CAMEL CORPSAfter dinner, when I was sitting outside my tent in the moonlight, I heard a faint sound of shouting in the distance. I took a couple of men and walked in the direction the sound came from. About a mile from the camp we sighted a large number of black Arab tents that showed up clear in the moonlight on a slight rise in the ground. There had been a marriage in the tribe and the festivities were being concluded by a dance.Two girls were slowly revolving round in the centre of an enormous circle of white-robed bedouins each holding in her hand, above her head, a long cane which she flourished in the manner that a dancer uses a bouquet of flowers. The girls wore the usual Arab dress, the black, long-sleeved robe and scarlet waist-band, but their faces were hidden by long black veils, and they wore white shawls fastened in flounces round the waist, which stuck out almost like a balletgirl’s skirt. The moon flashed on the heavy silver bangles on their arms and on their silver necklaces and earrings.The audience were divided into four parties, the object of each party being to attract the dancers to them by the enthusiasm of their singing and hand-clapping. A man playing on a flute and another with a drum led the tune, which was wearily monotonous but strangely attractive and a fitting accompaniment to the scene. Gradually the singing became faster and louder, the white-robed Arabs swayed to and fro urging the dancers to fresh exertions; the girls revolved more rapidly and one of them began the “Dance de ventre,” which consists of rather sensuous quivering movements, not attractive to a European, but much admired by natives. The singing and hand-clapping became more violent and finally culminated in frenzied shouting when one of the girls halted, swaying, before the loudest section of the audience, and several men flung themselves on their knees, kissing her feet and exclaiming at her beauty, which if it existed was quite invisible to me, and praising her skill in dancing with high-flown speeches and compliments. Outside the circle of brown-faced, white-clad Arabs, and in the doors of the tents, there were a crowd of women watching the performance, and a group of dancing girls stood whispering to each other under their black veils, tinkling their ornaments, as they waited to step into the circle and relieve their companions.I stood watching the dancing for a long time, andthen returned to my tent. As I walked away I heard hoarse shouts of “Ya Ayesha—ya Khadiga,” as two new girls began to dance, and the whistle and the drum struck up another queer little melody. Not until almost dawn did quiet reign again on the desert, broken only by the occasional wail of a wandering jackal.26th.Moved off at 4 a.m. and marched till 9.30. We led the camels for the first two hours along the rocky, difficult ground below the Scarp, and then up a steep, stony pass to the top. I reached the top just as the “false dawn” glimmered with a streak of pale light in the east. There was a heavy dew; all the country down below looked grey and misty. Gradually the long, twisting line of led camels reached the summit, and as we rode off across the level upland towards Siwa the real sunrise began and the stars faded in the sky. The dew was so thick that the spiders’ webs on the bushes all sparkled. By midday it was intolerably hot. We halted at a place called Qur el Beid, a most depressing spot consisting of three low sand-hills and a tiny patch of vegetation which the camels sniffed at contemptuously, probably comparing it in their minds to the much superior grazing near Bir Hamed. I lunched lightly and lay sweating in my tent with Howa, my Silugi dog, lying openmouthed and panting at my side till we moved on again for the afternoon “shid”—march.The first hour of the afternoon “shid” is the worst of the day. The swaying motion of the camel, the glare, and the burning sun beating down, makes one terribly inclined to sleep, and the hard, yellowish brown desert is absolutely monotonous. A good “hagin”—riding camel—is very comfortable to ride when it is trotting, but not at a walk. Its action is peculiar, first the two off legs move together, and then the two near legs; this is what causes the swinging motion. There is an idea that when people first ride a camel they are afflicted by a sort of sea-sickness, but although I am a bad sailor I have never felt this, nor have I yet met anyone who did. Camels are very easy to ride; one just sits on the saddle with legs crossed over the front pummel, and there is very little chance of falling off as long as the camel behaves itself. The usual way of mounting is to make the camel kneel down and then step on to the saddle, but if one is long-legged and active it is possible to spring up into the saddle from the ground, which is much quicker and useful when the ground is hard and unsuitable for the camel to kneel on. A camel’s usual pace is a slow trot, about 4½-5 miles an hour, and they can keep up this pace for hours on end. Of course they can go at a sort of gallop, if they like, and when they do this they cover the ground at a terrific speed, but it is rather difficult to ride them, and they have an unpleasant trick of suddenly swerving which generally shoots one over the camel’s head on to the ground. I have known, too, camels that bucked, and others that suddenly knelt down when one did not expect it,both very disconcerting tricks. They are not affectionate animals and they never seem to know their own masters; there was only one among mine that had any “parlour tricks,” and he used to inhale tobacco smoke through his nose, apparently with the greatest appreciation.We saw several gazelle in the afternoon, but all too far away for a shot. Halted for the night at a place where there were about four small tufts of vegetation. The camels are less fastidious now and condescended to nibble at them.The best time of the day is the evening when the sun sinks low, the desert becomes a pinkish colour, and our shadows stretch like huge monsters for yards across the ground. Then I begin to look out for a camping place, anywhere where there are a few scraps of dried-up vegetation, or, failing that, a soft-looking patch of ground where the camels will be comfortable. When we halt the baggage is unloaded and the camels are allowed to roam about and eat what they can find; in five minutes my tent is pitched, chair and table unfolded, and dinner is being prepared. Some of the men begin measuring out the camels’ dhurra—millet—and others go and collect bits of stick for the fires, or if there is no wood they use dry camel dung, which is an excellent fuel. Then the camels are driven in again, unsaddled and tied down in a long line; at a given signal the men run along the line and place each one’s food on a sack in front of its nose. Every man squats down by his own camel and watches it eat, preventing the ones whoeat fast from snatching at their neighbour’s grain. Afterwards the men have their own supper—lentils, onions, bread and tea, and soon roll themselves up in their blankets, covering face and all, and go to sleep behind their saddles, which they use as shelters against the night wind. The only sound is the munching of the camels and an occasional hollow gurgle as they chew the cud, and the footsteps of the sentry as he moves up and down the line, “till the dawn comes in with golden sandals.”Abdel Aziz is improving; he produced quite a decent dinner—sausages, fried onions and potatoes, omelette and coffee, followed by a cigar. One sleeps splendidly on the desert. Even in the hottest weather the nights are fairly cool. Towards morning, just before the “false dawn,” a little cool breeze blows over the sand and stirs the flaps of one’s tent, like a sort of warning that soon it will be time to get on the move again.27th.We marched for six hours in the morning and about four hours in the afternoon, and camped for the night at the half-way point between Sollum and Siwa, which is a mound ornamented by a few empty tins. The temperature in my tent at midday must have been about 120 degrees, and not a scrap of breeze or fresh air. This is real desert; there is not a vestige of any living thing, animal or vegetable. The ground is hard limestone covered with dark, shining pebbles, and in some places there arestretches of dried mud, left from the standing water after the rains. These mud pans are impassable in wet weather, and one has to make a wide detour to avoid them. Now they are cracked by the sun into a number of little fissures of a uniform size, about 6 inches square. The effect is very curious.I once motored down to Siwa in a car driven by an English A.S.C. private who had never been out in the desert before. When we were running over one of these mud pans he remarked to me, “It seems wonderful how they have laid bits of this road with paving blocks—don’t it, sir!” I thought he was trying to be funny, but when I looked at him I saw that he was perfectly serious, so I agreed that it was indeed wonderful. Nobody believed the story when I told it afterwards, but it really did happen.The mirage is very vivid. Almost all the time one sees what appears to be a sheet of shining water ahead in the distance, and one can distinguish bays and islands on it; gradually, as one gets nearer, it recedes and then fades away. It is like the shimmering heat that one sometimes sees at home on a hot day, but greatly intensified. Distances look out of proportion on the desert; little mounds, too small to be called hills, appear like huge mountains. About every thirty miles there seem to be slight rises of a terrace-like formation.Every evening the men make bread, which they call “khuz.” It is very simply done and quite good when freshly baked. They take flour and a little salt and mix it together with water, in a basin or on aclean sack, kneading it into dough with their hands. When it is solid and firm they smooth it out into a flat, round loaf about 1½ inches thick. Then they go to the fire, scrape aside all the embers, and lay the loaf on the hot sand. Then they put the embers back on the top of the loaf. After a few minutes’ cooking they rake aside the fire again and turn the loaf, replacing the fire on the top as before. The time taken in cooking depends on the heat, but is generally about ten minutes. The bread lasts until the following evening.All the way we are following what is known as a “mashrab,” a desert road, which consists of a narrow rut about a foot wide, worn by the passage of camels through many centuries. Without specially looking for them one would hardly notice these mashrabs, which are almost identical to the “gazelle paths” that wind aimlessly about the desert, but one is helped by the cairns of stones which are raised by the Arabs on every bit of high ground, sometimes to show the way and sometimes to mark the lonely grave of a less fortunate traveller. Each of these twisting desert tracks is known to the Arabs by a different name. There is the “Mashrab el Khamisa,” from Bagbag to Siwa, called thus because there are five wells on the way; there is the “Mashrab el Akhwan”—the Brothers’ Road, from Jerabub to the coast, which was used by the Senussi Brethren when they travelled from their Zowia at Jerabub into Egypt; and the “Mashrab el Abd”—the Slave’s Road, as according to legend, once upon a time, inthe dim ages, a slave who was captured and brought by this route into Egypt from his home in the west, returned to the west and led an army against Egypt by the very road that he had come by as a captive. Often the mashrab seems to fade away, and then the trackers have to ride on ahead and pick it up again. A number of Bisharin from the North-East Sudan were specially enlisted in the Camel Corps as trackers and guides. They are thought to be more skilful at this work than any other tribe, though personally I think a bedouin is cleverer. But when working in a bedouin country it is best not to employ local natives. Some of the Bisharin are almost unnaturally clever, they can follow a footstep over hard, broken ground where anyone else would see no sign of anything. These men have a natural instinct for finding the way, a sort of abnormal bump of locality. When they first arrived on the coast some of them were wearing the usual clothes of their country and the fuzzy-wuzzy coiffure that is so remarkable a characteristic of their race. The Arabs had never seen this type of Sudanese and were intensely interested in them. Small bedouin boys used to stand and stare at these tall brown men with the great mops of woolly hair ornamented with a few skewer-like objects, but the Bisharin were absolutely indifferent.28th.Left “Keimat en Nus”—the half-way tent—at a very early hour and rode for a long time by moonlight;one can cover more ground when it is cold, but there is a danger of going off the track. The mashrab is faint enough in the daytime, but almost invisible at night. When we start off in the morning all the men shout together three times, “Ya Sidi Abdel Gader,” invoking a certain sheikh who is the patron sheikh of travellers. One of my men told me that he was born in Berber “min zaman”—a long time ago—and used to travel about the Sudan deserts without water or food. His descendants still live at Berber where he is buried.For the first hour or two the men are very lively and rouse the desert with their singing. Usually one man sings the refrain in a rather drawling falsetto voice, and then the whole lot take up the chorus with a real swing, and some of them have very good voices, too. Sometimes the song is the history of a certain Abu Zeyed, a legendary character and an exceedingly lewd fellow, from all I could hear of his doings. Sometimes they would sing stories from the Thousand and One Nights, or sometimes the songs would be chants that reminded one of the Gregorian music in a very “High” church at home. Often I used to ride on ahead, almost out of sight, and then wait while the chanting voices gradually grew louder, and the long line of camels came into sight across the white moonlit sands. There was something very fascinating in the sound of the singing as we rode through the African desert at night.But later on, when the sun began to warm up,nobody felt like singing. Occasionally somebody started, and a few voices joined in, but they very soon subsided again. At the midday halt the men rigged up rough bivouacs with blankets, and rifles as tent poles, then for several hours one lay in the scanty shade, feeling like a pat of butter that had been left out in the sun by mistake.Howa is getting very tired. I picked her up and carried her on the saddle across my knees for several hours to-day. She is quite fit, but 200 miles in the hot weather does take it out of a dog. The camels are in good condition but much looking forward to water, their flanks are beginning to look “tucked in,” and at night some of them groan and gurgle horribly. To-morrow we should be in the oasis at the first well. This evening I functioned with the medicine chest; I gave several of the men pills and Eno’s, which they enjoyed, and dressed a foot with a bad cut on it. My own knees are like raw beef from the sun, though I’ve been wearing shorts all the summer. We have to be “canny” with the water as several of the “fanatis”—water-cans—are leaking. Fortunately I have trained myself only to drink a little in the morning and evening, and I can wash quite thoroughly in two cups of water.Sometimes in the evening I walk right away from the camp into the utter quiet of the desert, out of sight of camels and men. It is a wonderful sensation to be in such absolute silence, with nothing to see but the horizon and “the rolling heaven itself.” Then I retrace my footsteps to the campand enjoy the pleasant feeling of seeing the twinkling fires in the distance, and arriving at a neatly laid dinner-table right in the middle of nowhere.