north, of which the western is the more considerable, being joined by
some smaller wadis. Just at the place of our encampment it changed its
direction, and extended from W. to E., having run in its upper course
from N.W. to S.E. After the junction, the valley runs from N. to S., and
loses for a moment almost the character of a wadi, while running over
pebbly ground; but it soon becomes once more well-bordered and adorned
with fine groups of talha-trees, and in some places exhibits a river-bed
eight feet deep, and still wet. Near a shepherd’s cave there was a very
luxuriant tree, under whose shade I lay down. Towards evening the
pilgrim-caravan of Haj ʿAbd el Káder, which had delayed so long in the
wadi, arrived. The whole valley resounded with the cries of the men and
their camels, who were all eagerly pressing towards the pond at the foot
of the steep cliffs. Fortunately we had already laid in a supply of
water; else we should not have been able to obtain any fit to drink.
[Sidenote: Sunday, July 7th.]
Owing to the camels having strayed to a great distance, we started at a
late hour, still leaving the Tawárek chiefs behind, who wanted to settle
some business with the Tawáti, and for this purpose had changed their
dirty travelling-dress for showy caftans and bernúses. We ascended the
higher level, and continued along it, crossing some small beds of
watercourses overgrown with herbage, till, after a little more than four
miles, we had to descend into a deep and wild ravine which led us to a
vale. Having again ascended, we then came to the wide and regular valley
called Erazar-n-Hágarné, bordered by steep cliffs from 150 to 200 feet
high, and richly clothed with herbage. Following the windings of this
large wadi, which evidently has received its name from the circumstance
that the Hogár or Hágara pasture their camels chiefly hereabouts, we
reached the point where it is joined by the valley called Áman sémmedné,
and encamped near a fine talha-tree in order to allow Hatíta to come up.
This valley has its name from the cold water which at times descends
from the plateau in floods, of which the deeply-worn channel bears
evident traces; it is joined at this place by an important branch-valley
and several smaller ravines.
When the heat of the sun began to decline, I took a walk through the
valley; and being attracted by a circle laid out very regularly with
large slabs like the opening of a well, I began to ascend the steep
cliffs opposite the mouth of the valley of Áman sémmedné, rising to a
height of about 500 feet, and which, as I clearly saw, had been
repeatedly ascended. The cliffs are here, as is usual in this formation,
broken into regular strata; and steep flat blocks standing upright give
them an imposing appearance. My search here, however, led only to the
discovery of the well-chiselled form of a single bullock, in exactly the
same style as that in Wadi Telísaghé, though it had suffered a little
from its exposed situation; but the whole appearance of the locality
shows that in former times it contained more of this kind. On the plain
above the cliffs is another circle regularly laid out, and, like the
many circles seen in Cyrenaica and in other parts of Northern Africa,
evidently connected with the religious rites of the ancient inhabitants
of these regions. Quartz pebbles were scattered about this part of the
valley.
Our people meanwhile had been busy laying in provision of dry herbage
for the next marches, during which we were told our camels would
scarcely find anything to feed upon; and our Tawárek friends, when they
at length arrived for their supper, did the same.
[Sidenote: Monday, July 8th.]
The caravan of the Tawáti having passed by our encampment at an early
hour, we followed betimes, having an interesting day’s march before us.
For the first three miles we still kept along the large valley, into
which masses of sand had been driven down from the plateau by the strong
east winds: further on it became dry and bare. To this succeeded an
irregular knot of hollows and plains between the sides of the plateau,
which in some places formed imposing promontories and detached
buttresses, all on one and the same level. We then began to ascend along
a sort of broad valley, which gradually assumed a regular shape, and
bore the name of Tísi. The slope of the plateau was shaped into regular
strata, the uppermost of which form steep precipices like the walls of a
castle; the lower ones slope down more gradually. Here we discovered
ahead of us, at the foot of the southern slope, the encampment of the
pilgrim-caravan, who were resting during the heat of the day. We
continued our march, always ascending, till a little after noon we
reached the edge of the pass, a perfect watershed, of more than 2000
feet elevation, descending more gradually towards the east as far as the
well of Sháraba, while towards the west it formed a steep precipice,
passable only along a most interesting gully cut into it by the water
towards the Valley of Ghát. The higher level, which rises above the pass
about 300 feet, seems to be considerably depressed in this place, where
it collects large floods of water, such as could alone cut the
remarkably wild passage through the sandstone cliffs which we were about
to descend: it is called Rálle.
