RETURN TO EGYPT.
I Lose my Sunshine, and Regain it—Nubian Scenery—Derr—The
Temple of Amada—Mysterious Rappings—Familiar Scenes—Halt at
Korosko—Escape from Shipwreck—The Temple of Sebooa—Chasing
other Boats—Temple of Djerf Hossayn—A Backsheesh
Experiment—Kalabshee—Temple of Dabôd—We reach the Egyptian
Frontier.
The distressing coldness of the temperature the night before reaching
Wadi Halfa, affected me more painfully than all the roastings I had
endured in Soudân. My nose after losing six coats of skin, became so
hard and coppery, that like Anthony Van Corlear’s, the reflected rays
from it might have pierced even the tough skin of a crocodile. My frame
was so steeped in heat, that had our fuel fallen short, I might have
“drawn” my tea, by hugging the kettle in my arms. I had been so bathed
and rolled in light, the sun had so constantly, with each succeeding day,
showered upon me his burning baptism, that I came to regard myself as
one of his special representatives, and to fancy that, wherever I went,
there was a sort of nimbus or radiation around me. But those few drops
of rain, among the stony mountains of the Batn El-Hadjar, quenched at
once the glow of my outer surface, and the cold winds which followed,
never ceased blowing till they extinguished even the central fires. I
was like an incipient comet, snuffed out of existence and made satellite
to some frozen planet. My frame was racked with pains, which turned into
misery the refreshing indolence of the Nile. I had no medicines, but put
my philosophy into practice: the climate of Nubia, I said, has given me
this infliction, therefore the country must supply the remedy. So I sent
the raïs ashore in search of it. He came back with a cup of oil which a
shining daughter of the land was about bestowing upon her crispy tresses,
and I drank it with a heroic faith in the efficacy of my theory. I was
not disappointed, and on the third day sat once more in the sun, in the
bow of my boat, trying to regain the effluence I had lost.
The scenery of the Nile below Abou-Simbel is very beautiful. The
mountains recede again from the bank, and show themselves occasionally
in picturesque peaks. The shores are low and rich and the groves of
date-trees most luxuriant. The weather was delightfully calm and warm,
and the Nile, though swift, ran smooth and shining as the oil of his own
castor bean-fields. During the sweet, quiet hour before and after sunset,
we floated down through the lovely region about Bostàn and Teshka. Three
tall peaks of dark-brown rock rose inland, beyond the groves of the
beautiful Ibreemee palm, whose leaves, longer and more slender than those
of the Egyptian date-tree, are gracefully parted at the sides—half of
them shooting upward in a plumy tuft, while the other half droop around
the tall shaft of the tree. The boys worked during the second night with
unabated force. I awoke as the moon was rising through black clouds,
and found the lofty crags of Ibreem overhanging us. We swept silently
under the base of the heights, which in the indistinct light, appeared to
rise four or five hundred feet above us. By sunrise, the date-groves of
Derr, the capital of the Nuba country, were in sight, and we were soon
moored beside the beach in front of the town. Derr stretches for some
distance along the shore, and presents an agreeable front to the river. A
merchant, from a boat near ours, brought me two small loaves of delicious
Egyptian bread. He had been in Soudân, and knew how such bread would
relish, after the black manufacture of that country.
An hour afterwards my boat ran to the eastern bank, to allow me to visit
the little temple of Amada. This temple stands on a slight rise in the
sands, which surround and entirely overwhelm it. It consists only of a
low portico, supported by eight pillars, a narrow corridor and the usual
three chambers—all of very small dimensions. The sculptures on the walls
are remarkable for the excellent preservation of their colors. The early
Christians, who used this temple for their worship, broke holes in the
roof, which admit sufficient light for the examination of the interior.
Without knowing any thing of the hieroglyphic inscriptions on the temple,
I should judge that it was erected by some private person or persons.
The figures making the offerings have not the usual symbols of royalty,
and the objects they present consist principally of the fruits of the
earth, which are heaped upon a table placed before the divinity. The
coloring of the fruit is quite rich and glowing, and there are other
objects which appear to be cakes or pastry. While I was examining the
central chamber I heard a sound as of some one sharply striking one of
the outside pillars with a stick. It was repeated three times with an
interval between, and was so clear and distinct that I imagined it to be
Achmet, following me. I called, but on receiving no answer, went out, and
was not a little surprised to find no person there or within sight. The
temple stands at a considerable distance from any dwelling, and there is
no place in the smooth sands on all sides of it where a man could hide.
When I mentioned this circumstance, on returning to the boat, Achmet and
the raïs immediately declared it to be the work of a _djin_, or afrite,
who frequently are heard among the ruins, and were greatly shocked when
I refused to accept this explanation. I record the circumstance to show
that even in the heart of Nubia there are mysterious rappings.