“Daylight dies,The camp fires redden like angry eyes,The tents show whiteIn the glimmering light,Spirals of tremulous smoke arise, to the purple skies,And the hum of the camp sounds like the seaDrifting over the desert to me.”29th.In the early morning, before dawn, we passed a caravan going north. I rode over to see who they were and found that it was a party of Mogabara Arabs on their way up to the coast, and thence into Egypt. One of them, Ibrahaim el Bishari, is quite a well-known merchant who travels about Egypt, Tripoli and the Sudan. He had come lately up from Darfur, via Kufra, Jalow and Jerabub, and was going down to the Sudan again after spending some time in Egypt. He talked about people I knew in Darfur and carried “chits” from a number of Englishmen. His fellows looked a fine lot of men, very different to the few Siwans who were travelling with them. I should have liked to have seen the stuff in his loads; he said he had some good carpets that he hoped to sell in Egypt. We wished each other a prosperous journey, and so parted “like ships that pass in the night.”We camped at midday within sight of the high country above the oasis. This morning one of mymen was talking about the Sudan and touched on the “Bilad el Kelab”—the Country of Dogs. All Sudanese believe that this place exists somewhere down in the south of the Sudan towards Uganda. I have seen them draw maps on the sand to show its position. In this mysterious country all the men become dogs at sunset time and roam about the gloomy forests like the werewolves of mediæval fiction. I have heard the men yarning over the camp fires and saying how their cousin’s wife’s brother—or some such distant relation—actually reached this country and returned alive. Of course it is always somebody else who saw it, but the story is firmly believed by all Sudanese, and so it is a very favourite topic of conversation. Sometimes they enlarge on it and tell how So-and-So married a wife from that country and one night a number of dogs arrived at his hut and carried the woman away with them.This afternoon we ascended from the desert to the high limestone range that forms a rampart to the oasis on the north, and then we started crawling down into the Siwa valley. The desert plateau is about 600 feet above sea-level, and the oasis is 72 feet below it, and as the height of the hills is considerable there is a big drop down into the oasis. The track winds in and out through strange rocky passes, among weirdly shaped cliffs whose tortured shapes remind one of Gustave Doré’s illustration of the Inferno. These wild ravines are utterly desolate, even in the spring no vegetation grows among them.This is a land of broken stone where huge boulders seem to have been hurled about by giant hands. The sun sank low before we had escaped from the mountains, and the fantastically shaped crags were silhouetted with monstrous shadows against the yellow sky. Sometimes the narrow road seemed to cling to the side of a towering cliff, and at other times it twined in and out through deep, echoing valleys in the shadow of the overhanging, jagged rocks. In places the camels had to be led in single file. Once the men began to sing, but the dismal echoes among the caves sounded almost inhumanly depressing, so they gave it up, and we marched along in silence. Finally a line of far distant green appeared down below between two great cliffs, and one could see, very faintly, the masses of graceful palms nodding their crests over the murmuring oasis. To weary men after a six days’ camel ride across the desert the first glimpse of Siwa is like the sight of the sea to those ancient Greeks on the far-away shores of the Euxine.CAMEL CORPS TREKKING TO SIWA, NEAR MEGAHIZ PASSWhen all the camels had come out from the last valley among the rocks we “got mounted” and rode for about half a mile, past groups of palm trees, already heavy with clusters of yellow dates, to Ein Magahiz, which is the first spring in the oasis. Here we camped for the night, watered the camels, who simply revelled in the water, and I enjoyed a luxurious bathe in the deep cool spring which rises among a cluster of palm trees. All night we couldhear the thudding of tom-toms in Siwa town, which is only a mile or so away.“The cadenced throbbing of a drum,Now softly distant, now more near,And in an almost human fashionIt, plaintive, wistful, seems to comeLaden with sighs of fitful passion.”30th.The mosquitoes last night were a reminder that we are no longer up on the high desert; they were maddening, in spite of a net. This morning everybody bathed and shaved and generally polished up. We rode across to the town in great style; past the palm-shaded gardens with fences of yellow “gerida”—palm branches; past the white rest house, on the terraced side of a curious conical hill called “The Hill of the Dead,” honeycombed with rock tombs; past the long low “Markaz,” where the mamur and the police guard turned out to see us; across the wide market square, and through the narrow streets between tall houses of sunbaked clay below the enormous high walls of the old town. The heat was already great, and the streets were almost deserted, except for a few recumbent figures in a shady corner of the market-place, who scrambled up as we rode by and then hurried off to tell their friends that the “Hagana”—Camel Corps—had arrived.The Camel Corps barracks and the District Officer’s house are out on the sand about half a mile south of the town. They occupy two isolated rocks about a quarter of a mile apart, which were formerlythe strongholds of two Siwan sheikhs. The District Officer’s house stands on a limestone rock about 50 feet high. It is a high house built of mud and palm log beams. To reach it one goes up a steep path in the rock with roughly cut steps on to a little terrace with a sort of loggia that opens through the building into the large courtyard behind, which is surrounded by a high loopholed wall. There are two rooms on the ground floor, both high and long, about 30 by 15 feet, and two more rooms above with a roofed loggia and an open roof. The rooms have three windows in each, with glass in them, the only glass in Siwa, facing north and looking across the grove of palm trees below the house to the strange-looking town on its two rocks. The house was built by the former District Officer, who added to the old Siwan fortress which existed there; it has a wonderful position and is high enough to be free from mosquitoes.I spent a busy day settling down and fixing up things with S——, who starts with his section for the coast in two days. S——is heartily sick of Siwa and longing to see the last of it. We dined on the terrace outside—to the accompaniment of throbbing tom-toms over in the town—on soup, chicken, caramel pudding and a dish of every sort of fruit, which was a pleasant change after months on the coast without any. Caramel pudding is the “pièce de résistance” of every cook in Egypt; unless one orders the meal it always appears on the menu. S——’s cook is an indifferent one. Out hereI have noticed a universal habit of considering, or pretending to consider, one’s own servants absolute paragons of virtue, honesty, cleanliness and skill, and invariably running down everybody else’s. I have heard men hold forth for hours on the excellent qualities of their Mohammed, or Abdel, knowing myself that Mohammed—or Abdel—or whatever his name may be, was a double-dyed villain and swindling his master right and left—but now I am doing it myself!I think what impressed me most on arriving at Siwa was the intense heat, the excellent bathing, the enormous height and strange appearance of the town, and the incessant sound of tom-toms from sunset onwards. One misses “the slow shrill creak of the water wheels, a mournful cry, half groan, half wail,” which is such a feature of Egypt and the Sudan. The average temperature in the summer was about 108 degrees in the shade, or on warmer days 110 degrees or 112 degrees, but the nights were cool, and every evening regularly at about eight o’clock a little breeze blew across from the east and freshened things up. The only way to keep the house cool was by leaving the doors and windows open all night, and keeping them closed and tightly shuttered during the day. It resulted in dark rooms, but at least they were fairly cool and free from flies. I soon made the house very comfortable with some rough home-made furniture and a few carpets and mats.When a new Section of Camel Corps arrived atSiwa one of the first events that occurred was the “taking over” of wives. In most cases the men who were leaving handed on their wives to the new men, in the same way as the stores, barracks, camels, etc., were officially handed over by the officer who was going away to his relief. On the day before the new Section rode in all the ladies retired from the campen masseto the houses of their relations in the town; the new men then entered into negotiations with the retiring Section for the taking over of the wives. A few of the men sought fresh pastures, but most of them took on the wife of a man they knew well in the other Section. On the day that the departing Section left Siwa all the ladies assembled on the road that they would pass, carrying their boxes and belongings, and when the camels came by they shrieked and wept, throwing dust on their heads, beating their breasts, pretending to tear their clothes, and showing signs of the most frantic sorrow at the departure of the men. As soon as the camels were round the corner out of sight they brushed off the dust, put on their bracelets, tidied themselves up and hurried merrily across to the “harimat” outside the barracks, followed by boys carrying their boxes, to their new husbands who were waiting for them. This performance happened regularly whenever there was an exchange of Sections. I used to watch the little tragi-comedy from my terrace. The harimat of Siwa consisted of a number of rush huts below the rock on which the fort was built. If any of the wives caused trouble, and they often did, they wereejected and never allowed to marry a soldier again. Polygamy was forbidden, and each lady, before she married, was required to produce a certificate stating that she was a respectable person, signed by several sheikhs and notables of the town. The Siwans had no objection to these alliances between Sudanese soldiers and Siwan women, as women in Siwa outnumber the men at the rate of three to one.The daily routine at Siwa did not vary very much. In the summer I was generally called at 5.30, in time to run down from the house and have one plunge in the cool deep bathing pool in the palm grove below the rock before dressing. Clothes were a very minor matter; one wore simply shirt, shorts, shoes and stockings, all of the thinnest material. Then I used to walk over to the C.C. barracks and take the parade, sometimes mounted drill, sometimes dismounted. We did mounted drill on a stretch of firm white sand among the dunes south of the barracks. Breakfast was at about eight—eggs, coffee, bread and jam, the eggs being even smaller than Egyptian ones, about the size of bantam’s eggs, so one needed a lot for a meal. After breakfast I went across to the barracks again, and then rode down through the town on my pony to the Markaz.The path to the town passed over a disused cemetery where the pony was very liable to stick its foot through the thin layer of soil above the graves, under an archway and into the street that divides the Eastern and Western quarters. The street itself was hard rock and very steep in parts, but owing to theheight of the tall houses on each side it was generally cool and shady and a favourite resting-place of the inhabitants, many of whom lay stretched full length across the street taking their siesta. But the clattering hoofs of my pony generally roused them, and they scrambled out of the way when I came. The Siwans are well mannered, a virtue that one never sees in Egypt nowadays, and even in the Sudan it is on the wane. When I rode or walked in the town everybody would stand up as I passed, and if I met people riding they would dismount until I had gone on. I have heard people at home say what a scandal it is that in some places the poor downtrodden natives have to stand up and move off the path for an Englishman, but after all they would do exactly the same for their own Pashas, and apart from being an Englishman one was entitled to respect as being the representative of the Egyptian Government in Siwa. Once I was badly “had” over this. I was riding through the market with some policemen following me on my way to make an inspection. There was a group of Siwans sitting talking on the ground, and as I passed they all stood up—except one man who remained comfortably seated in the shade right in the middle of the path. I ordered one of the policemen to see who he was and to bring him along to the Markaz to answer for his bad manners. A few minutes later the man from the market was led into the office. He was stone blind!The Markaz is a large building outside the town with square courtyard surrounded by prisons, storesand offices. It has a permanent guard of locally enlisted police; they are quite smart men, but of little use when there is trouble in the town, and always at enmity with the Sudanese Camel Corps. At the Markaz I would usually find a number of petitions to be read and examined, some cases to be tried, and probably people applying for permits to cross the frontier who would have to be questioned and seen. Then the sheikhs would arrive and there would be discussions about various things—taxes, labour, work on the drains or Government buildings, new regulations and orders, and then perhaps the merchants would be summoned, and a heated controversy would follow about the price of sugar, or the butchers would come to complain of the cost of meat. It was like a daily meeting of a town council, and complicated by innumerable interests, rivalries and intrigues. All these matters, though they sound very small, were of considerable importance to the Siwans.There were six sheikhs recognized by the Administration, three of them eastern, and three western. Sheikh Saleh Said was the most influential and the most unbiassed by personal considerations. He was a big handsome man with a dark moustache and features that might have been copied from the bust of a Roman consul. He always wore a long blue robe, and was the most dignified and impressive of the sheikhs. I never saw him in a hurry or at all excited. Sheikh Thomi was a little dark fellow, and reputed to be the richest man in Siwa. He had aqueer, quick way of speaking, was intensely obstinate, a staunch Westerner, but honest—as far as I ever knew. I once offended him very grievously. One day he sent me a basket of grapes, the first that had