that I proposed, but I never felt more severely the responsibility I
was under for others, whose lives were at stake with my own, than when
forming that lingering determination. It seemed foolhardy to think of
travelling without our guide, only directed by the stars, in this totally
uninhabited and barren mountainous land, lost as we already were, and
brought still more out of our right direction by the crossed and crooked
paths we had pursued during the night; nevertheless, it was our last
resource.
After deliberating for some time, we determined to ride back to the
principal valley, which we had passed through that morning so full of
hope; the endless variety of bare, jagged mountain precipices, however,
and the valleys without a tree or bush, filled only with rubbish and
loose stones, leave such a completely uniform impression, that none of us
would ever have recognised this principal valley, had we not felt sure
that we were right by the direction and probable distance. At the outlet
of this valley we were obliged again to enter the region of the lower
hills, between which, towards the south, it seemed at least there was a
possibility of finding the Arab huts, as I had taken the position of the
magnet, with reference to the highest point of Dochân, from the mountain
fortress, which was not too far removed from that spot. The huts, indeed,
were so concealed, that we might ride past them at a short distance
without observing them; perhaps, even the mats might to-day be set up in
a different place. Thus we were lost in the wide, burning desert, without
a guide, tormented by increasing hunger and thirst, and so far as human
calculation went, wholly in the hands of chance. Silently we descended
in the burning, mid-day heat, each occupied with his own reflections,
when suddenly—I shall never forget that moment—two men emerged from the
nearest angle of the rock; they rushed towards us, embraced our knees,
kissed our hands, offered us water from their pitchers, and continued to
repeat their congratulations and salutations with touching joy. “El hamdu
l’illah!” Praised be God! sounded from all sides. We were saved.
Our caravan, from which the two Arabs came, had as usual followed our
traces, and therefore, like us, got into the wrong road; but Ibrahim Aga,
soon perceiving our error, had halted early in the day, and during the
night kindled small fires on some of the hills with the scanty materials
for burning which had been collected with difficulty, and he had almost
fired off all his powder. But the wind blew towards the opposite
quarter, and we heard none of the signals of our anxious comrades. The
following morning they had proceeded onwards, and owing to Sheikh Selâm’s
surprising knowledge of the locality, though he had only once been
here above five-and-twenty years before, they reached the road to the
spring. Nevertheless, Ibrahim Aga made the caravan encamp one hour before
arriving at it, as all traces of us had disappeared, and anxious about
our fate, he sent patrols of Arabs into the mountains in search of us.
How strange, then, that during this very quarter of an hour we should
have again struck into the great valley, where we could not fail to
meet this message. As we had reached our side valley over the mountain,
no marks of our beasts could lead thither, as here these generally
disappeared upon the stones; had we therefore started but a few minutes
later, they would certainly have passed us, and had we descended the
valley earlier than this, we should have forthwith bent our steps to the
right towards the huts, and turned our backs on the caravan, encamped far
away on our left hand.
About two o’clock we reached the encampment, which we entered amidst
universal cries of joy. The greatest surprise was expressed at not
finding Selîm with us—he was given up by all. I would not, however, allow
the camp to break up, but had the camels at once led alone to the spring.
The Arabs were again sent into the mountains in search of Selîm, and I
remained the rest of the day quietly in my tent.
Towards evening some Arabs returned from the spring, bearing with
them, upon a camel, Selîm, hardly in possession of his senses, his
feet bleeding and bound up. He had been found speechless, lying beside
the reservoir of water, his mouth open, his body swollen from having
taken an immoderate draught of the water. How he came there we could
not immediately learn, for he answered none of our questions. He
must, however, have at length found his way out of the high mountains
accidentally, or by the wonderful faculty possessed by the Arab of
following tracks. At present, perhaps, it was rather his fears of the
serious consequences which might ensue from the wretched trick he had
played us which rendered him speechless. When he observed that he had
excited our compassion, he very soon recovered. I no longer, however,
retained him near my person, but for the remainder of the journey took
the old, trustworthy Sheikh Selâm as our guide in front, and left the
former behind with the caravan.