Beyond Derr I entered the mountain region of granite, sandstone and
porphyry, which extends all the way to Assouan. As I approached Korosko,
which is only about twelve miles further, the south-wind increased till
it became a genuine _khamseen_, almost blotting out the landscape with
the clouds of sand which it whirled from the recesses of the Biban. We
were obliged to creep along under the bank till we reached Korosko,
where we ran up to the same old landing-place at which I had stopped in
December. The bank was eight feet higher than then, the river having
fallen that much in the mean time. There was the same house, open on
the river-side, the same old Turk sitting within, the dark sycamores
shading the bank, the dusty terrace with the familiar palms tossing their
leaves against the wind, the water-mill, the white minaret at the foot
of the mountain, and, lastly, the bold, peaked ridge of Djebel Korosko
behind. There was the very spot where my tent had stood, and where I
first mounted a dromedary for the long march through the Nubian Desert.
There was also the corner by which I turned into the mountain-pass, and
took leave of the Nile. I recognized all these points with a grateful
feeling that my long wandering in Central Africa was over, without a
single untoward incident to mar my recollection of it. I had my pipe and
carpet brought under the shade of the sycamore, while Achmet went up to
the Governor’s house, with the raïs and one of the boys. Before long, the
latter appeared with his shirt full of pigeons (for I had not forgotten
the delicious roast pigeons we took from Korosko into the Desert), then
the raïs with my sack of charcoal, the Governor having only used about
one-third of it during my absence, and finally the Governor himself.
Moussa Effendi shook me cordially by the hand and welcomed me many times,
thanking God that I had returned in safety. We sat on my carpet, talked
for an hour about my journey, took coffee, and I then left the worthy man
and his wretched village, more delighted at having seen them again than I
can well express.
The same evening, the wind veered to the north-west, nearly at
right-angles to our course, and just at dusk, as, the raïs and Ali were
rowing vigorously to keep the boat on the western side of the river (the
other being full of dangerous reefs), the rope which held the long oar in
its place broke, and Ali tumbled heels over head into the wooden cooking
bowl of the raïs. The wind carried us rapidly towards the opposite shore,
and while Ali and Lalee were trying to fix the oar in its place, we heard
the water roaring over the rocks. “O Prophet!” “O Apostle!” “Prophet of
God, help us!” were the exclamations of the raïs, but little black ’Med
Roomee, who sat at the helm, like Charlemagne on a similar occasion,
said nothing. He looked keenly through the gloom for the reef, and at
last discerned it in time for the boat to be sculled around with the
remaining oar, and brought to land just above the dangerous point. A
shipwreck in the Nile is a more serious matter than one would imagine,
who has never seen the river during a strong wind. Its waves run as
roughly and roar as loudly as those of a small sea.
We reached Sebooa during the night, and I walked up to the temple as soon
as I rose. Early as it was, several Arabs descried me from a distance,
and followed. The temple, which is small and uninteresting, is almost
buried under drifts from the Desert, which completely fill its interior
chambers. Only the portico and court, with three pillars on each side,
to which colossal caryatides are attached, remain visible. Before the
pylon there is an avenue of lion-headed sphinxes, six of which, and a
colossal statue of sandstone, raise their heads above the sand. I was
followed to the vessel by the men, who importuned me for backsheesh. When
I demanded what reason they had for expecting it, they answered that all
strangers who go there give it to them. This was reason enough for them;
as they knew not why it was given, so they knew not why it should be
refused. The crowd of travellers during the winter had completely spoiled
the Barabras. I said to the men: “You have done nothing for me; you are
beggars,”—but instead of feeling the term a reproach, they answered: “You
are right—we are beggars.” With such people one can do nothing.
For the next two days we lagged along, against a head-wind. My two
boys did the work of two men, and I stimulated them with presents of
mutton and tobacco. Three English boats (the last of the season), left
Wadi-Halfa three days before me, and by inquiring at the village, I found
I was fast gaining on them. I began to feel some curiosity concerning
the world’s doings during the winter, and as these Englishmen were at
least three months in advance of the point where I left off, they became
important objects to me, and the chase of them grew exciting. I prepared
for my encounter with them and other belated travellers on the Nile, by
making an American flag out of some stuff which I had bought for that
purpose in Dongola. The blue and white were English muslin, and the red
the woollen fabric of Barbary, but they harmonized well, and my flag,
though I say it, was one of the handsomest on the river.
The temple of Djerf Hossayn is excavated in the rock, near the summit
of a hill behind the village. A rough path, over heaps of stones,
which abound with fragments of pottery, denoting the existence of an
ancient town, leads up to it. When I reached the platform in front of
the entrance I had a convoy of more than a dozen persons, mostly stout,
able-bodied men. I determined to try an experiment, and so told them at
the start to go back, for they would get nothing; but they were not to
be shaken off. I avoided with the greatest care and patience all their
endeavors to place me under obligations to them; for these cunning
Barabras are most assiduous in their efforts to render some slight
service. If it is only kicking a stone out of your path, it constitutes a
claim for backsheesh, and they represent their case in such a way that it
would be the most glaring ingratitude on your part not to give it.