ripened in his vineyards. I gave the servant boy a piastre for bringing them. The boy returned and presented the piastre to Sheikh Thomi, who was very hurt at being sent 2½d. when he had made me a gift of fruit. Sheikh Thomi was a man of means and worth several thousand pounds. I heard about the piastre incident and explained it to him. To offer to pay for what is meant as a present is a real breach of good manners, much worse than refusing it.Sheikh Mohammed Abdel Rahman was a venerable white-bearded individual who had been to Mecca and apparently lived on his reputation of excessive sanctity; he always agreed with everything I said, and then if I veered round and deliberately contradicted myself he did the same—it was not helpful!Abdulla Hemeid was a sly, fat, greedy man with a pale face and blue eyes. He was very stingy and always complaining against taxation or anything that affected his pocket. He never gave an entertainment, but I always noticed him eating heartily in other people’s houses. His family were much esteemed and he had succeeded his father, who had been a very famous man in Siwa.Mohammed Ragah was a thin, dark, hawk-like man, more like an Arab than a Siwan. He was very badly off for a sheikh, but keen and clever, and not above doing a bit of hard work with his own hands. Hewas the only man in Siwa at whose house one was given good coffee. He had shown great courage during the Senussi occupation in protecting some Egyptian officials who were in Siwa.Mahdi Abdel Nebi, Sheikh of Aghourmi, was the youngest of the sheikhs, and the most reasonable and intelligent, though he had never been out of Siwa. He was a cheerful, pleasant fellow, but cordially disliked by the rest of the sheikhs. These six were the men who to a certain extent controlled the destinies of Siwa.About once every week when I arrived at the Markaz I would find the doctor, or the mamur, or the clerk waiting for me in a state of tearful hysterics, begging me to forward his resignation to the Governor, as he could exist no longer in the company of his colleagues—the two other officials. Then would follow a long infantile complaint. If I could not smooth him down I had to bring in the other two, who would also dissolve into tears, and try and get to the bottom of the affair, which was always absolutely childish and ridiculous. On one occasion the mamur had refused to allow the doctor to have a watchman to escort him home past a certain graveyard which alarmed him, or the clerk accused the mamur of inveigling his cook into his service, or something equally small. Unfortunately the clerk was a Copt, the doctor a Syrian, and the mamur was a Cairene. It went on unceasingly, the most preposterous things served to bring one of them weeping to my office. And when they were relieved theirsuccessors were just the same. Yet they were good men at their work; the clerk had a heavy amount of office work and did it well; the doctor was quite clever and had been trained in America; and the mamur was good at his job. Exactly the same thing occurred among the native officials on the coast, so it was not only the effect of Siwan solitude.From the Markaz I rode home, and after a light lunch either painted, read, or went to sleep till about four, when I had another bathe, followed by tea. After tea I went over to the Camel Corps for “stables,” and then generally out for a walk. Sometimes I went to Gebel Muta, the Hill of the Dead, a rocky hill on the north of the town full of tombs hewn out of the living rock, some of them being large and lofty with as many as eight coffin spaces round the sides. In one of them there were the remains of a coloured wall painting with figures of men and animals. Other times I climbed up to the top of the town. The view from the flat roofs of the highest houses on the rock is very wonderful, especially at sunset. On the south of the town there is a long ridge of rolling yellow sand-hills which change their contours when the desert winds sweep across them, and become pink and salmon-coloured in the evenings; towards the north one looks across a sea of palm groves and brilliant green cultivation to the jagged range of mountains that separate Siwa from the desert; on the west there is a great square mountain with a gleaming silver salt lake at its foot, and in the east one sees the little village of Aghourmicrowning another high rock which rises above the tree-tops.At sunset the scene is exquisite, the hills turn from pink to mauve, and from mauve to purple, and their peaks are sharply outlined against the gold and crimson sky; long violet shadows spread across the rosy-tinted sand-hills, and the palm groves seem to take on a more vivid shade of green. The smoke ascends in thin spirals from the evening fires, and a low murmur rises from the streets and squares below; then suddenly the prayer of the muezzin sounds from the many mosques, and one can see the white-robed figures swaying to and fro on the narrow pinnacles of the round towers that in Siwa take the place of minarets. When the call to prayer is over and the last mournful chant has echoed across the oasis, and the glow in the sky is fading away, one hears far down beneath the soft thudding of a tom-tom and perhaps the faint whine of a reed pipe. When the deep blue Libyan night covers the city the music becomes louder and seems to throb like a feverish pulse from the heart of the town.Often in the evening I rode out and called on the Sheikh of Aghourmi, which is the little village on another rock two miles from Siwa. Mahdi Abdel Nebi had recently succeeded to his father as Sheikh of Aghourmi and was having some difficulty in sustaining his authority, even with the support of the Administration, against the plots and intrigues of an old cousin of his, one Haj Mohammed Hammam, a sly old man who was rich, influential, and a thoroughscoundrel, and wished to oust his cousin and become sheikh himself. After the war Haj Hammam had carefully cultivated the acquaintance of any British officers who came to Siwa, and he was inordinately proud of knowing their names and of certain small gifts that they had given him—a broken compass, a highly coloured biscuit tin and some photographs. These he showed on every occasion, and also remarked that they used always to call him “TheSheikh of Aghourmi”—this apparently being his only claim to the title.Hammam used to employ people to let him know immediately when I was riding out to Aghourmi, so that he, and not the sheikh, should be waiting to receive me at the gates; then he would try to persuade me to accept his hospitality instead of the sheikh’s. Sheikh Mahdi always invited his old cousin to the tea drinking, though I could well have dispensed with him, but one could not object to the presence of another guest. Sheikh Mahdi’s house was the only one in which a woman ever appeared when I was there. She was an old Sudanese slave woman who had been brought many years ago from the Sudan. Once I got her to tell me her story, but she spoke such a queer mixture of Arabic and Siwan that it was difficult to follow.It appeared that when she was about eight years old she and her small brother were playing outside their village somewhere in the North-West Sudan, and a band of Arabs—slave raiders—swooped down and carried them off. They were taken up intoTripoli and there she was sold to another Arab who brought her to Siwa on his way to Egypt. She fell ill and almost died, so the Arab, who did not want to delay, sold her cheap to the Sheikh of Aghourmi, father of the present one; he handed her over to his wife who cured the child. She remained at Aghourmi for the rest of her life. She was a lively old body and told the story in a very cheerful way, giggling and laughing, not apparently feeling any wish to return to her own land.SHEIKH MAHDI ABDEL NEBI, OF AGHOURMI WITH HIS DAUGHTER AND COUSINAghourmi is almost more picturesque than Siwa. The road to the gate passes below the overhanging rock on which the houses stand, which is thickly surrounded by a luxuriant wilderness of apricot, fig and palm trees. The steep path to the village goes under three archways, each with an enormous wooden gateway, and this path is the only possible means of entering the place. Above one of the gates there is a high tower, and the houses alongside the path are loopholed so that an enemy making an attack could be safely fired at from all sides by the defenders. Inside the town there is the same dark maze of narrow streets as in Siwa, with wells and olive presses, but all on a smaller scale than those in Siwa town. There are a few houses below the walls. The sheikh lives in the middle of the town in a big, high house with a roof that has as fine a view as any that I have seen.I got home after sunset and often had another bathe—by moonlight—before changing into flannels for dinner, which I had on the terrace in front of thehouse. I slept upstairs, on the roof, but I always kept a spare bed ready in the room as quite often a wild “haboob”—sand-storm—would blow up in the middle of the night, and even indoors one would be smothered and choked with sand. Such was the average day at Siwa, and by nine or ten o’clock one was glad to turn in.Occasionally after dinner one of the natives who were employed as secret service agents would arrive very mysteriously at the house on some excuse and report that there were fire-arms in the house of So-and-So. Sometimes the information was no more than an exaggerated rumour, but if it sounded true I would make a night raid on the person who was supposed to have rifles. These night raids were very dramatic, but did not always yield the harvest that was expected. The informer would lead the way, disguised by a turban pulled low over his head and a scarf muffling his eyes. I followed with a dozen armed Sudanese. The difficulty was to prevent the owner of the house getting wind of us before we surrounded the building, and to surround a Siwan house which has dozens of doors and passages and exits over roofs is no easy matter. It was not a matter of entering a hostile town, but of surprising a household. We would pad silently into the town, and anybody who we met roaming the streets would be attached to the party to prevent his giving warning. On reaching the house the guide slipped away in the darkness, and I surrounded the house with men; then at a whistle each manlit a torch and I beat on the door and demanded admittance.Immediately the wildest hullabaloo began inside—men shouting, women yelling, donkeys braying and hens cackling. Sometimes this was done in order to distract our attention from somebody who tried to slip out and remove the rifles to a safe hiding-place. When the door was opened all the male occupants were marched outside and the harem sent into one room, where they sat on the floor with shawls over their heads and reviled us—but in Siwan, so nobody was any the wiser. The house was searched from top to bottom, the ceilings probed, the mats raised, and every room examined. Sometimes the rifles were buried in the floor, or hidden in bales of hay. Occasionally a modern rifle and some ammunition was found, but usually some old Arab guns and a bag or two of shot and gunpowder. If we had a successful haul the master of the house would be marched off in custody to the jail in the Markaz, and next day he would be tried, and probably heavily fined or imprisoned.CHAPTER IIITHE HISTORY OF SIWA“Cities have been, and vanished; fanes have sunk,Heaped into shapeless ruin; sands o’erspread.Fields that were Edens; millions too have shrunkTo a few starving hundreds, or have fledFrom off the page of being.”SIWA lies thickly covered with “the Dust of History,” and its story is difficult to trace. For certain periods one is able to collect information on the subject, but during many centuries nothing is known. Some of the leading sheikhs have in their possession ancient documents and treaties which have been handed down through many generations from father to son. There is also an old Arabic history of Siwa, which appears to have been written some time during the fifteenth century, kept by the family whose members have always held a position corresponding to that of a town clerk, but this old history is so interwoven with curious legends and fables that it is difficult to separate fact from fiction. I used to sit in the garden of the old sheikh who owned the book and listen while he read. He was a venerable but rascally old fellow in flowing white robes, the green turban of a “Haj,” and huge horn spectacles. Thebook itself was a muddled collection of loose sheets of manuscript kept in a leather bag.Roughly the history of Siwa can be divided into four periods. The first, which is also the greatest period, dates from the foundation of the Temple of Jupiter Ammon. The second period begins at the Mohammedan invasion in the seventh centuryA.D.The third period commences with the subjugation of Siwa by Mohammed Ali, early in the nineteenth century; and the fourth and last period is the history of Siwa during the Great War.(1)FIRST PERIODThe Temple of Jupiter AmmonAccording to the late Professor Maspero, the great authority on Egyptian antiquities, the oasis of Siwa was not connected with Egypt until about the sixteenth centuryB.C.In about 1175B.C.the Egyptian oases, of which Siwa is one, were colonized by Rameses III, but very little authentic information is available on the history of Siwa until it came definitely under the influence of Egypt in the sixth centuryB.C.Mr. Oric Bates, in his exhaustive work,The Eastern Libyans, states that the original deity of the oasis was a sun god, a protector of flocks, probably with the form of a bull. The African poet Coreippus, mentions a ram-headed Libyan divinitycalled Gurzil who was represented as being the offspring of the original prophetic God of Siwa. His priests fought in battles, and the emblem of the god was carried by the Libyans in the fray. A sacred stone at Siwa is referred to by Pliny, which when touched by an irreverent hand stirred at once a strong and harmful sand-wind. The theory of sun worship, and the idea of an evil wind directed by some spirit in a stone is substantiated by the local customs and legends which are prevalent in Siwa at the present time.It is certain that when the Egyptians occupied Siwa, in about 550B.C., according to Mr. Bates, they discovered a local Libyan god firmly established and supported by a powerful but barbarous cult. So great was its reputation that King Crœsus of Lydia travelled to Siwa and consulted the oracle a little before, or at the time of, the Egyptian occupation. The Egyptians identified the local god of the oasis with their own Ammon. In the fourth centuryB.C.the god Ammon, of the Ammonians, for this was the name by which the people of Siwa were now known, had become one of the most famous oracles of the ancient world. At the time when the Egyptians recognized and worshipped the god of the oasis, a number of stories became prevalent, tending to prove that the deity at Siwa originated from the Ammon of Thebes, and one legend even went so far as to assert that the Ammon of Thebes was himself originally a Libyan herdsman who was deified by Dionysius. The following are some of the many legends whichrelate the origin of the Siwan god, and which suggest its connection with the Theban Ammon.Herodotus, in