On the Desert - Recent Events in Egypt/Chapter 3

by Henry Martyn Field

 

CHAPTER III.

 

THE FIRST DAY ON THE DESERT.

I did not come to Egypt to study politics or war, although the extraordinary interest of recent events has led me to refer to both, even to the extent of anticipating what took place after we left Cairo. History has been making so rapidly within the last few months, that even the passing traveller could not go over the scene where so much has transpired, without at least a brief outline of events which may change the face of the Eastern world.

But my purpose in coming to Egypt was simply to take it en route to the desert. When we were in the East six years ago, we had planned to sail from Constantinople to Beirut, and make the tour of the Holy Land; but the cholera had broken out in Northern Syria, which caused such a strict quarantine to be kept along the coast, that we were warned that we should be subject to great delay when we came to leave the country to enter Egypt, and so we were obliged to sail direct to Alexandria. We spent six weeks in Egypt, going up the Nile, and then embarked for India. I consoled myself for the loss of Palestine by inwardly resolving to keep it for another time, when I might be able also to go to Mount Sinai. That time had now come, and I was in Cairo not even to enjoy, except for a few days, its picturesque scenes or its delightful climate, but simply to pass on my way to a very different country.

I had come from Naples alone, leaving my family to spend the Winter in Italy. But it would have been cheerless to set out on a solitary pilgrimage across the desert. While unsettled in plans, I learned that Dr. George E. Post, Professor of Surgery and Botany in the Syrian Protestant College at Beirut, had for some time desired to make the journey to Sinai, and I wrote to him inviting him to share my tent and table. To my great joy, he was able to accept the invitation, and never was a traveller more fortunate in his companion. I found him the model of a Christian gentleman and scholar. He is one of that corps of young men who, uniting scientific knowledge with missionary zeal, have done so much both for science and religion, and I may add, for the honor of the American name in the East. For weeks we rode side by side on our camels, and his conversation beguiled the weariness of the way. With such a companion, one could never be lonely. He had lived eighteen years in Beirut, was master of the Arabic language, and was familiar with ail Oriental customs. He joined me in Cairo on the 20th of February, and we were together a week before we set out on our journey.

He at once relieved me of all the details of our proposed expedition. It is no small thing to make preparation for crossing the desert. One must choose his dragoman, and draw up a formal contract, which has to be signed and sealed before the Consul, in which every item is specified — the number of camels and tents, the days of marching, and the provisions of every kind, even to what we should have for breakfast, for luncheon and dinner, and to the number of our sheets and towels. Travellers in the East may be pardoned if they are sometimes lifted up with vanity when they see that it takes almost as much to set them in motion as to get a ship under weigh. Though there were but two of us, it required a considerable outfit for a month in camp. Everything had to be carried on the backs of camels — our tents, iron bedsteads, mattresses, table, and camp-chairs — a stock of household furniture sufficient to begin housekeeping; to which must be added stores of canned meat and fruits, boxes of eggs, and even a hencoop full of chickens! Even when thus provided, we could not have a single meal except as we carried sacks of charcoal to cook our food. And not less important than what we were to eat, was what we were to drink, of which we must have a large supply: for though the camels could go four days without water, we could not. This had to be carried in casks, which were slung on the backs of camels. Altogether an Arab sheikh, with his patriarchal family, could hardly make a more imposing caravan.

We found a dragoman in a Syrian from Beirut, whom Dr. Post had known before — Yohanna (or Hanna) Abeusaab — who was willing and obliging, though not always as energetic as we could wish, yet who served us fairly well, and for whom we had, and still have, a very friendly feeling. As soon as the contract was signed, he began to bustle about with a senses of importance, and in an hour or two knocked at our doors to ask us to come out into an open space behind the Hotel to see our tents, and to select our camels, The tents were already pitched, and we drew aside the door almost with the feeling that we were penetrating the retreat of some Oriental potentate. They were ornamented with figures in gay colors, and carpeted with Persian rugs, which together made quite a brave show. Yohanna smiled serenely as he saw the pleasure, not unmingled with surprise, with which we regarded such magnificence, and gravely intimated that he was not yet at the end of his resources, but that he would do "more better" for us before he got through. There was also a housekeeping tent in which the cook would perform his mysterious operations. The Arabs would sleep outside in the open air.