On entering the temple, the vast square pillars of the hall, with the
colossal figures attached to them, produce a striking impression. The
effect of these pillars, which fill nearly half the space of the hall
itself, is to increase its apparent dimensions, so that the temple, at
the first glance, seems to be on a grander scale than is really the
case. I had some curiosity regarding this place, from the enthusiastic
description of Warburton, and the disparaging remarks of Wilkinson. After
seeing it, I find them both correct, in a great measure. The colossal
statues of the grand hall are truly, as the latter observes, clumsy and
badly executed, and the sculptures on the walls are unworthy the age of
Remeses; but it is also true that their size, and the bulk of the six
pillars, which are lofty enough to be symmetrical, would have a fine
effect when seen at night, by the light of torches, as Warburton saw
them. All the chambers have suffered from smoke and bats, and the bigotry
of the old Christians. The walls are so black that it is difficult to
trace out the figures upon them. This, however, rather heightens the
impression of a grand, though uncouth and barbarous art, which the temple
suggests. I made but a brief visit, and marched down the hill with
the population of Djerf Hossayn in my train. The boat had gone ahead,
as the only approach to the shore was a mile or two beyond, but they
insisted on following me. I ordered them to leave, fearing lest the very
fact of their walking so far in the hot sun would induce me to break
my resolution. It would have been, indeed, a satisfaction to give ten
piastres and be freed from them, and I took no little credit to myself
for persisting in refusing them. They all dropped off at last, except
two, who came almost to the spot where the boat was moored, and only
turned back because I was in advance and ordered the raïs to move on as
soon as I got on board. I should like to know their opinion of me. I have
no doubt the people considered me the most eccentric Frank who ever came
among them.
The next morning we reached Kalabshee, and before sunrise I was standing
on the long stone platform before the temple. The pylon of hewn sandstone
rises grandly above the spacious portal, and from the exterior the
building has a most imposing air. Its interior once, probably, did not
diminish the impression thus given; but at present it is such an utter
mass of ruin that the finest details are entirely lost. The temple is
so covered with the enormous fragments of the roof and walls that it
is a work of some difficulty to examine it; but it does not repay any
laborious inspection. The outer wall which surrounds it has also been
hurled down, and the whole place is a complete wreck. I know of no temple
which has been subjected to such violence, unless it be that of Soleb in
Dar El-Màhass.
Below the temple we passed the Bab (Gate) El-Kalabshee, where the river
is hemmed in between enormous boulders of granite and porphyry. The
morning was cold and dark, and had there been firs instead of palms,
I could have believed myself on some flood among the hills of Norway.
I urged on the boys, as I wished to reach Dabôd before dark, and as
Ali, who was anxious to get back to Egypt, took a hand at the oar
occasionally, our boat touched the high bank below the temple just after
sunset. There is a little village near the place, and the reapers in
the ripe wheat-fields behind it were closing their day’s labor. One old
man, who had no doubt been a servant in Cairo, greeted me with “_buona
sera!_” Achmet followed, to keep off the candidates for backsheesh,
and I stood alone in the portico of the temple, just as the evening
star began to twinkle in the fading amber and rose. Like Kalabshee, the
temple is of the times of the Cæsars, and unfinished. There are three
chambers, the interior walls of which are covered with sculptures, but
little else is represented than the offerings to the gods. Indeed,
none of the sculptures in the temples of the Cæsars have the historic
interest of those of the Eighteenth Egyptian dynasty. The object of
the later architects appears to have been merely to cover the walls,
and consequently we find an endless repetition of the same subjects.
The novice in Egyptian art might at first be deceived by the fresher
appearance of the figures, their profusion and the neatness of their
chiselling; but a little experience will satisfy him how truly superior
were the ancient workmen, both in the design and execution of their
historic sculptures. In Dabôd, I saw the last of the Nubian temples, in
number nearly equal to those of Egypt, and after Thebes, quite equal to
them in interest. No one who has not been beyond Assouan, can presume
to say that he has a thorough idea of Egyptian art. And the Nile, the
glorious river, is only half known by those who forsake him at Philæ.
After dark, we floated past the Shaymt-el-Wah, a powerful eddy or
whirlpool in the stream, and in the night came to a small village within
hearing of the Cataract. Here the raïs had his family, and stopped to
see them. We lay there quietly the rest of the night, but with the
first glimpse of light I was stirring, and called him to his duty. The
dawn was deepening into a clear golden whiteness in the East, but a few
large stars were sparkling overhead, as we approached Philæ. Its long
colonnades of light sandstone glimmered in the shadows of the palms,
between the dark masses of the mountains on either hand, and its tall
pylons rose beyond, distinct against the sky. The little hamlets on
the shores were still in the hush of sleep, and there was no sound to
disturb the impression of that fairy picture. The pillars of the airy
chapel of Athor are perfect in their lightness and grace, when seen thus
from a boat coming down the river, with the palm-groves behind them and
the island-quay below. We glided softly past that vision of silence and
beauty, took the rapid between the gates of granite, and swept down to
the village at the head of the Cataract. The sun had just risen, lighting
up the fleet of trading boats at anchor, and the crowds of Arabs,
Egyptians and Barabras on the beach. The two English dahabiyehs I had
been chasing were rowed out for the descent of the Cataract, as I jumped
ashore and finished my travels in Nubia.