whose works there are frequent allusions to the Ammonians, describes the inhabitants of the oasis of Ammon as being colonists from Egypt and Ethiopia, speaking a mixed language, and calling themselves Ammonians, owing to the Egyptians worshipping Jupiter under the name of Ammon. He relates that the colonists instituted an oracle in imitation of the famous one on the Isle of Meroë, and mentions the following account of its origin. Two black girls who served in the Temple of Jupiter Ammon at Thebes were carried away by Phœnician merchants. One of them was taken to Greece, where she afterwards founded the Temple of Dodona, which became a well-known oracle; the other was sold into Libya and eventually arrived at the kingdom of the Ammonians. Owing to her strange language, which resembled “the twittering of a bird,” she was supposed by the inhabitants to possess supernatural qualities; her reputation increased, and her utterances came to be regarded as the words of an oracle. There is a different version of the same fable in which the girls are represented as two black doves, one flying to Greece, the other to Libya.According to Diodorus Siculus the Temple of Jupiter Ammon was built as far back as 1385B.C., by Danaus the Egyptian. Rollins, in hisHistory of the Ancient World, names Ham, the son of Noah, as the deity in whose honour the temple was built bythe Ammonians. Another legend tells that Dionysius was lost in the desert on one of his fantastic expeditions and nearly died from thirst when suddenly a ram appeared, which led the party to a bubbling spring. They built a temple on the spot, in gratitude, and ornamented it with representations of a ram’s head. It is interesting to compare this story with one of the legends written in the Arabic history of Siwa. A Siwan, journeying in the desert, was led by a ram to a mysterious city where he found an avenue of black stone lions. He returned home, and set out again at a later date, meaning to rediscover the place, but he never found it again. In both cases it is a ram that led the way, and the god of Siwa is represented as having a ram’s head.The temple, whose ruins are to be seen at the village of Aghourmi, near Siwa, was built probably during the sixth centuryB.C.The date is decided by the style of its architecture. This temple was known to the Egyptians as “Sakhit Amouou,” the “Field of Palms,” owing to its situation among groves of palm trees. It is evident that at this time Siwa was the principal island in a desert archipelago consisting of several oases, most of which are now uninhabited, obeying a common king and owing their prosperity to the great temple of the oracle. Such a cluster of islands would invest the dynasty to which King Clearchus and King Lybis belonged with considerable importance. Herodotus tells how certain Cyrenians held a conversation with Clearchus, King of the Ammonians, who told them that a partyof young men had set off on an expedition from his country to the west, through a wild region full of savage animals, eventually arriving at a great river where they found a race of small black men. They supposed this river to be a branch or tributary of the Nile, but it was actually the river Niger. Thus it is shown that at this period Siwa was an independent monarchy. The Ammonians lived under the rule of their own kings and priests, and chieftainship was associated with priesthood. Silius Italicus describes the warrior priest Nabis, an Ammonian chief, “fearless and splendidly armed,” riding in the army of Hannibal.Another early visitor to the oasis was Lysander the Spartan. Being disappointed by the oracle of Dodona he travelled to Siwa, under colour of making a vow at the temple, but hoping to bribe the priests to his interests. Notwithstanding “the fullness of his purse” and the great friendship between his father and Lybis, King of the Ammonians, he was totally unsuccessful, and the priests sent ambassadors to Sparta accusing Lysander of attempting to bribe the holy oracle. But “he so subtly managed his defence that he got off clear.” The Greeks held the oracle of Ammon in great veneration. The Athenians kept a special galley in which they conveyed questions across the sea to Libya. Mersa Matruh, sometimes called Ammonia, was the port for Siwa, and it was here that the ambassadors and visitors disembarked and started on their desert journey to the oasis. The poet Pindar dedicated an ode to Jupiter Ammon,which was preserved under the altar of the temple for some six hundred years; and the sculptor Calamis set up a statue to the god of the Ammonians in the Temple of Thebes at Karnak.In 525B.C., Cambyses, wishing to consolidate his newly acquired dominions in Northern Africa, dispatched two expeditions, one against Carthage, the other into Ethiopia. He made Memphis his base of operations and sent 50,000 men as an advance party to occupy the oasis of Ammon. His generals had orders to rob and burn the temple, make captives of the people and to prepare halting-places for the bulk of the army. They passed the oasis of Khargeh and proceeded north-west. But the whole army was lost in the sea of desert that lies between Siwa and Khargeh. The Ammonians, on inquiries being made, reported that the army was overwhelmed by a violent sand-storm during a midday halt. But it is more probable that they lost their way during one of the periodical sand-storms which are so prevalent in this desert region, and were overcome by thirst in the waterless, trackless desert. There was no further news; they never reached the temple, and not one of the soldiers returned to Egypt. This huge army still lies buried somewhere in that torrid waste, and perhaps some fortunate traveller may at a future date stumble unawares on the remains of the once mighty host. In the old Arabic history there are two other stories of armies that were lost in the desert. In one case it was a Siwan army which opposed theMohammedan invaders, and in the other case an army of raiders from Tebu were lost on their way to attack the oasis.In 500B.C., Siwa and the other oases were subjected to Persia, and in the following year Cimon, the celebrated Athenian general, sent a secret embassy to the oracle while he was besieging Citium in Cyprus. The deputation was greeted by the oracle with the words, “Cimon is already with me,” and on their return it was found that Cimon had himself perished in battle. The foretelling of Cimon’s death augmented considerably the reputation of the oracle.Oracles were most frequently situated in the vicinity of some natural phenomena; this at Siwa consisted of a sacred spring known as “Fons Solis,” the “Fountain of the Sun,” which by its strangeness contributed to the divine qualities of the temple. Very probably it was the “Ein el Hammam” which lies about a quarter of a mile south of the temple ruins and is to-day one of the largest and most beautiful springs in the oasis. Ancient writers describe its waters as being warm in the morning, cold at noon and boiling hot at midnight. Blind, black fish lived in the pool, according to the Arabic history, which was connected with the rites of the temple. The water to-day is a trifle warmer than most of the springs, and for that reason it is the favourite bathing-place of the inhabitants of Aghourmi. I have stood by the spring at midnight and tested its warmth, but it seemed in no way todiffer from the other springs, except that it was a very little warmer.There are many contemporary descriptions of the actual temple, and antiquarians have from time to time disputed as to its original size and form. It appears to have consisted of a main building, or sanctuary, surrounded by triple walls which enclosed the dwelling-places of the king, priests and the guards, standing on a rocky eminence among the palm groves. A smaller temple stood a few hundred yards south of the acropolis. The rock on which the village of Aghourmi now stands was evidently the site of the original temple and fortress, and the ruins below the village, known as “Omm Beyda,” are those of the minor temple. The two temples were connected by an underground passage.The old history of Siwa gives a detailed description of the court of the king. The following is a rough translation. “At one period Siwa ranked among the important towns of the Egyptian sovereigns. It was ruled by a king called Meneclush who built a town and cultivated the land. He made the men drill and inaugurated a seven days’ feast in commemoration of his succession. The people of King Meneclush dressed richly and wore golden ornaments. The king lived in a stone and granite palace, and assembled his people in a great square which had four different courts, and in each court there was a statue which caught the sun at different times of the day, and when the sun shone upon the statues they spoke. When the people assembledthey stood on seven steps. On the highest step sat the king, below, in succession, the king’s family, priests, astrologers and magicians, generals and courtiers, architects, soldiers, and, below, the people. Each step was inscribed with these words, ‘Look down, not towards the step above, lest ye become proud’—thus inculcating the principle of modesty. The king lived in a palace called Kreibein, inside the walls. In those days there were many buildings in Siwa, spreading from Omm Beyda to Gebel Dakrour. King Meneclush was stabbed by a girl and is buried, with his horse, in the Khazeena, underneath Aghourmi. . . . At a later period Siwa was divided into two parts ruled by two princes called Ferik and Ibrik. Afterwards a queen called Khamissa ruled in Siwa and gave her name to the square hill at the end of the Western lake.”Much of the history is missing, and at times it plunges into descriptions of neighbouring countries, but it is interesting to find mention of “statues that speak” when touched by the sun.As recently as 1837 there was a considerable portion of the smaller temple standing. Travellers described the roof, made of massive blocks of stone, the coloured ceilings, and the walls covered with hieroglyphics and sculptured figures. But the depredations of Arab treasure hunters, and a Turkish Governor who committed an unpardonable vandalism by blowing up the temple with gunpowder in order to obtain stone for building an office, have reduced the once imposing building to a singleruined pylon, or gateway, which towers above the surrounding gardens, a pathetic reminder of its former grandeur. This solitary ruin, and two massive stone gateways almost hidden by mud buildings in the middle of the village of Aghourmi, is all that remains of the temple that was once famous throughout the world. In a way the ruins are symbolic of Siwa which was once a powerful dominion, but is now nothing more than a wretched desert station with three or four thousand degenerate inhabitants.In 331B.C.the fame of the oracle reached its zenith, owing to Alexander the Great visiting it after having settled his affairs in Egypt. The visit to the famous oracle was undertaken in order to inquire into the mysterious origin of his birth. Probably at the same time Alexander wished to emulate the deeds of Hercules, from whom he claimed descent, and who was supposed during his wanderings to have visited the oasis. He marched along the coast to Parætonium—Matruh—where he was met by ambassadors from Cyrene, a wealthy city on the coast some 400 miles further west, who presented him gifts of chariots and war horses. He then turned south across the desert into a region “where there was nothing but heaps of sand.” After journeying four days the water supply, carried in skins, gave out, and the army was in danger of perishing from thirst when, by a fortunate chance, or by the direct interposition of the gods, the sky became black with clouds, rain fell, and by this miraculous means the army was preserved from destruction.A little later the expedition lost its way, and after wandering for miles was saved by the appearance of a number of ravens who, flying before the army, guided them eventually to the temple. They found the oasis “full of pleasant fountains, watered with running streams, richly planted with all sorts of trees bearing fruit, surrounded by a vast dry and sandy desert, waste and untilled . . . the temperature of the air was like spring, yet all the place around it was dry and scorching . . . a most healthful climate.” Alexander was received by the oracle with divine honours, and returned to Egypt satisfied that he was indeed the authentic son of Zeus. As the son of the god he became a legitimate Pharoah, and adopted the pschent crown and its accompanying rites.About this time various nations applied to the oracle for permission to deify their rulers, and on the death of his friend Hephistion, Alexander dispatched another embassy asking that Hephistion might be ranked as a hero. When Alexander died, in 323B.C., it was suggested that he should be buried at Siwa. However, the suggestion was not carried out and he was buried at Alexandria, the city to which he gave his name. One of the hills in the desert near Siwa is still called “Gebel Sekunder,” and tradition has it that from this hill Alexander saw the ravens which led him to the temple.The ritual of the temple was somewhat similar to several other oracular temples. The actual oracle was made in human figure, with a ram’s head, richlyornamented with emeralds and other precious stones. The figure of the god appears to have been shown as though wrapped for burial, and this dead god, who was a god of prophecy, may possibly have set the fashion of menes-worship which one still sees in Siwa when natives resort to the graves of their ancestors in order to learn the future. When a distinguished pilgrim arrived for a consultation the symbol of the god was brought up from the inmost sanctuary of the temple and carried on a golden barque, hung with votive cups of silver, followed by a procession of eighty priests and many singing girls, “who chanted uncouth songs after the manner of their country,” in order to propitiate the deity and induce him to return a satisfactory answer. The god directed the priests who carried the barque which way they should proceed, and spoke by tremulous shocks, communicated to the bearers, and by movements of the head and body, which were interpreted by the priests.
CAMEL CORPS
CAMEL CORPS
CAMEL CORPS
After dinner, when I was sitting outside my tent in the moonlight, I heard a faint sound of shouting in the distance. I took a couple of men and walked in the direction the sound came from. About a mile from the camp we sighted a large number of black Arab tents that showed up clear in the moonlight on a slight rise in the ground. There had been a marriage in the tribe and the festivities were being concluded by a dance.
Two girls were slowly revolving round in the centre of an enormous circle of white-robed bedouins each holding in her hand, above her head, a long cane which she flourished in the manner that a dancer uses a bouquet of flowers. The girls wore the usual Arab dress, the black, long-sleeved robe and scarlet waist-band, but their faces were hidden by long black veils, and they wore white shawls fastened in flounces round the waist, which stuck out almost like a balletgirl’s skirt. The moon flashed on the heavy silver bangles on their arms and on their silver necklaces and earrings.
