou-Sin, my Dromedary.]