The selection of camels is a very nice matter, as on a good beast depends much of the comfort of one's journey. Looking over the number of those lying on the ground, I picked out a young dromedary that had rather a sleek appearance. Just then Dr. Schweinfurth, who was passing in the street, came up, and gave us the benefit of his experience as an African traveller. He thought I had chosen rather a pretty creature, but advised me to spread out what she carried broadly on her back, so as to make, not a narrow saddle, but a space on which one could sit in Turkish fashion, with his legs under him, or change his posture at will. I observed that this was the custom of the Arabs, by which they are able to take their long marches on the desert without undue fatigue. As my camel and I were now to be on somewhat intimate relations, I approached to make her acquaintance, and even tendered her some little caressing, attempting to stroke her gently; but in an instant she swung round her long neck, and gave me a vicious snap, which warned me not to presume on any familiarities. I concluded to make no further advances, but still virtuously resolved to be a kind and indulgent master.

In all this busy preparation, I felt as if I were "only a passenger," although Dr. Post said that the Arabs, recognizing me as the head of the expedition, would give me the title of "Father of Backsheesh." I find that the relation between the giver of backsheesh and the receiver of it, is a mysterious and sacred one. Hardly had I left this tent-ground before an Arab, whose camel I was to ride, rushed up to me in the street, and saluted me with the greatest warmth, telling me that "he was my backsheesh-man"!

The camels went forward to Suez four days before we left Cairo. As we could overtake them in a few hours by railway, we lingered behind to the last moment to enjoy the animated life of the streets and bazaars. As we sat on our balcony, and listened once more to the music from the square below, it seemed as if the band were playing a Chant du Depart, and we knew that our time had come. But we both felt regret at leaving the most Oriental of cities, with perhaps the single exception of Damascus; and as we rolled away, we kept looking back at the Pyramids, as with other companions I had looked back at the dome of St. Peter's as we departed from Rome. The Delta is not unlike the Campagna in its broad sweep and limitless horizon, and never did it appear in greater beauty. The Springtime had long since come, and already the land was rejoicing with the joy of its first harvest — a harvest not of grain, but of grass. As far as the eye could reach, the fields were in bloom with clover. These rich, juicy grasses are the chief dependence of the Arabs for the support of their beasts of burden, and the harvest is gathered with the greatest care. It is not done by patent mowers, as on our Western prairies; but the Arabs, scattering over the plain with their sickles, clear each a rod or two of ground, just enough to make a load for a camel, and piling them in huge bundles on their backs, a procession of these moving haystacks goes swinging along the road into Cairo. This clover-harvest lasts only a few weeks, but it is a very pretty sight, presenting a boundless sea of verdure, and illustrating the exhaustless fertility of the Valley of the Nile.

And now we leave the great river behind us, and move out on the broad spaces of the Delta, where we find resemblances to other landscapes than the Campagna. If we could but take away the miserable Arab villages, and in their places introduce a few windmills and dykes and canals, we might be in Holland; or if we were to go still farther, and strip the landscape of all but what nature has given it, we might be on the prairies of Illinois. But the Arabs and the camels and the palm-trees are not Dutch nor American.

About fifty miles from Cairo, we come to Zagazig — a place which has risen to importance as a centre of the railway system of Egypt, the line from Cairo meeting that from Alexandria, and going on to Ismailia and Suez. Soon after leaving Zagazig, the railway runs parallel to the Sweet Water Canal, and after a few miles passes over a spot which six months later was to be made famous by the battle of Tel-el-Kebir.

But as we could not anticipate history that was to come, our thoughts were of history long past and remote. We were here skirting the land of Goshen, where Jacob and his sons settled when they came into Egypt, and from which four hundred years later Moses led the Exodus of the Israelites, then grown to be a nation of two (perhaps three) millions of people. When they rose up in the night to flee out of Egypt, it is not probable that they intended to march by the way of the desert: for that was far aside from the direct route to Canaan, the land promised to their fathers. At first they moved to the northeast, following the old caravan route to Syria, from which they were turned back by a line of forts which stretched along the border of Egypt — the dividing-line between Asia and Africa. It was then that they turned southward to make their escape, and that the Egyptians, following hard after them, thought that they had caught them between the mountains and the sea, which had "shut them in"; and it was only when the Israelites had crossed the Red Sea, which not only overwhelmed their enemies, but put a barrier to further pursuit, that they were safe.