The first part of it was more rough than wild, and the cliffs of the
sandstone rather rugged and split than precipitous and grand; but after
half an hour’s descent it bore evident traces of the waters that descend
from the heights, and which being here collected into one mighty stream,
with enormous power, force their way down through a narrow channel. The
defile was here encompassed by rocky walls about a hundred feet high,
half of which consisted of sandstone, while the other half was formed by
a thick deposit of marl; and a little further down it was not more than
six feet wide, and the floor and the walls were as smooth as if they had
been cut by the hand of man; but the course of the defile was rather
winding and not at all in a straight line, forming altogether a pass
easily to be defended by a very small power, and affording the Tawárek a
stronghold against any designs of conquest on the side of the Turks,
although it does not form the frontier, but is regarded as entirely
belonging to Fezzán. At the narrowest point Tawárek, as well as Arab
travellers had recorded their names.
Where the channel began to widen, there were some curious narrow gaps or
crevices on both sides, the one to the right, with its smooth rounded
surface, bearing a great similarity to the famous Ear of Dionysius in
Syracuse. The walls contained strata of chalk and ironstone; and Overweg
found here some interesting petrifactions. The crevice to the left was
less deep, and rather resembled a cell or chamber.
Having here waited some time for the boat to come up, we started
together, but had still to get through two more narrow passes of the
wadi, and at four o’clock in the afternoon entered another very narrow
defile, the steep cliffs forming it being covered with inscriptions. At
length, after a descent of altogether four hours, we emerged into the
open plain some 600 feet below, and had a wide view of the high
precipitous cliffs of the plateau, stretching out in several buttresses
into the plain, which is interrupted only by detached hills. Amongst
these was a rather remarkable one upon a terrace-like base, and opening
with three caverns towards the roadside. Ascending the terrace, I found
the westernmost of the caverns vaulted, as if by art, in the shape of a
large niche, but it was a little filled with sand; I found, however, no
inscriptions nor anything but four round holes, about nine inches in
diameter, hollowed out in a slab on the terrace in front of the cavern.
Beyond this hill, where Hatíta told us that he had once passed the heat
of the day with ʿAbd Allah (Clapperton) and the tabíb (Oudney), the
country is quite open towards the north. About sunset we encamped in the
deep Erazar-n-Tése; there were a few talha-trees and some herbage.
The following day our route lay over the dreary plain, where nothing but
the varied form of the rocky buttresses projecting from the plateau into
the plain interrupted the monotony of the prospect. Near the slope the
country seems a little less desolate; and the valley Támelelt, which
extends between two of the promontories, has even a great reputation
among the natives. In the afternoon we entered a sandy region, when we
began to ascend gradually till we reached the summit of the sand-hills.
We then continued on the higher level, where chalk protruded to the
surface. After a long march we encamped on stony ground, covered only
with a scanty growth of sebót.
On the 10th we descended a good deal from this higher ground. At first
the descent was gradual; but beyond the valley In-kássewa, which running
through high rocky ground is not so poor in herbage, we descended about
two hundred feet by steep terraces, having before us the peculiarly
serrated crest of the Akakús, and in front of it some lower offshoots
covered with sand. The bottom of the plain was a broad and entirely
naked level with hard calcareous soil, surrounded by irregular half-
decayed hilly ridges. It forms the boundary between Fezzán and the
country of the Hogár. The character of the country underwent no change
till we reached the valley Telíga, where, at an early hour in the
afternoon, we encamped near a group of talha-trees, not far from the
well, and remained for the next two days at an elevation of 1435 feet.