GEBEL DOCHÂN, the porphyry mountain, our real object in this district,
and which had occasioned the whole enterprise, now after all lay
far behind us. We had been riding for several hours continuously
at its base, as I had suspected even the day before, in spite of
Selîm’s assurance to the contrary, for we had incorrectly fancied the
spring was in its neighbourhood. None of the caravan had ever seen
the stone-quarries and the remains of the ancient colony of workmen.
Nevertheless, I determined to venture upon a second attempt the following
day, which was successful.
I set out at daybreak with Max, the Sheikh Selâm, and a young, active
Arab. The huts had not been observed by the caravan, and were also
situated too much towards the east for us. We therefore rode straight
towards the highest point of the group of Dochân. It so chanced, that
just as we were in the neighbourhood of the river, we met an Abâdi from
one of the huts with some camels, for which he was seeking out some
pasture ground. With his assistance we soon attained our object.
We first found the large opening to a well built up with unhewn stones;
it was 12 feet in diameter, but was now fallen to pieces and filled
up with rubbish. Five pillars were still standing on the western
side, most likely formerly belonging to a covered hall; a sixth was
demolished. Three hundred paces farther up the valley a temple, now in
ruins, was erected on a granite rock projecting from the left side of
the valley. The walls were formed of unhewn stones, the finer parts of
the architecture were, however, very delicately chiselled out of red
granite. A staircase of twenty steps led from the north to the paved
outer court, which was surrounded by a wall, and in the middle stood a
rough granite altar. On the left hand four cell-chambers were attached
to this court, the most southern of which, however, had partly fallen
with its rock-basis. Another small chamber had been joined to these as
the rock offered space for it, in which stood a tolerably large altar,
but also without inscriptions. In front of these chambers, in the centre
of the court, at an elevation of several feet, and with a foundation of
sharply-cut blocks of granite, rose an Ionic portico, which consisted
of four monolithic slender and swelling granite columns, whose bases
and voluted capitals, with the blocks of the gables and architraves, lay
scattered around in ruins. The long dedicatory inscriptions mentioned
that the temple had been consecrated under the Emperor HADRIAN to ZEUS
HELIOS SERAPIS, by the Eparch, Rammius Martialis. To the left of the well
the ruins of the town are situated on an elevated spot. It was in the
form of a square, and, as usual, fortified with towers. In the centre
there was another well, the chief requisite of every station, built of
burnt bricks, and covered with a coating of lime. Eight rough, slender,
granite pillars form the entrance to the well.
An ancient precipitous road leads to the adjoining mountain, and conducts
to the porphyry quarries, which were situated immediately beneath
its summit; they furnished the beautiful deep red porphyry which is
displayed in so many monuments of the imperial time. Broad veins of it,
which were worked to a considerable depth, passed between another kind
of rock of a blue colour, sprinkled with white, and a rock of almost a
red brick colour. We found five or six quarries beside each other, the
largest about 40 paces square. I could nowhere discover wedge-holes
for splitting; on the contrary, the bluish rock immediately beside the
quarry, which was pulverised nearly as fine as sand, seemed to indicate
the application of fire. In the town, also, I found lofty and peculiar
heaps of ashes.
From the quarries I ascended to the summit of the mountain, affording
an extensive and glorious prospect over the mountains in the immediate
vicinity to the plain, which declined rapidly from the hilly district to
a sandy level extending to the sea; and on the opposite side of the blue
surface of the water, we descried the lofty range of Tôr. After I had
taken a number of observations with the compass I re-descended, and after
sunset once more reached our camp at the MOIE MESSÂID.
The 19th of March we crossed the plain to the ENNED mountains, stretching
along the sea-coast, which we traversed by a valley running diagonally
across them. An abundant spring here came to the surface, whose rippling
waters accompanied us for a long while. It might be considered the _Fons
Tadnos_ of Pliny, as its water has only recently become brackish and
undrinkable, from the bed of natron on the surface. We left the ruins
of ABU SCHAR, the ancient _Myos hormos_ or _Philoteras portus_, on our
right, and encamped on the peninsula of GIMSCHEH, which is called by the
Arabs, KEBRIT, from the sulphur which is there obtained.