At Ismailia we struck the desert, which here appears, not as a level plain, but undulating like the rolling prairies of the West. The wind, having an unbroken sweep, makes sport of the sand, as it does of snow in Winter, casting it up in huge drifts, like the dunes thrown up by the German Ocean on the coast of Holland.

At eight o'clock in the evening we reached Suez (we had left Cairo at noon), and stopped at the hotel where, with another travelling companion, I had rested for a night six years before, when on the way to India. There is hardly a caravanserai in the world which receives within its doors a more miscellaneous company of travellers, coming and going between Europe and Asia. As we sat at table, Englishmen who had just landed were talking of tiger-hunts in India. A gentleman with whom we had made a pleasant acquaintance in Cairo, was to leave the next morning for Hong Kong. While conversing with him, our dragoman burst in to tells us that the camels had come, and with the Arabs were in camp on the other side of the Gulf of Suez, distant three hours' sail. He wished us to be up at six, and in light marching order for our long journey on the Desert. We begged for an hour's grace, but promptly at seven stepped into the little boat that was lying at the quay; and as our English friends, who were on the balcony of the hotel, waved their handkerchiefs and wished us a happy journey, the Arab boatmen raised their lateen-sail, and we glided softly from the African shore.

But there was still a little formality before we were fairly out of Egypt. For months there had been almost a panic in the East, from dread of the approach of cholera. It had broken out in Mecca, where it was reported that hundreds were dying daily, and from which returning pilgrims had so often brought the cholera or the plague into Western Asia, and so into Europe. A strict police had been kept up on all the lines of approach, and thousands of pilgrims were compelled to halt in their march till the danger of contagion was passed. This cordon sanitaire was still rigidly maintained even when there seemed to be no necessity for it. The alarm was over, and yet more than a dozen great steamships were still lying off the harbor, detained in quarantine a week before they could land their passengers, lest they should bring cholera from India or some other part of Asia. As this was no longer necessary, it seemed a cruel hardship that Europeans, returning from the East, when their voyage was over and they were in sight of land, should be detained a whole week before they could set foot on shore. Even we, poor innocents, although we did not come from Mecca, but were rather going towards it, yet had to stop at the quarantine to be inspected, lest we should carry infection among the beggarly Arabs. However, they did not detain us long, and taking on board a black soldier, who had some badge of office round his neck, and whose presence gave us permission to land on the other side, we bore away. Never did a fairer morning shine on land or sea. As we receded from Suez, we had a fuller view of the mountains of Attaka, which form a background behind it; and very grand they were, with their sharp peaks rising against the sky, and their sides seamed and scarred with the storms of thousands of years. As they are of a dark-brown-red color, one can hardly resist the impression that they gave name to the Red Sea, although it is more commonly supposed to be derived from the red coral which is so abundant in its waters. This bold and rugged coast of Africa is in striking contrast with that of Asia, which is all sand and desert. As we sailed across from one to the other, it seemed as if here was the natural place for the passage of the Israelites; as if they must have been "shut in" by the mountains behind us, and crossed here at the narrowest part of the sea. In such musings we skimmed the still waters of the Gulf. As we approached the other side, we found the shore covered with tents, which were for the coast-guard that had been kept here for months to detain caravans of pilgrims coming from Mecca. At ten o'clock the boat touched a long stone pier that stretched out from the land, and we sprang ashore, and were on the soil of Asia. Here our camels were waiting for us. But we did not wait for them, but leaving them to load up the baggage, started off in advance, eager for our first walk on the desert. The fresh, pure air put new life into us, and we strode ahead in high spirits, although here and there the skeletons of camels that lay bleaching in the sun warned us that a desert journey was not without its dangers.

At the distance of a mile or two we came to the Wells of Moses, where there are a number of springs and palmtrees. The place may well bear the name of Moses: for as it is the first oasis on the desert, there can be little doubt that he camped here after his passage of the Red Sea, and here perhaps Miriam sang her song of triumph.