The valley is very shallow, now and then interrupted by some sand-hills
and adorned with some fine specimens of the ethel-tree, while broad
strips of herbage cover the more favoured spots. It runs N.W., nearly
parallel with the range of the Akakús, which remained at a distance of
three miles. It joins the valley Ilághlaghén, which again unites with
the Titábtarén; and this valley runs towards a favoured spot called
Sérdales, which we were unfortunately prevented from visiting, as Hatíta
thought we should be annoyed by the begging propensities of the people.
Copious springs, from which the whole locality takes the name of el
Awenát, irrigate and fertilize the soil, and support a village of about
the same size as Tigger-odé, inhabited by about a hundred families,
while in the gardens corn, melons, and ghédeb are produced in tolerable
quantity. The water of the springs is said to be warm. We saw a party of
Hágara from that place, who called on our friends; they were fine men
and neatly dressed.
The water of our well was not very good; from being at first
discoloured, it gradually acquired a taste like that of ink, and when
boiled with tea became entirely black. Late in the evening our best and
most steady servant, Mohammed from Gatrón, was wounded, but whether
stung by a scorpion or bitten by a snake he knew not, and was much
alarmed. We applied spirits of hartshorn to the wound; but he was very
ill for the next twenty-four hours, and totally disabled, so that we
were obliged to bind him on the camel during the next day’s march.
[Sidenote: Saturday, July 13th.]
There had been much talk for some days to the effect that we travellers,
together with Hatíta, should take the nearer, but more difficult, road
to Ghát across the range, while our luggage should go by the longer, but
smoother, road round the mountains; but it was at length decided that we
should all go by the longer road, and none but the Sfaksi, who was
anxious to overtake the caravan as soon as possible, took the more
difficult path, which, for geological observations, might have proved
the more interesting. Going sometimes on pebbly, at others on sandy
ground, after five miles we reached the shallow valley, Ilághlaghén,
running from east to west, and handsomely overgrown with bushes; and
after another stretch of about the same length, we entered the range of
mountains, consisting of remarkably cragged and scarred rocks, with many
narrow defiles. Altogether it presented a very curious spectacle.
When the rocks assumed a smoother appearance, we suddenly descended into
a deep ravine, which, at the first glance, appeared to be of a volcanic
nature; but, on closer inspection, all the black rocks composing these
dismal-looking cliffs, proved to consist of sandstone, blackened by the
influence of the atmosphere: further on it was disposed in regular
strata very much like slate. The western and highest part of the range
seems to consist of clay-slate. The valley changed its character in some
degree after its junction with a side-valley called Tipérkum, which
bears distinct marks of great floods occasionally descending along its
channel from the mountains. Here we collected some firewood, as we were
told that further on we should find none, and then entered a defile or
glen with an ascent of about a hundred feet above the bottom of the
valley. Beyond this the scene grew more open, and irregular plains,
interrupted by steep buttresses, succeeded each other.
At half-past four o’clock in the afternoon we had gradually begun to
change our direction from N.W. by W. to S. The valley was bordered by a
deep chasm and craggy mountain to the right, and a range of grotesque
promontories towards the left, the slope of which was broken into a
variety of terraces, with several cones rising from them. At length
turning round the edge of the mountain-range, we entered the broad
valley of Tánesof, having before us the isolated and castellated crest
of mount Ídinen, or Kasr Jenún, and on our left the long range of the
Akakús, beautifully illuminated by the setting sun, and forming a sort
of relief in various colours, the highest precipitous crest, with its
castles and towers, being white, while the lower slope, which was more
gradual and rugged, disclosed regular strata of red marl. Towards the
west the valley, about five miles broad, was bordered by sand-hills,
whence the sand was carried by the wind over its whole surface. We
ourselves encamped at length on sandy soil without the least herbage,
while at the distance of about two miles a strip of green was seen
running along the valley.