Yesterday morning we rode to the Bay of Gebel Zeït, between the Enned
mountains and the sea-shore. The Range of Tôr, which floated before
sunrise in a milky blue colour over the surface of the sea, stood out
faintly from the sky; its outline only disappeared with the rising sun.
After mid-day we arrived at GEBEL ZEÏT, the oil mountain. Our vessel,
which had been appointed to meet us from Kossêr, made the voyage from
thence in six days, and had already waited four days for our arrival. The
camels were dismissed here, and returned the same evening.
One quarter of an hour north of our anchorage were the ZEITIEH; such is
the name given to five or six pits, hollowed out in the sandy shore, or
in the rock, and which fill with blackish-brown naphtha, like syrup. A
few years ago researches were set on foot by Em Bey, who was in hopes of
finding coal beneath, though hitherto they have had no success.
Yesterday evening it was a perfect calm. It was only during the night
that a light wind rose from the north, which we immediately availed
ourselves of, for setting sail. With the wind in our favour we might have
accomplished the passage across in one night; but now the day is again
drawing to a close, and we have not yet reached the port. The ship of
burden scarcely stirs, though the long oars have been at length set in
motion.
The sailors of this sea are very different from those on the Nile.
Their deportment is more reserved, less sly and subservient. Their
songs, which commence at the first stroke of the oar, consist of
fragmentary short lines, which are sung first by one, and are taken up
by another, while the remainder utter short and deep grunting sounds,
as an accompaniment, at equal intervals. The Rais, on an elevated seat,
rows along with the others. He is a negro, as well as several others
among the sailors, but one of the handsomest and strongest Moors that I
ever saw—a real Othello; when making his athletic movements, he rolls
his yellow-white eyes, shows his dazzling teeth, and gives the tone to
the song, leading it for a length of time, with a shrill, piercing, but
skilful voice.
LETTER XXXII.
_Convent on Mount Sinai, the 24th March, 1845. Easter Monday._
On the evening of Good Friday we landed in Tôr by moonlight. The harbour
is now so much sanded up, that our vessel was obliged to lie off several
hundred paces, and we were landed in a boat. We were met on shore by
the old Greek NICOLA JANNI, who had before received EHRENBERG, LEON DE
LABORDE, RÜPPELL, ISENBERG, and other well-known travellers; and he had
favourable testimonials to produce of the reception they had met with
from him. After long negotiations with the insolent Arabs, who, when they
discovered we were in a hurry, and that they were indispensable to us,
endeavoured in all ways to overreach us, we started early the day before
yesterday from Tôr, limiting ourselves to what was absolutely necessary
for the land journey; and we sent the vessel to await us at Cape ABU
ZELÎMEH.
Our road led in a due northerly direction to the mouth of WADI HEBRÂN,
across the plain of EL G´EʾAH, which, being five or six hours broad, is
situated between the sea and mountain. On first starting, however, I
made a digression to the hot springs of GEBEL HAMMÂM. They are situated
at the southern end of the isolated line of mountains, which, commencing
one hour to the north of Tôr, extends to the sea-shore. I again met
the caravan at the well of EL HAI, which is pleasantly situated, on
the direct road, between gardens of palm-trees. The ground gradually
rises from the sea-coast to beyond this well. As soon as we got an open
prospect over the whole plain, and to the lofty range which descends
towards the south-west in a steep and regularly declining chain to the
extremity of the Peninsula, I took the points of the compass, with
reference to all the places of any note, the mouths of valleys, and
summits of mountains, which the guides were able to name. About half-past
five I reached the foot of the mountain range. Here already, at the
entrance of the valley, I observed the first SINAITIC Inscription on the
black blocks of stone. A little farther on we came to the small piece of
water shaded by some palm-trees, where we spent the night.
Yesterday we traversed the WADI HEBRÂN, which separates the group of
Serbâl from the principal range of Gebel Mûsa, crossed over NAKB EL
EGAUI, which forms the water-shed between the west and east, and turning
from this point southwards, over NAKB EL HAUI, the wind-saddle, we
reached the CONVENT on Easter Sunday, as the sun was setting. We were
drawn, like other travellers, up the high wall of the fortification, to
the entrance, although there is another entrance through the convent
garden, or more level ground, but which they are only in the habit
of using from within. The aged and worthy prior, who is mentioned by
Robinson, had died that year in Cairo, and had been replaced by another,
Demetrius Nicodemus, who is said to hold the rank of a bishop.