The audience were divided into four parties, the object of each party being to attract the dancers to them by the enthusiasm of their singing and hand-clapping. A man playing on a flute and another with a drum led the tune, which was wearily monotonous but strangely attractive and a fitting accompaniment to the scene. Gradually the singing became faster and louder, the white-robed Arabs swayed to and fro urging the dancers to fresh exertions; the girls revolved more rapidly and one of them began the “Dance de ventre,” which consists of rather sensuous quivering movements, not attractive to a European, but much admired by natives. The singing and hand-clapping became more violent and finally culminated in frenzied shouting when one of the girls halted, swaying, before the loudest section of the audience, and several men flung themselves on their knees, kissing her feet and exclaiming at her beauty, which if it existed was quite invisible to me, and praising her skill in dancing with high-flown speeches and compliments. Outside the circle of brown-faced, white-clad Arabs, and in the doors of the tents, there were a crowd of women watching the performance, and a group of dancing girls stood whispering to each other under their black veils, tinkling their ornaments, as they waited to step into the circle and relieve their companions.
I stood watching the dancing for a long time, andthen returned to my tent. As I walked away I heard hoarse shouts of “Ya Ayesha—ya Khadiga,” as two new girls began to dance, and the whistle and the drum struck up another queer little melody. Not until almost dawn did quiet reign again on the desert, broken only by the occasional wail of a wandering jackal.
26th.
Moved off at 4 a.m. and marched till 9.30. We led the camels for the first two hours along the rocky, difficult ground below the Scarp, and then up a steep, stony pass to the top. I reached the top just as the “false dawn” glimmered with a streak of pale light in the east. There was a heavy dew; all the country down below looked grey and misty. Gradually the long, twisting line of led camels reached the summit, and as we rode off across the level upland towards Siwa the real sunrise began and the stars faded in the sky. The dew was so thick that the spiders’ webs on the bushes all sparkled. By midday it was intolerably hot. We halted at a place called Qur el Beid, a most depressing spot consisting of three low sand-hills and a tiny patch of vegetation which the camels sniffed at contemptuously, probably comparing it in their minds to the much superior grazing near Bir Hamed. I lunched lightly and lay sweating in my tent with Howa, my Silugi dog, lying openmouthed and panting at my side till we moved on again for the afternoon “shid”—march.
The first hour of the afternoon “shid” is the worst of the day. The swaying motion of the camel, the glare, and the burning sun beating down, makes one terribly inclined to sleep, and the hard, yellowish brown desert is absolutely monotonous. A good “hagin”—riding camel—is very comfortable to ride when it is trotting, but not at a walk. Its action is peculiar, first the two off legs move together, and then the two near legs; this is what causes the swinging motion. There is an idea that when people first ride a camel they are afflicted by a sort of sea-sickness, but although I am a bad sailor I have never felt this, nor have I yet met anyone who did. Camels are very easy to ride; one just sits on the saddle with legs crossed over the front pummel, and there is very little chance of falling off as long as the camel behaves itself. The usual way of mounting is to make the camel kneel down and then step on to the saddle, but if one is long-legged and active it is possible to spring up into the saddle from the ground, which is much quicker and useful when the ground is hard and unsuitable for the camel to kneel on. A camel’s usual pace is a slow trot, about 4½-5 miles an hour, and they can keep up this pace for hours on end. Of course they can go at a sort of gallop, if they like, and when they do this they cover the ground at a terrific speed, but it is rather difficult to ride them, and they have an unpleasant trick of suddenly swerving which generally shoots one over the camel’s head on to the ground. I have known, too, camels that bucked, and others that suddenly knelt down when one did not expect it,both very disconcerting tricks. They are not affectionate animals and they never seem to know their own masters; there was only one among mine that had any “parlour tricks,” and he used to inhale tobacco smoke through his nose, apparently with the greatest appreciation.
We saw several gazelle in the afternoon, but all too far away for a shot. Halted for the night at a place where there were about four small tufts of vegetation. The camels are less fastidious now and condescended to nibble at them.
The best time of the day is the evening when the sun sinks low, the desert becomes a pinkish colour, and our shadows stretch like huge monsters for yards across the ground. Then I begin to look out for a camping place, anywhere where there are a few scraps of dried-up vegetation, or, failing that, a soft-looking patch of ground where the camels will be comfortable. When we halt the baggage is unloaded and the camels are allowed to roam about and eat what they can find; in five minutes my tent is pitched, chair and table unfolded, and dinner is being prepared. Some of the men begin measuring out the camels’ dhurra—millet—and others go and collect bits of stick for the fires, or if there is no wood they use dry camel dung, which is an excellent fuel. Then the camels are driven in again, unsaddled and tied down in a long line; at a given signal the men run along the line and place each one’s food on a sack in front of its nose. Every man squats down by his own camel and watches it eat, preventing the ones whoeat fast from snatching at their neighbour’s grain. Afterwards the men have their own supper—lentils, onions, bread and tea, and soon roll themselves up in their blankets, covering face and all, and go to sleep behind their saddles, which they use as shelters against the night wind. The only sound is the munching of the camels and an occasional hollow gurgle as they chew the cud, and the footsteps of the sentry as he moves up and down the line, “till the dawn comes in with golden sandals.”
Abdel Aziz is improving; he produced quite a decent dinner—sausages, fried onions and potatoes, omelette and coffee, followed by a cigar. One sleeps splendidly on the desert. Even in the hottest weather the nights are fairly cool. Towards morning, just before the “false dawn,” a little cool breeze blows over the sand and stirs the flaps of one’s tent, like a sort of warning that soon it will be time to get on the move again.
27th.
We marched for six hours in the morning and about four hours in the afternoon, and camped for the night at the half-way point between Sollum and Siwa, which is a mound ornamented by a few empty tins. The temperature in my tent at midday must have been about 120 degrees, and not a scrap of breeze or fresh air. This is real desert; there is not a vestige of any living thing, animal or vegetable. The ground is hard limestone covered with dark, shining pebbles, and in some places there arestretches of dried mud, left from the standing water after the rains. These mud pans are impassable in wet weather, and one has to make a wide detour to avoid them. Now they are cracked by the sun into a number of little fissures of a uniform size, about 6 inches square. The effect is very curious.
I once motored down to Siwa in a car driven by an English A.S.C. private who had never been out in the desert before. When we were running over one of these mud pans he remarked to me, “It seems wonderful how they have laid bits of this road with paving blocks—don’t it, sir!” I thought he was trying to be funny, but when I looked at him I saw that he was perfectly serious, so I agreed that it was indeed wonderful. Nobody believed the story when I told it afterwards, but it really did happen.
The mirage is very vivid. Almost all the time one sees what appears to be a sheet of shining water ahead in the distance, and one can distinguish bays and islands on it; gradually, as one gets nearer, it recedes and then fades away. It is like the shimmering heat that one sometimes sees at home on a hot day, but greatly intensified. Distances look out of proportion on the desert; little mounds, too small to be called hills, appear like huge mountains. About every thirty miles there seem to be slight rises of a terrace-like formation.
Every evening the men make bread, which they call “khuz.” It is very simply done and quite good when freshly baked. They take flour and a little salt and mix it together with water, in a basin or on aclean sack, kneading it into dough with their hands. When it is solid and firm they smooth it out into a flat, round loaf about 1½ inches thick. Then they go to the fire, scrape aside all the embers, and lay the loaf on the hot sand. Then they put the embers back on the top of the loaf. After a few minutes’ cooking they rake aside the fire again and turn the loaf, replacing the fire on the top as before. The time taken in cooking depends on the heat, but is generally about ten minutes. The bread lasts until the following evening.
All the way we are following what is known as a “mashrab,” a desert road, which consists of a narrow rut about a foot wide, worn by the passage of camels through many centuries. Without specially looking for them one would hardly notice these mashrabs, which are almost identical to the “gazelle paths” that wind aimlessly about the desert, but one is helped by the cairns of stones which are raised by the Arabs on every bit of high ground, sometimes to show the way and sometimes to mark the lonely grave of a less fortunate traveller. Each of these twisting desert tracks is known to the Arabs by a different name. There is the “Mashrab el Khamisa,” from Bagbag to Siwa, called thus because there are five wells on the way; there is the “Mashrab el Akhwan”—the Brothers’ Road, from Jerabub to the coast, which was used by the Senussi Brethren when they travelled from their Zowia at Jerabub into Egypt; and the “Mashrab el Abd”—the Slave’s Road, as according to legend, once upon a time, inthe dim ages, a slave who was captured and brought by this route into Egypt from his home in the west, returned to the west and led an army against Egypt by the very road that he had come by as a captive. Often the mashrab seems to fade away, and then the trackers have to ride on ahead and pick it up again. A number of Bisharin from the North-East Sudan were specially enlisted in the Camel Corps as trackers and guides. They are thought to be more skilful at this work than any other tribe, though personally I think a bedouin is cleverer. But when working in a bedouin country it is best not to employ local natives. Some of the Bisharin are almost unnaturally clever, they can follow a footstep over hard, broken ground where anyone else would see no sign of anything. These men have a natural instinct for finding the way, a sort of abnormal bump of locality. When they first arrived on the coast some of them were wearing the usual clothes of their country and the fuzzy-wuzzy coiffure that is so remarkable a characteristic of their race. The Arabs had never seen this type of Sudanese and were intensely interested in them. Small bedouin boys used to stand and stare at these tall brown men with the great mops of woolly hair ornamented with a few skewer-like objects, but the Bisharin were absolutely indifferent.
28th.
Left “Keimat en Nus”—the half-way tent—at a very early hour and rode for a long time by moonlight;one can cover more ground when it is cold, but there is a danger of going off the track. The mashrab is faint enough in the daytime, but almost invisible at night. When we start off in the morning all the men shout together three times, “Ya Sidi Abdel Gader,” invoking a certain sheikh who is the patron sheikh of travellers. One of my men told me that he was born in Berber “min zaman”—a long time ago—and used to travel about the Sudan deserts without water or food. His descendants still live at Berber where he is buried.
For the first hour or two the men are very lively and rouse the desert with their singing. Usually one man sings the refrain in a rather drawling falsetto voice, and then the whole lot take up the chorus with a real swing, and some of them have very good voices, too. Sometimes the song is the history of a certain Abu Zeyed, a legendary character and an exceedingly lewd fellow, from all I could hear of his doings. Sometimes they would sing stories from the Thousand and One Nights, or sometimes the songs would be chants that reminded one of the Gregorian music in a very “High” church at home. Often I used to ride on ahead, almost out of sight, and then wait while the chanting voices gradually grew louder, and the long line of camels came into sight across the white moonlit sands. There was something very fascinating in the sound of the singing as we rode through the African desert at night.
But later on, when the sun began to warm up,nobody felt like singing. Occasionally somebody started, and a few voices joined in, but they very soon subsided again. At the midday halt the men rigged up rough bivouacs with blankets, and rifles as tent poles, then for several hours one lay in the scanty shade, feeling like a pat of butter that had been left out in the sun by mistake.
Howa is getting very tired. I picked her up and carried her on the saddle across my knees for several hours to-day. She is quite fit, but 200 miles in the hot weather does take it out of a dog. The camels are in good condition but much looking forward to water, their flanks are beginning to look “tucked in,” and at night some of them groan and gurgle horribly. To-morrow we should be in the oasis at the first well. This evening I functioned with the medicine chest; I gave several of the men pills and Eno’s, which they enjoyed, and dressed a foot with a bad cut on it. My own knees are like raw beef from the sun, though I’ve been wearing shorts all the summer. We have to be “canny” with the water as several of the “fanatis”—water-cans—are leaking. Fortunately I have trained myself only to drink a little in the morning and evening, and I can wash quite thoroughly in two cups of water.
Sometimes in the evening I walk right away from the camp into the utter quiet of the desert, out of sight of camels and men. It is a wonderful sensation to be in such absolute silence, with nothing to see but the horizon and “the rolling heaven itself.” Then I retrace my footsteps to the campand enjoy the pleasant feeling of seeing the twinkling fires in the distance, and arriving at a neatly laid dinner-table right in the middle of nowhere.
“Daylight dies,The camp fires redden like angry eyes,The tents show whiteIn the glimmering light,Spirals of tremulous smoke arise, to the purple skies,And the hum of the camp sounds like the seaDrifting over the desert to me.”
“Daylight dies,The camp fires redden like angry eyes,The tents show whiteIn the glimmering light,Spirals of tremulous smoke arise, to the purple skies,And the hum of the camp sounds like the seaDrifting over the desert to me.”
“Daylight dies,The camp fires redden like angry eyes,The tents show whiteIn the glimmering light,Spirals of tremulous smoke arise, to the purple skies,And the hum of the camp sounds like the seaDrifting over the desert to me.”