Starting at an early hour the next day, we kept along the broad barren
valley straight for the Enchanted Castle, which the fanciful reports of
our companions had invested with great interest. Notwithstanding, or
perhaps in consequence of, the warnings of the Tawárek not to risk our
lives in so irreligious and perilous an undertaking as a visit to this
dwelling of the demons, I made up my mind to visit it, convinced as I
was that it was an ancient place of worship, and that it might probably
contain some curious sculptures or inscriptions. Just at noon the naked
bottom of the valley began to be covered with a little herbage, when,
after another mile, beyond a depression in the ground which had
evidently at one time formed a considerable waterpond, talha-trees and
ethel-bushes broke the monotony of the landscape, while between the
sand-hills on our right a broad strip of green was seen, coming from the
westernmost corner of the Ídinen. Keeping still on for about five miles,
we encamped in the midst of a shallow concavity of circular shape,
surrounded by herbage, and near a large mound crowned by an ethel-tree.
At some distance S.E. we had the well Táhala, the water of which proved
very good.
As it was too late to visit the Ídinen to-day, I sat down in the shade
of a fine talha, and made the subjoined sketch of it.
[Illustration: SKETCH OF THE IDINEN.]
In the evening, we received a visit from two men belonging to a caravan
laden with merchandise of Ghadamsíyin (people of Ghadámes), which was
said to have come, by the direct road through the wadi, in thirty days
from Tripoli.
[Sidenote: Monday, July 15th.]
This was a _dies ater_ for me. Overweg and I had determined to start
early in the morning for the remarkable mountain; but we had not been
able to obtain from the Tawárek a guide to conduct us from thence to the
next well, whither the caravan was to proceed by the direct road. Hatíta
and Utaeti having again resisted all our solicitations for a guide, I at
length, determined as I was to visit the mountain at any cost, started
off in the confidence of being able to make out the well in the
direction indicated to me. By ill-luck, our provision of zummíta (a cool
and refreshing paste on which we were accustomed to breakfast) was
exhausted the day before, so that I was obliged to take with me dry
biscuit and dates, the worst possible food in the desert when water is
scarce.
But as yet I needed no stimulus, and vigorously pushed my way through
the sand-hills, which afforded no very pleasant passage. I then entered
a wide, bare, desolate-looking plain, covered with black pebbles, from
which arose a few black mounds. Here I crossed the beginning of a
_fiumara_ richly overgrown with herbage, which wound along through the
sand-hills towards the large valley-plain. It was the abode of a
beautiful pair of maraiya (_Antelope Soemmeringii_), which, probably
anxious for their young ones, did not make off when roused by my
approach, but stopped at a short distance, gazing at me and wagging
their tails. Pursuing my way over the pebbly ground, which gradually
rose till it was broken up by a considerable ravine descending from the
western part of the mount, I disturbed another party of three antelopes,
which were quietly lying down under the cover of some large blocks. At
last I began to feel fatigued from walking over the sharp-pointed
pebbles, as the distance proved to be greater than I had originally
imagined; and I did not seem to have got much nearer to the foot of the
Enchanted Mountain. In fact it proved that the crest of the mount formed
a sort of horseshoe, so that its middle part, for which I had been
steering all the time, in order to gain a depression which seemed to
afford an easy ascent, was by far the remotest. I therefore changed my
course and turned more eastward, but only met with more annoyance, for,
ascending the slope which I hoped would soon convey me to the summit, I
suddenly came to the steep precipice of a deep ravine, which separated
me from the crest.