As it is a Greek convent, instead of Easter rejoicings we came to a
strict season of fasting. But independently of that, the whole life and
habits of the four priests and twenty-one lay brothers made by no means
such an edifying impression as we might have expected to witness in
this spot. A gloomy spirit of wearisome sloth and ignorance hangs like a
cloud of mist over their discontented countenances. Yet these fugitives
from this world of cares are wandering beneath an ever cheerful sky of
moderate temperature, are alone able, of all the inhabitants of this
sultry wilderness, to refresh themselves beneath the dark shade of the
cypress, palm, and olive-tree, and have besides in their possession a
library of 1500 volumes, not in the smallest degree considering the best
purpose for which they are intended—viz., a ἰατρεῖον ψυχῆς.[63]
To-day we ascended GEBEL MÛSA. In my own imagination, and by the
descriptions of former travellers, it formed the actual centre of the
whole range; but this is not the case. Both in elevation and in the
planimetrical projection of the whole mass of the primitive range, it
forms part of the north-eastern slope. The convent in a direct line is
_three times_ as near the eastern border of the range as the western.
Even Gebel Katherîn, situated immediately to the south, is loftier than
the almost concealed summit of Gebel Mûsa, which is invisible to the
whole of the surrounding country. Still higher mountains rise on the
farther side of Katherîn, but in steps, as for example, UM RIGLIN, ABU
SCHEGERE, QETTÂR, &c., as far as UM SCHÔMAR, which towers up over all
the others, and stands in the centre of the eastern and western slope of
the whole elevation, forming the principal and most northern vertebra
of the long backbone of the range, which passes down to the south, and
determines the direction of the whole Peninsula. All the way up Gebel
Mûsa, along with the various spots which are connected with holy legends,
was a walk amidst the wildest and grandest natural features; it reminded
me of being led through a castle of historical renown, where the places
of rest and study, &c., of some great king are exhibited.
On our return from Gebel Mûsa, we ascended the actual brow of the
so-called HOREB, which Robinson regards as the TRUE SINAI instead of
Gebel Mûsa, which has hitherto been viewed as such. We passed several
hermit’s huts and chapels, till we at length reached one, situated in a
rocky basin, behind which the principal mass of Horeb rises up abruptly
and grandly. There is no accessible road to it. We clambered up, first
through a precipitous cleft in the rock, then over the brows of the rock
towards the south. About half-past five we reached the summit, just
above the great plain of Râha, on the immense round-formed mountain top,
which has such a grand appearance from the plain. Robinson seems to have
attempted this road at first, but to have given it up afterwards, and
mounted to the top of Sessâf, which certainly is loftier, but situated a
little to the westward, and does not project into the plain as the actual
central point, like the knob which we ascended.[64] Our companions, with
the exception of one active Arab boy, had remained behind, as it was, in
fact, a dangerous ascent. Even this site did not allow me to entertain
the view that Moses ever stood upon a rock that was visible from this
valley, if the narrative is to be understood in so literal a manner. We
did not ascend Gebel Katherîn, as it has fewer historical claims even
than Gebel Mûsa.
LETTER XXXIII.
_On the Red Sea, the 6th April, 1845._
I shall employ our tranquil sea voyage, which will last for several days
longer, in arranging the various materials I have collected on the
Peninsula, and combining the principal events of this episode in our
journey. I shall send a more detailed account of it from Thebes.[65]
These lines, however, shall be handed over to Seïd Hussên in Qeneh, and
shall be forwarded to the north by the first opportunity.