“Daylight dies,
The camp fires redden like angry eyes,
The tents show white
In the glimmering light,
Spirals of tremulous smoke arise, to the purple skies,
And the hum of the camp sounds like the sea
Drifting over the desert to me.”
29th.
In the early morning, before dawn, we passed a caravan going north. I rode over to see who they were and found that it was a party of Mogabara Arabs on their way up to the coast, and thence into Egypt. One of them, Ibrahaim el Bishari, is quite a well-known merchant who travels about Egypt, Tripoli and the Sudan. He had come lately up from Darfur, via Kufra, Jalow and Jerabub, and was going down to the Sudan again after spending some time in Egypt. He talked about people I knew in Darfur and carried “chits” from a number of Englishmen. His fellows looked a fine lot of men, very different to the few Siwans who were travelling with them. I should have liked to have seen the stuff in his loads; he said he had some good carpets that he hoped to sell in Egypt. We wished each other a prosperous journey, and so parted “like ships that pass in the night.”
We camped at midday within sight of the high country above the oasis. This morning one of mymen was talking about the Sudan and touched on the “Bilad el Kelab”—the Country of Dogs. All Sudanese believe that this place exists somewhere down in the south of the Sudan towards Uganda. I have seen them draw maps on the sand to show its position. In this mysterious country all the men become dogs at sunset time and roam about the gloomy forests like the werewolves of mediæval fiction. I have heard the men yarning over the camp fires and saying how their cousin’s wife’s brother—or some such distant relation—actually reached this country and returned alive. Of course it is always somebody else who saw it, but the story is firmly believed by all Sudanese, and so it is a very favourite topic of conversation. Sometimes they enlarge on it and tell how So-and-So married a wife from that country and one night a number of dogs arrived at his hut and carried the woman away with them.
This afternoon we ascended from the desert to the high limestone range that forms a rampart to the oasis on the north, and then we started crawling down into the Siwa valley. The desert plateau is about 600 feet above sea-level, and the oasis is 72 feet below it, and as the height of the hills is considerable there is a big drop down into the oasis. The track winds in and out through strange rocky passes, among weirdly shaped cliffs whose tortured shapes remind one of Gustave Doré’s illustration of the Inferno. These wild ravines are utterly desolate, even in the spring no vegetation grows among them.This is a land of broken stone where huge boulders seem to have been hurled about by giant hands. The sun sank low before we had escaped from the mountains, and the fantastically shaped crags were silhouetted with monstrous shadows against the yellow sky. Sometimes the narrow road seemed to cling to the side of a towering cliff, and at other times it twined in and out through deep, echoing valleys in the shadow of the overhanging, jagged rocks. In places the camels had to be led in single file. Once the men began to sing, but the dismal echoes among the caves sounded almost inhumanly depressing, so they gave it up, and we marched along in silence. Finally a line of far distant green appeared down below between two great cliffs, and one could see, very faintly, the masses of graceful palms nodding their crests over the murmuring oasis. To weary men after a six days’ camel ride across the desert the first glimpse of Siwa is like the sight of the sea to those ancient Greeks on the far-away shores of the Euxine.
CAMEL CORPS TREKKING TO SIWA, NEAR MEGAHIZ PASS
CAMEL CORPS TREKKING TO SIWA, NEAR MEGAHIZ PASS
CAMEL CORPS TREKKING TO SIWA, NEAR MEGAHIZ PASS
When all the camels had come out from the last valley among the rocks we “got mounted” and rode for about half a mile, past groups of palm trees, already heavy with clusters of yellow dates, to Ein Magahiz, which is the first spring in the oasis. Here we camped for the night, watered the camels, who simply revelled in the water, and I enjoyed a luxurious bathe in the deep cool spring which rises among a cluster of palm trees. All night we couldhear the thudding of tom-toms in Siwa town, which is only a mile or so away.
“The cadenced throbbing of a drum,Now softly distant, now more near,And in an almost human fashionIt, plaintive, wistful, seems to comeLaden with sighs of fitful passion.”
“The cadenced throbbing of a drum,Now softly distant, now more near,And in an almost human fashionIt, plaintive, wistful, seems to comeLaden with sighs of fitful passion.”
“The cadenced throbbing of a drum,Now softly distant, now more near,And in an almost human fashionIt, plaintive, wistful, seems to comeLaden with sighs of fitful passion.”
“The cadenced throbbing of a drum,
Now softly distant, now more near,
And in an almost human fashion
It, plaintive, wistful, seems to come
Laden with sighs of fitful passion.”
30th.
The mosquitoes last night were a reminder that we are no longer up on the high desert; they were maddening, in spite of a net. This morning everybody bathed and shaved and generally polished up. We rode across to the town in great style; past the palm-shaded gardens with fences of yellow “gerida”—palm branches; past the white rest house, on the terraced side of a curious conical hill called “The Hill of the Dead,” honeycombed with rock tombs; past the long low “Markaz,” where the mamur and the police guard turned out to see us; across the wide market square, and through the narrow streets between tall houses of sunbaked clay below the enormous high walls of the old town. The heat was already great, and the streets were almost deserted, except for a few recumbent figures in a shady corner of the market-place, who scrambled up as we rode by and then hurried off to tell their friends that the “Hagana”—Camel Corps—had arrived.
The Camel Corps barracks and the District Officer’s house are out on the sand about half a mile south of the town. They occupy two isolated rocks about a quarter of a mile apart, which were formerlythe strongholds of two Siwan sheikhs. The District Officer’s house stands on a limestone rock about 50 feet high. It is a high house built of mud and palm log beams. To reach it one goes up a steep path in the rock with roughly cut steps on to a little terrace with a sort of loggia that opens through the building into the large courtyard behind, which is surrounded by a high loopholed wall. There are two rooms on the ground floor, both high and long, about 30 by 15 feet, and two more rooms above with a roofed loggia and an open roof. The rooms have three windows in each, with glass in them, the only glass in Siwa, facing north and looking across the grove of palm trees below the house to the strange-looking town on its two rocks. The house was built by the former District Officer, who added to the old Siwan fortress which existed there; it has a wonderful position and is high enough to be free from mosquitoes.
I spent a busy day settling down and fixing up things with S——, who starts with his section for the coast in two days. S——is heartily sick of Siwa and longing to see the last of it. We dined on the terrace outside—to the accompaniment of throbbing tom-toms over in the town—on soup, chicken, caramel pudding and a dish of every sort of fruit, which was a pleasant change after months on the coast without any. Caramel pudding is the “pièce de résistance” of every cook in Egypt; unless one orders the meal it always appears on the menu. S——’s cook is an indifferent one. Out hereI have noticed a universal habit of considering, or pretending to consider, one’s own servants absolute paragons of virtue, honesty, cleanliness and skill, and invariably running down everybody else’s. I have heard men hold forth for hours on the excellent qualities of their Mohammed, or Abdel, knowing myself that Mohammed—or Abdel—or whatever his name may be, was a double-dyed villain and swindling his master right and left—but now I am doing it myself!
I think what impressed me most on arriving at Siwa was the intense heat, the excellent bathing, the enormous height and strange appearance of the town, and the incessant sound of tom-toms from sunset onwards. One misses “the slow shrill creak of the water wheels, a mournful cry, half groan, half wail,” which is such a feature of Egypt and the Sudan. The average temperature in the summer was about 108 degrees in the shade, or on warmer days 110 degrees or 112 degrees, but the nights were cool, and every evening regularly at about eight o’clock a little breeze blew across from the east and freshened things up. The only way to keep the house cool was by leaving the doors and windows open all night, and keeping them closed and tightly shuttered during the day. It resulted in dark rooms, but at least they were fairly cool and free from flies. I soon made the house very comfortable with some rough home-made furniture and a few carpets and mats.
When a new Section of Camel Corps arrived atSiwa one of the first events that occurred was the “taking over” of wives. In most cases the men who were leaving handed on their wives to the new men, in the same way as the stores, barracks, camels, etc., were officially handed over by the officer who was going away to his relief. On the day before the new Section rode in all the ladies retired from the campen masseto the houses of their relations in the town; the new men then entered into negotiations with the retiring Section for the taking over of the wives. A few of the men sought fresh pastures, but most of them took on the wife of a man they knew well in the other Section. On the day that the departing Section left Siwa all the ladies assembled on the road that they would pass, carrying their boxes and belongings, and when the camels came by they shrieked and wept, throwing dust on their heads, beating their breasts, pretending to tear their clothes, and showing signs of the most frantic sorrow at the departure of the men. As soon as the camels were round the corner out of sight they brushed off the dust, put on their bracelets, tidied themselves up and hurried merrily across to the “harimat” outside the barracks, followed by boys carrying their boxes, to their new husbands who were waiting for them. This performance happened regularly whenever there was an exchange of Sections. I used to watch the little tragi-comedy from my terrace. The harimat of Siwa consisted of a number of rush huts below the rock on which the fort was built. If any of the wives caused trouble, and they often did, they wereejected and never allowed to marry a soldier again. Polygamy was forbidden, and each lady, before she married, was required to produce a certificate stating that she was a respectable person, signed by several sheikhs and notables of the town. The Siwans had no objection to these alliances between Sudanese soldiers and Siwan women, as women in Siwa outnumber the men at the rate of three to one.
The daily routine at Siwa did not vary very much. In the summer I was generally called at 5.30, in time to run down from the house and have one plunge in the cool deep bathing pool in the palm grove below the rock before dressing. Clothes were a very minor matter; one wore simply shirt, shorts, shoes and stockings, all of the thinnest material. Then I used to walk over to the C.C. barracks and take the parade, sometimes mounted drill, sometimes dismounted. We did mounted drill on a stretch of firm white sand among the dunes south of the barracks. Breakfast was at about eight—eggs, coffee, bread and jam, the eggs being even smaller than Egyptian ones, about the size of bantam’s eggs, so one needed a lot for a meal. After breakfast I went across to the barracks again, and then rode down through the town on my pony to the Markaz.
The path to the town passed over a disused cemetery where the pony was very liable to stick its foot through the thin layer of soil above the graves, under an archway and into the street that divides the Eastern and Western quarters. The street itself was hard rock and very steep in parts, but owing to theheight of the tall houses on each side it was generally cool and shady and a favourite resting-place of the inhabitants, many of whom lay stretched full length across the street taking their siesta. But the clattering hoofs of my pony generally roused them, and they scrambled out of the way when I came. The Siwans are well mannered, a virtue that one never sees in Egypt nowadays, and even in the Sudan it is on the wane. When I rode or walked in the town everybody would stand up as I passed, and if I met people riding they would dismount until I had gone on. I have heard people at home say what a scandal it is that in some places the poor downtrodden natives have to stand up and move off the path for an Englishman, but after all they would do exactly the same for their own Pashas, and apart from being an Englishman one was entitled to respect as being the representative of the Egyptian Government in Siwa. Once I was badly “had” over this. I was riding through the market with some policemen following me on my way to make an inspection. There was a group of Siwans sitting talking on the ground, and as I passed they all stood up—except one man who remained comfortably seated in the shade right in the middle of the path. I ordered one of the policemen to see who he was and to bring him along to the Markaz to answer for his bad manners. A few minutes later the man from the market was led into the office. He was stone blind!
The Markaz is a large building outside the town with square courtyard surrounded by prisons, storesand offices. It has a permanent guard of locally enlisted police; they are quite smart men, but of little use when there is trouble in the town, and always at enmity with the Sudanese Camel Corps. At the Markaz I would usually find a number of petitions to be read and examined, some cases to be tried, and probably people applying for permits to cross the frontier who would have to be questioned and seen. Then the sheikhs would arrive and there would be discussions about various things—taxes, labour, work on the drains or Government buildings, new regulations and orders, and then perhaps the merchants would be summoned, and a heated controversy would follow about the price of sugar, or the butchers would come to complain of the cost of meat. It was like a daily meeting of a town council, and complicated by innumerable interests, rivalries and intrigues. All these matters, though they sound very small, were of considerable importance to the Siwans.
There were six sheikhs recognized by the Administration, three of them eastern, and three western. Sheikh Saleh Said was the most influential and the most unbiassed by personal considerations. He was a big handsome man with a dark moustache and features that might have been copied from the bust of a Roman consul. He always wore a long blue robe, and was the most dignified and impressive of the sheikhs. I never saw him in a hurry or at all excited. Sheikh Thomi was a little dark fellow, and reputed to be the richest man in Siwa. He had aqueer, quick way of speaking, was intensely obstinate, a staunch Westerner, but honest—as far as I ever knew. I once offended him very grievously. One day he sent me a basket of grapes, the first that had ripened in his vineyards. I gave the servant boy a piastre for bringing them. The boy returned and presented the piastre to Sheikh Thomi, who was very hurt at being sent 2½d. when he had made me a gift of fruit. Sheikh Thomi was a man of means and worth several thousand pounds. I heard about the piastre incident and explained it to him. To offer to pay for what is meant as a present is a real breach of good manners, much worse than refusing it.