Being already fatigued, the disappointment, of course, depressed my
spirits, and I had to summon all my resolution and energy in order to
descend into the ravine and climb the other side. It was now past ten
o’clock; the sun began to put forth its full power, and there was not
the slightest shade around me. In a state of the utmost exhaustion I at
length reached the narrow pinnacled crest, which was only a few feet
broad, and exhibited neither inscriptions nor sculptures. I had a fine
prospect towards the S.W. and N.E.; but I looked around in vain for any
traces of our caravan. Though exposed to the full rays of the sun, I lay
down on my high barbacan to seek repose; but my dry biscuit or a date
was quite unpalatable, and being anxious about my little provision of
water, I could only sip an insufficient draught from my small water-
skin.
As the day advanced I got anxious lest our little band, thinking that I
was already in advance, might continue their march in the afternoon,
and, in spite of my weakness, determined to try to reach the encampment.
I therefore descended the ravine, in order to follow its course, which,
according to Hatíta’s indications, would lead me in the direction of the
well. It was very hot; and being thirsty, I swallowed at once the little
water that remained. This was about noon; and I soon found that the
draught of mere water, taken upon an empty stomach, had not at all
restored my strength.
At length I reached the bottom of the valley. Hatíta had always talked
as if they were to encamp at no great distance from the mountain; yet,
as far as I could strain my view, no living being was to be seen. At
length I became puzzled as to my direction, and, hurrying on as fast as
my failing strength would allow, I ascended a mound crowned with an
ethel-bush, and fired my pistols; but I waited in vain for an answer: a
strong east wind was blowing dead against me. Reflecting a moment on my
situation, I then crossed the small sand-hills, and, ascending another
mound, fired again. Convinced that there could be nobody in this
direction, at least at a moderate distance, I bethought myself that our
party might be still behind, and, very unluckily, I kept more directly
eastward.
The valley was here very richly overgrown with sebót; and to my great
delight I saw at a distance some small huts attached to branches of the
ethel-tree, covered on the top with sebót, and open in front. With joy
in my heart I hastened on towards them, but found them empty; and not a
living being was to be seen, nor was there a drop of water to be got.
My strength being now exhausted, I sat down on the naked plain, with a
full view before me of the whole breadth of the wadi, and with some
confidence expected the caravan. I even thought, for a moment, that I
beheld a string of camels passing in the distance. But it was an
illusion; and when the sun was about to set, not being able to muster
strength enough to walk a few paces without sitting down, I had only to
choose for my night’s quarters between the deserted huts and an ethel-
tree which I saw at a little distance. I chose the latter, as being on a
more elevated spot, and therefore scrambled to the tree, which was of a
respectable old age, with thick tall branches, but almost leafless. It
was my intention to light a fire, which promised almost certain
deliverance; but I could not muster sufficient strength to gather a
little wood. I was broken down and in a feverish state.
Having lain down for an hour or two, after it became quite dark I arose
from the ground, and, looking around me, descried to my great joy a
large fire S.W. down the valley, and, hoping that it might be that of my
companions, I fired a pistol, as the only means of communicating with
them, and listened as the sound rolled along, feeling sure that it would
reach their ears; but no answer was returned. All remained silent. Still
I saw the flame rising towards the sky, and telling where deliverance
was to be found, without my being able to avail myself of the signal.
Having waited long in vain, I fired a second time—yet no answer. I lay
down in resignation, committing my life to the care of the Merciful One;
but it was in vain that I tried to sleep, and, restless and in a high
fever, I tossed about on the ground, looking with anxiety and fear for
the dawn of the next day.
At length the long night wore away, and dawn was drawing nigh. All was
repose and silence; and I was sure I could not choose a better time for
trying to inform my friends, by signal, of my whereabouts. I therefore
collected all my strength, loaded my pistol with a heavy charge, and
fired—once—twice. I thought the sound ought to awaken the dead from
their tombs, so powerfully did it reverberate from the opposite range
and roll along the wadi; yet no answer. I was at a loss to account for
the great distance apparently separating me from my companions, who
seemed not to have heard my firing.