We left the convent on the 25th March, towards evening, and passed
downwards through the broad WADI E’ SCHEIKH. I selected this roundabout
way, as formerly, before the wild defile of Nakb el Haui was rendered
passable, this valley was the only way by which the Israelites, if they
were desirous of marching to the plains of Râha, could have reached that
spot.[66] We spent the night in the upper part of the valley, near the
tomb of the holy SHEIKH SALIH, from whom it receives the name of WADI
E’ SCHEIKH. In the lower portion of the valley we first meet with the
manna-yielding shrubs of Tarfa,[67] and the Sinaitic inscriptions on
the sides of the valley become more frequent. But before reaching the
outlet of the valley, we quitted it and climbed over to our left into
the WADI SELÂF, which lower down joins the Wadi e’ Scheikh, in order to
reach the foot of SERBÂL, by the shortest road from this. We had already
frequently seen at every opening on the road the huge rocky summit rising
above the surrounding mountainous district, and the accounts given us by
the Arabs, of the fertile and irrigated WADI FIRÂN at its base, had long
made me desirous of becoming better acquainted with it. I had resolved to
ascend the mountain, and therefore made them lead us into the WADI RIM,
that runs down from the mountain into the Wadi Selâf, which passes along
Serbâl. After riding upwards of an hour in this valley, we came to an
old stone hut, which might have once sheltered a hermit; soon afterwards
we found some Arab tents, and at a short distance beyond these, several
Sittere-trees, which we selected for our place of encampment.
On the 27th March we rose early to ascend the mountain Derb e’ Serbâl.
The true road to Serbâl leads from WADI FIRÂN through Wadi Aleyât to
the mountain. We were forced to go round its south-eastern extremity,
and ascend behind from the south, as it would have been far beyond our
powers to clamber up the heights through the Rim ravine, which descends
precipitously, and in a direct line between the two eastern summits. One
quarter of an hour above our encampment we came to a spring, shaded by
Nebek, Hamâda, and Palm-trees, whose fresh, pure water, was walled round
to the depth of several feet. We then climbed over a small rib of the
mountain, on which there again stood several ancient stone houses, down
into another branch of the Rim valley (Rim el mehâsni), and in an hour
and a half reached the south-eastern angle of the mountain. From this
point we pursued a paved road of rock, which was even sometimes supported
by masonry work. This led us to an artificial terrace and a wall, the
remains, as it appeared, of a house that had been destroyed, and to
a cool spring, shaded by tall reeds, a palm-tree, and several Jassur
bushes[68] (from which the Moses rods are cut); the whole mountain is
here overgrown with Habak, and other sweet-smelling herbs. Some minutes
farther on we came to several caves in the rock, which once served as
hermit’s cells; and after wandering for almost four hours we reached a
small plateau spreading out between the summits, where we again found
a house with two rooms. A road led over this level ground to the edge
of the western side of the mountain, which sinks at first steep and
rugged, then in more gently-inclined wide ribs, to the sandy plain of EL
G´EʾAH, and here disclosed to me across the sea a glorious prospect of
the opposite coast, and the Egyptian chain of mountains bounding it. From
this point the rock-path suddenly descended along the ragged mountain
declivity into a wild, deep basin, round which the five summits of Serbâl
meet in a semicircle, forming one mighty crown. In the middle of this
basin, called WADI SIʾQELJI, are the ruins of an old convent, to which
the mountain path leads, which unfortunately we had not time to visit.[69]
I therefore returned across the level space, and then began to ascend
the most southern of the summits of Serbâl. When I had almost got to
the top of the precipitous height, I thought I observed that the second
summit was somewhat higher, and therefore hastened down again, and sought
out a way to reach this. We passed a small piece of water, and were
obliged to go almost round the whole basin, till we at length succeeded
in clambering up it, from the north-east side. Here, to my astonishment,
between the two points into which the summit is divided, I found a small
level valley, plentifully supplied with shrubs and herbs, and from this
I first ascended the one, then the other point, and by the assistance
of my guide, who was conversant with the spot, I took the points of
the compass with reference to all the places of note which might here
be surveyed in the wide horizon. For instance, I could clearly perceive
how the mountain summits beyond Gebel Mûsa continue to rise higher, and
that the distant UM SCHÔMAR rose above all the others. We did not set
out on our return till four o’clock, so that we were obliged to avoid
the circuitous road by which we had ascended, unless we were desirous of
being overtaken by darkness. We therefore determined to leap down, from
block to block like chamois, and follow the precipitous rocky ravine,
which led almost in a straight line to our camp in Wadi Rim, and in two
hours and a half, with trembling knees, we reached our tent by this
impracticable path, the most difficult and the most fatiguing that I ever
trod in the whole course of my life.