Sheikh Mohammed Abdel Rahman was a venerable white-bearded individual who had been to Mecca and apparently lived on his reputation of excessive sanctity; he always agreed with everything I said, and then if I veered round and deliberately contradicted myself he did the same—it was not helpful!
Abdulla Hemeid was a sly, fat, greedy man with a pale face and blue eyes. He was very stingy and always complaining against taxation or anything that affected his pocket. He never gave an entertainment, but I always noticed him eating heartily in other people’s houses. His family were much esteemed and he had succeeded his father, who had been a very famous man in Siwa.
Mohammed Ragah was a thin, dark, hawk-like man, more like an Arab than a Siwan. He was very badly off for a sheikh, but keen and clever, and not above doing a bit of hard work with his own hands. Hewas the only man in Siwa at whose house one was given good coffee. He had shown great courage during the Senussi occupation in protecting some Egyptian officials who were in Siwa.
Mahdi Abdel Nebi, Sheikh of Aghourmi, was the youngest of the sheikhs, and the most reasonable and intelligent, though he had never been out of Siwa. He was a cheerful, pleasant fellow, but cordially disliked by the rest of the sheikhs. These six were the men who to a certain extent controlled the destinies of Siwa.
About once every week when I arrived at the Markaz I would find the doctor, or the mamur, or the clerk waiting for me in a state of tearful hysterics, begging me to forward his resignation to the Governor, as he could exist no longer in the company of his colleagues—the two other officials. Then would follow a long infantile complaint. If I could not smooth him down I had to bring in the other two, who would also dissolve into tears, and try and get to the bottom of the affair, which was always absolutely childish and ridiculous. On one occasion the mamur had refused to allow the doctor to have a watchman to escort him home past a certain graveyard which alarmed him, or the clerk accused the mamur of inveigling his cook into his service, or something equally small. Unfortunately the clerk was a Copt, the doctor a Syrian, and the mamur was a Cairene. It went on unceasingly, the most preposterous things served to bring one of them weeping to my office. And when they were relieved theirsuccessors were just the same. Yet they were good men at their work; the clerk had a heavy amount of office work and did it well; the doctor was quite clever and had been trained in America; and the mamur was good at his job. Exactly the same thing occurred among the native officials on the coast, so it was not only the effect of Siwan solitude.
From the Markaz I rode home, and after a light lunch either painted, read, or went to sleep till about four, when I had another bathe, followed by tea. After tea I went over to the Camel Corps for “stables,” and then generally out for a walk. Sometimes I went to Gebel Muta, the Hill of the Dead, a rocky hill on the north of the town full of tombs hewn out of the living rock, some of them being large and lofty with as many as eight coffin spaces round the sides. In one of them there were the remains of a coloured wall painting with figures of men and animals. Other times I climbed up to the top of the town. The view from the flat roofs of the highest houses on the rock is very wonderful, especially at sunset. On the south of the town there is a long ridge of rolling yellow sand-hills which change their contours when the desert winds sweep across them, and become pink and salmon-coloured in the evenings; towards the north one looks across a sea of palm groves and brilliant green cultivation to the jagged range of mountains that separate Siwa from the desert; on the west there is a great square mountain with a gleaming silver salt lake at its foot, and in the east one sees the little village of Aghourmicrowning another high rock which rises above the tree-tops.
At sunset the scene is exquisite, the hills turn from pink to mauve, and from mauve to purple, and their peaks are sharply outlined against the gold and crimson sky; long violet shadows spread across the rosy-tinted sand-hills, and the palm groves seem to take on a more vivid shade of green. The smoke ascends in thin spirals from the evening fires, and a low murmur rises from the streets and squares below; then suddenly the prayer of the muezzin sounds from the many mosques, and one can see the white-robed figures swaying to and fro on the narrow pinnacles of the round towers that in Siwa take the place of minarets. When the call to prayer is over and the last mournful chant has echoed across the oasis, and the glow in the sky is fading away, one hears far down beneath the soft thudding of a tom-tom and perhaps the faint whine of a reed pipe. When the deep blue Libyan night covers the city the music becomes louder and seems to throb like a feverish pulse from the heart of the town.
Often in the evening I rode out and called on the Sheikh of Aghourmi, which is the little village on another rock two miles from Siwa. Mahdi Abdel Nebi had recently succeeded to his father as Sheikh of Aghourmi and was having some difficulty in sustaining his authority, even with the support of the Administration, against the plots and intrigues of an old cousin of his, one Haj Mohammed Hammam, a sly old man who was rich, influential, and a thoroughscoundrel, and wished to oust his cousin and become sheikh himself. After the war Haj Hammam had carefully cultivated the acquaintance of any British officers who came to Siwa, and he was inordinately proud of knowing their names and of certain small gifts that they had given him—a broken compass, a highly coloured biscuit tin and some photographs. These he showed on every occasion, and also remarked that they used always to call him “TheSheikh of Aghourmi”—this apparently being his only claim to the title.
Hammam used to employ people to let him know immediately when I was riding out to Aghourmi, so that he, and not the sheikh, should be waiting to receive me at the gates; then he would try to persuade me to accept his hospitality instead of the sheikh’s. Sheikh Mahdi always invited his old cousin to the tea drinking, though I could well have dispensed with him, but one could not object to the presence of another guest. Sheikh Mahdi’s house was the only one in which a woman ever appeared when I was there. She was an old Sudanese slave woman who had been brought many years ago from the Sudan. Once I got her to tell me her story, but she spoke such a queer mixture of Arabic and Siwan that it was difficult to follow.
It appeared that when she was about eight years old she and her small brother were playing outside their village somewhere in the North-West Sudan, and a band of Arabs—slave raiders—swooped down and carried them off. They were taken up intoTripoli and there she was sold to another Arab who brought her to Siwa on his way to Egypt. She fell ill and almost died, so the Arab, who did not want to delay, sold her cheap to the Sheikh of Aghourmi, father of the present one; he handed her over to his wife who cured the child. She remained at Aghourmi for the rest of her life. She was a lively old body and told the story in a very cheerful way, giggling and laughing, not apparently feeling any wish to return to her own land.
SHEIKH MAHDI ABDEL NEBI, OF AGHOURMI WITH HIS DAUGHTER AND COUSIN
SHEIKH MAHDI ABDEL NEBI, OF AGHOURMI WITH HIS DAUGHTER AND COUSIN
SHEIKH MAHDI ABDEL NEBI, OF AGHOURMI WITH HIS DAUGHTER AND COUSIN
Aghourmi is almost more picturesque than Siwa. The road to the gate passes below the overhanging rock on which the houses stand, which is thickly surrounded by a luxuriant wilderness of apricot, fig and palm trees. The steep path to the village goes under three archways, each with an enormous wooden gateway, and this path is the only possible means of entering the place. Above one of the gates there is a high tower, and the houses alongside the path are loopholed so that an enemy making an attack could be safely fired at from all sides by the defenders. Inside the town there is the same dark maze of narrow streets as in Siwa, with wells and olive presses, but all on a smaller scale than those in Siwa town. There are a few houses below the walls. The sheikh lives in the middle of the town in a big, high house with a roof that has as fine a view as any that I have seen.
I got home after sunset and often had another bathe—by moonlight—before changing into flannels for dinner, which I had on the terrace in front of thehouse. I slept upstairs, on the roof, but I always kept a spare bed ready in the room as quite often a wild “haboob”—sand-storm—would blow up in the middle of the night, and even indoors one would be smothered and choked with sand. Such was the average day at Siwa, and by nine or ten o’clock one was glad to turn in.
Occasionally after dinner one of the natives who were employed as secret service agents would arrive very mysteriously at the house on some excuse and report that there were fire-arms in the house of So-and-So. Sometimes the information was no more than an exaggerated rumour, but if it sounded true I would make a night raid on the person who was supposed to have rifles. These night raids were very dramatic, but did not always yield the harvest that was expected. The informer would lead the way, disguised by a turban pulled low over his head and a scarf muffling his eyes. I followed with a dozen armed Sudanese. The difficulty was to prevent the owner of the house getting wind of us before we surrounded the building, and to surround a Siwan house which has dozens of doors and passages and exits over roofs is no easy matter. It was not a matter of entering a hostile town, but of surprising a household. We would pad silently into the town, and anybody who we met roaming the streets would be attached to the party to prevent his giving warning. On reaching the house the guide slipped away in the darkness, and I surrounded the house with men; then at a whistle each manlit a torch and I beat on the door and demanded admittance.
Immediately the wildest hullabaloo began inside—men shouting, women yelling, donkeys braying and hens cackling. Sometimes this was done in order to distract our attention from somebody who tried to slip out and remove the rifles to a safe hiding-place. When the door was opened all the male occupants were marched outside and the harem sent into one room, where they sat on the floor with shawls over their heads and reviled us—but in Siwan, so nobody was any the wiser. The house was searched from top to bottom, the ceilings probed, the mats raised, and every room examined. Sometimes the rifles were buried in the floor, or hidden in bales of hay. Occasionally a modern rifle and some ammunition was found, but usually some old Arab guns and a bag or two of shot and gunpowder. If we had a successful haul the master of the house would be marched off in custody to the jail in the Markaz, and next day he would be tried, and probably heavily fined or imprisoned.
THE HISTORY OF SIWA
“Cities have been, and vanished; fanes have sunk,Heaped into shapeless ruin; sands o’erspread.Fields that were Edens; millions too have shrunkTo a few starving hundreds, or have fledFrom off the page of being.”
“Cities have been, and vanished; fanes have sunk,Heaped into shapeless ruin; sands o’erspread.Fields that were Edens; millions too have shrunkTo a few starving hundreds, or have fledFrom off the page of being.”
“Cities have been, and vanished; fanes have sunk,Heaped into shapeless ruin; sands o’erspread.Fields that were Edens; millions too have shrunkTo a few starving hundreds, or have fledFrom off the page of being.”
“Cities have been, and vanished; fanes have sunk,
Heaped into shapeless ruin; sands o’erspread.
Fields that were Edens; millions too have shrunk
To a few starving hundreds, or have fled
From off the page of being.”
SIWA lies thickly covered with “the Dust of History,” and its story is difficult to trace. For certain periods one is able to collect information on the subject, but during many centuries nothing is known. Some of the leading sheikhs have in their possession ancient documents and treaties which have been handed down through many generations from father to son. There is also an old Arabic history of Siwa, which appears to have been written some time during the fifteenth century, kept by the family whose members have always held a position corresponding to that of a town clerk, but this old history is so interwoven with curious legends and fables that it is difficult to separate fact from fiction. I used to sit in the garden of the old sheikh who owned the book and listen while he read. He was a venerable but rascally old fellow in flowing white robes, the green turban of a “Haj,” and huge horn spectacles. Thebook itself was a muddled collection of loose sheets of manuscript kept in a leather bag.
Roughly the history of Siwa can be divided into four periods. The first, which is also the greatest period, dates from the foundation of the Temple of Jupiter Ammon. The second period begins at the Mohammedan invasion in the seventh centuryA.D.The third period commences with the subjugation of Siwa by Mohammed Ali, early in the nineteenth century; and the fourth and last period is the history of Siwa during the Great War.
FIRST PERIOD
The Temple of Jupiter Ammon
According to the late Professor Maspero, the great authority on Egyptian antiquities, the oasis of Siwa was not connected with Egypt until about the sixteenth centuryB.C.In about 1175B.C.the Egyptian oases, of which Siwa is one, were colonized by Rameses III, but very little authentic information is available on the history of Siwa until it came definitely under the influence of Egypt in the sixth centuryB.C.Mr. Oric Bates, in his exhaustive work,The Eastern Libyans, states that the original deity of the oasis was a sun god, a protector of flocks, probably with the form of a bull. The African poet Coreippus, mentions a ram-headed Libyan divinitycalled Gurzil who was represented as being the offspring of the original prophetic God of Siwa. His priests fought in battles, and the emblem of the god was carried by the Libyans in the fray. A sacred stone at Siwa is referred to by Pliny, which when touched by an irreverent hand stirred at once a strong and harmful sand-wind. The theory of sun worship, and the idea of an evil wind directed by some spirit in a stone is substantiated by the local customs and legends which are prevalent in Siwa at the present time.
It is certain that when the Egyptians occupied Siwa, in about 550B.C., according to Mr. Bates, they discovered a local Libyan god firmly established and supported by a powerful but barbarous cult. So great was its reputation that King Crœsus of Lydia travelled to Siwa and consulted the oracle a little before, or at the time of, the Egyptian occupation. The Egyptians identified the local god of the oasis with their own Ammon. In the fourth centuryB.C.the god Ammon, of the Ammonians, for this was the name by which the people of Siwa were now known, had become one of the most famous oracles of the ancient world. At the time when the Egyptians recognized and worshipped the god of the oasis, a number of stories became prevalent, tending to prove that the deity at Siwa originated from the Ammon of Thebes, and one legend even went so far as to assert that the Ammon of Thebes was himself originally a Libyan herdsman who was deified by Dionysius. The following are some of the many legends whichrelate the origin of the Siwan god, and which suggest its connection with the Theban Ammon.
Herodotus, in whose works there are frequent allusions to the Ammonians, describes the inhabitants of the oasis of Ammon as being colonists from Egypt and Ethiopia, speaking a mixed language, and calling themselves Ammonians, owing to the Egyptians worshipping Jupiter under the name of Ammon. He relates that the colonists instituted an oracle in imitation of the famous one on the Isle of Meroë, and mentions the following account of its origin. Two black girls who served in the Temple of Jupiter Ammon at Thebes were carried away by Phœnician merchants. One of them was taken to Greece, where she afterwards founded the Temple of Dodona, which became a well-known oracle; the other was sold into Libya and eventually arrived at the kingdom of the Ammonians. Owing to her strange language, which resembled “the twittering of a bird,” she was supposed by the inhabitants to possess supernatural qualities; her reputation increased, and her utterances came to be regarded as the words of an oracle. There is a different version of the same fable in which the girls are represented as two black doves, one flying to Greece, the other to Libya.
According to Diodorus Siculus the Temple of Jupiter Ammon was built as far back as 1385B.C., by Danaus the Egyptian. Rollins, in hisHistory of the Ancient World, names Ham, the son of Noah, as the deity in whose honour the temple was built bythe Ammonians. Another legend tells that Dionysius was lost in the desert on one of his fantastic expeditions and nearly died from thirst when suddenly a ram appeared, which led the party to a bubbling spring. They built a temple on the spot, in gratitude, and ornamented it with representations of a ram’s head. It is interesting to compare this story with one of the legends written in the Arabic history of Siwa. A Siwan, journeying in the desert, was led by a ram to a mysterious city where he found an avenue of black stone lions. He returned home, and set out again at a later date, meaning to rediscover the place, but he never found it again. In both cases it is a ram that led the way, and the god of Siwa is represented as having a ram’s head.
The temple, whose ruins are to be seen at the village of Aghourmi, near Siwa, was built probably during the sixth centuryB.C.The date is decided by the style of its architecture. This temple was known to the Egyptians as “Sakhit Amouou,” the “Field of Palms,” owing to its situation among groves of palm trees. It is evident that at this time Siwa was the principal island in a desert archipelago consisting of several oases, most of which are now uninhabited, obeying a common king and owing their prosperity to the great temple of the oracle. Such a cluster of islands would invest the dynasty to which King Clearchus and King Lybis belonged with considerable importance. Herodotus tells how certain Cyrenians held a conversation with Clearchus, King of the Ammonians, who told them that a partyof young men had set off on an expedition from his country to the west, through a wild region full of savage animals, eventually arriving at a great river where they found a race of small black men. They supposed this river to be a branch or tributary of the Nile, but it was actually the river Niger. Thus it is shown that at this period Siwa was an independent monarchy. The Ammonians lived under the rule of their own kings and priests, and chieftainship was associated with priesthood. Silius Italicus describes the warrior priest Nabis, an Ammonian chief, “fearless and splendidly armed,” riding in the army of Hannibal.
Another early visitor to the oasis was Lysander the Spartan. Being disappointed by the oracle of Dodona he travelled to Siwa, under colour of making a vow at the temple, but hoping to bribe the priests to his interests. Notwithstanding “the fullness of his purse” and the great friendship between his father and Lybis, King of the Ammonians, he was totally unsuccessful, and the priests sent ambassadors to Sparta accusing Lysander of attempting to bribe the holy oracle. But “he so subtly managed his defence that he got off clear.” The Greeks held the oracle of Ammon in great veneration. The Athenians kept a special galley in which they conveyed questions across the sea to Libya. Mersa Matruh, sometimes called Ammonia, was the port for Siwa, and it was here that the ambassadors and visitors disembarked and started on their desert journey to the oasis. The poet Pindar dedicated an ode to Jupiter Ammon,which was preserved under the altar of the temple for some six hundred years; and the sculptor Calamis set up a statue to the god of the Ammonians in the Temple of Thebes at Karnak.
In 525B.C., Cambyses, wishing to consolidate his newly acquired dominions in Northern Africa, dispatched two expeditions, one against Carthage, the other into Ethiopia. He made Memphis his base of operations and sent 50,000 men as an advance party to occupy the oasis of Ammon. His generals had orders to rob and burn the temple, make captives of the people and to prepare halting-places for the bulk of the army. They passed the oasis of Khargeh and proceeded north-west. But the whole army was lost in the sea of desert that lies between Siwa and Khargeh. The Ammonians, on inquiries being made, reported that the army was overwhelmed by a violent sand-storm during a midday halt. But it is more probable that they lost their way during one of the periodical sand-storms which are so prevalent in this desert region, and were overcome by thirst in the waterless, trackless desert. There was no further news; they never reached the temple, and not one of the soldiers returned to Egypt. This huge army still lies buried somewhere in that torrid waste, and perhaps some fortunate traveller may at a future date stumble unawares on the remains of the once mighty host. In the old Arabic history there are two other stories of armies that were lost in the desert. In one case it was a Siwan army which opposed theMohammedan invaders, and in the other case an army of raiders from Tebu were lost on their way to attack the oasis.
In 500B.C., Siwa and the other oases were subjected to Persia, and in the following year Cimon, the celebrated Athenian general, sent a secret embassy to the oracle while he was besieging Citium in Cyprus. The deputation was greeted by the oracle with the words, “Cimon is already with me,” and on their return it was found that Cimon had himself perished in battle. The foretelling of Cimon’s death augmented considerably the reputation of the oracle.
Oracles were most frequently situated in the vicinity of some natural phenomena; this at Siwa consisted of a sacred spring known as “Fons Solis,” the “Fountain of the Sun,” which by its strangeness contributed to the divine qualities of the temple. Very probably it was the “Ein el Hammam” which lies about a quarter of a mile south of the temple ruins and is to-day one of the largest and most beautiful springs in the oasis. Ancient writers describe its waters as being warm in the morning, cold at noon and boiling hot at midnight. Blind, black fish lived in the pool, according to the Arabic history, which was connected with the rites of the temple. The water to-day is a trifle warmer than most of the springs, and for that reason it is the favourite bathing-place of the inhabitants of Aghourmi. I have stood by the spring at midnight and tested its warmth, but it seemed in no way todiffer from the other springs, except that it was a very little warmer.
There are many contemporary descriptions of the actual temple, and antiquarians have from time to time disputed as to its original size and form. It appears to have consisted of a main building, or sanctuary, surrounded by triple walls which enclosed the dwelling-places of the king, priests and the guards, standing on a rocky eminence among the palm groves. A smaller temple stood a few hundred yards south of the acropolis. The rock on which the village of Aghourmi now stands was evidently the site of the original temple and fortress, and the ruins below the village, known as “Omm Beyda,” are those of the minor temple. The two temples were connected by an underground passage.
The old history of Siwa gives a detailed description of the court of the king. The following is a rough translation. “At one period Siwa ranked among the important towns of the Egyptian sovereigns. It was ruled by a king called Meneclush who built a town and cultivated the land. He made the men drill and inaugurated a seven days’ feast in commemoration of his succession. The people of King Meneclush dressed richly and wore golden ornaments. The king lived in a stone and granite palace, and assembled his people in a great square which had four different courts, and in each court there was a statue which caught the sun at different times of the day, and when the sun shone upon the statues they spoke. When the people assembledthey stood on seven steps. On the highest step sat the king, below, in succession, the king’s family, priests, astrologers and magicians, generals and courtiers, architects, soldiers, and, below, the people. Each step was inscribed with these words, ‘Look down, not towards the step above, lest ye become proud’—thus inculcating the principle of modesty. The king lived in a palace called Kreibein, inside the walls. In those days there were many buildings in Siwa, spreading from Omm Beyda to Gebel Dakrour. King Meneclush was stabbed by a girl and is buried, with his horse, in the Khazeena, underneath Aghourmi. . . . At a later period Siwa was divided into two parts ruled by two princes called Ferik and Ibrik. Afterwards a queen called Khamissa ruled in Siwa and gave her name to the square hill at the end of the Western lake.”
Much of the history is missing, and at times it plunges into descriptions of neighbouring countries, but it is interesting to find mention of “statues that speak” when touched by the sun.
As recently as 1837 there was a considerable portion of the smaller temple standing. Travellers described the roof, made of massive blocks of stone, the coloured ceilings, and the walls covered with hieroglyphics and sculptured figures. But the depredations of Arab treasure hunters, and a Turkish Governor who committed an unpardonable vandalism by blowing up the temple with gunpowder in order to obtain stone for building an office, have reduced the once imposing building to a singleruined pylon, or gateway, which towers above the surrounding gardens, a pathetic reminder of its former grandeur. This solitary ruin, and two massive stone gateways almost hidden by mud buildings in the middle of the village of Aghourmi, is all that remains of the temple that was once famous throughout the world. In a way the ruins are symbolic of Siwa which was once a powerful dominion, but is now nothing more than a wretched desert station with three or four thousand degenerate inhabitants.
In 331B.C.the fame of the oracle reached its zenith, owing to Alexander the Great visiting it after having settled his affairs in Egypt. The visit to the famous oracle was undertaken in order to inquire into the mysterious origin of his birth. Probably at the same time Alexander wished to emulate the deeds of Hercules, from whom he claimed descent, and who was supposed during his wanderings to have visited the oasis. He marched along the coast to Parætonium—Matruh—where he was met by ambassadors from Cyrene, a wealthy city on the coast some 400 miles further west, who presented him gifts of chariots and war horses. He then turned south across the desert into a region “where there was nothing but heaps of sand.” After journeying four days the water supply, carried in skins, gave out, and the army was in danger of perishing from thirst when, by a fortunate chance, or by the direct interposition of the gods, the sky became black with clouds, rain fell, and by this miraculous means the army was preserved from destruction.
A little later the expedition lost its way, and after wandering for miles was saved by the appearance of a number of ravens who, flying before the army, guided them eventually to the temple. They found the oasis “full of pleasant fountains, watered with running streams, richly planted with all sorts of trees bearing fruit, surrounded by a vast dry and sandy desert, waste and untilled . . . the temperature of the air was like spring, yet all the place around it was dry and scorching . . . a most healthful climate.” Alexander was received by the oracle with divine honours, and returned to Egypt satisfied that he was indeed the authentic son of Zeus. As the son of the god he became a legitimate Pharoah, and adopted the pschent crown and its accompanying rites.
About this time various nations applied to the oracle for permission to deify their rulers, and on the death of his friend Hephistion, Alexander dispatched another embassy asking that Hephistion might be ranked as a hero. When Alexander died, in 323B.C., it was suggested that he should be buried at Siwa. However, the suggestion was not carried out and he was buried at Alexandria, the city to which he gave his name. One of the hills in the desert near Siwa is still called “Gebel Sekunder,” and tradition has it that from this hill Alexander saw the ravens which led him to the temple.
The ritual of the temple was somewhat similar to several other oracular temples. The actual oracle was made in human figure, with a ram’s head, richlyornamented with emeralds and other precious stones. The figure of the god appears to have been shown as though wrapped for burial, and this dead god, who was a god of prophecy, may possibly have set the fashion of menes-worship which one still sees in Siwa when natives resort to the graves of their ancestors in order to learn the future. When a distinguished pilgrim arrived for a consultation the symbol of the god was brought up from the inmost sanctuary of the temple and carried on a golden barque, hung with votive cups of silver, followed by a procession of eighty priests and many singing girls, “who chanted uncouth songs after the manner of their country,” in order to propitiate the deity and induce him to return a satisfactory answer. The god directed the priests who carried the barque which way they should proceed, and spoke by tremulous shocks, communicated to the bearers, and by movements of the head and body, which were interpreted by the priests.