These Fountains of Moses might be made a very pretty spot. But like everything which the Arabs touch, the place is neglected and dirty. Green slime collects on the pools of water, yet underneath the springs bubble up as fresh as they did three thousand years ago, and with a little effort the surface might be kept clear, and the water be always sweet and pure. Even as it is, the palm-trees grow luxuriantly, the very sight of which, and of the pools of water, must be grateful to those coming from the desert. We were in a glow with our walk, and found it very pleasant to rest under the shade, and enjoy the coolness, as a gentle wind was stirring the palms above our heads. Generally parties camp here for the first night, and start fresh in the morning. But we had a day's work before us, and now sprang up as we saw our train approaching. It halted in front of us, and the camels knelt down in the soft, warm sand for us to mount, and when they rose up, we were fairly launched on the desert.

To the left is a chain of low hills, which forms part of the escarpment, bounding like a wall the vast upland of the Great and Terrible Wilderness, which we were afterwards to traverse, and which we found to be indeed a land of desolation. Between these hills and the Red Sea stretches the desert, into which the traveller plunges as soon as he leaves the Wells of Moses. There is no gradual approach, by which he may get accustomed to his new experience. As the sailor puts out from the land into the open sea, so the traveller is instantly at sea in the billowy ocean of sand. And how did it seem — this first dash into the desert? The first sensations were of glare and heat. The heat was melting, the glare was blinding. The sun beat down upon us as in mid-summer. Turn which way I would, the sky above was brass, and the earth beneath a fiery furnace. Even the sight of the sea gave no suggestion of coolness, but rather the contrary, as it shimmered under the blazing sun, which seemed as if it would lick up all the waters of the earth. As we sweltered on over the sands, I thought, How little do those who "live at home at ease" know of the "delights" of foreign travel! After an hour or two, it began to grow rather monotonous; and fearing lest I should dissolve, if this heat continued all the afternoon, I turned meekly to the dragoman, and asked "Yohanna, how long are we to have this sort of thing?" "Thirty days," was the answer. I dropped the subject.

As some travellers who follow us may be as ignorant or as thoughtless as I was, perhaps it may be of service to tell how I learned by experience to guard myself against these two exposures and dangers of the desert. To protect my eyes, I had provided myself in Cairo with goggles, which I immediately mounted, and which for a time afforded great relief: a sudden shadow fell on the landscape, as if a welcome cloud had intercepted the rays of the sun; all things took another hue; the yellow sand put on a purple tint that was grateful. But after an hour or two, I found that the blue glasses, while they shut out the glare, also shut out the view of the desert; and as I wished to see it in all its savage nakedness, I uncovered my eyes. As a partial protection, I had purchased in Cairo a pith hat, or helmet, such as is commonly worn in India, which is perforated to furnish ventilation for the head, and which projects in front so as to afford a partial screen for the eyes. At Mount Sinai I bought of a monk a straw hat of immense brim, such as I had never seen worn except by Chinamen in the East. It seemed to be modelled after the top story of a pagoda, and settled on my head like an extinguisher. It was very good on the desert except as the wind blew, when it took the breeze like a sail or a parachute. After many experiments, I came to the conclusion that the best protection against both the blinding glare and the withering heat, was the Indian helmet, supplemented by a broad, generous umbrella. The latter should be specially constructed for the purpose — double-lined, and with a long, stout handle that can be lashed to the pommel of the saddle. With these two protections combined, one may feel that he has a double awning on the upper deck, and will hardly be in danger of ophthalmia or sunstroke. And yet let the traveller do what he will, there are certain stubborn realities that are here, and that cannot be changed: the fierce sun is over his head, and the burning sand is under his feet; and after all precautions, he will find it necessary to offer the prayer that the sun may not strike him by day, nor the moon by night.

Added to the stifling heat, we began to feel the craving of hunger, for we had taken our breakfast at Suez at an early hour. It was now time for lunch, and I looked about for some quiet, shady spot, where we could find shelter from the noontide heat. How welcome would be one of our Stockbridge elms, and how gladly would we lie down under its grateful shade! But in all the horizon there was not a tree to be seen — not a solitary palm, nor even a juniper bush, under which we might crouch, like Elijah. Weary with the hopeless search, at last we halted right in the midst of the desert, "squatting" on the sands, with no other shade but that of an umbrella. But we made the best of it. The dragoman spread out his Persian rugs, and proudly displayed the resources of civilization, as he brought out tin plates and knives and forks, and gave us a roasted chicken and pressed beef, with bread and oranges and figs. We rose up grateful as for a feast, mounted our camels, and resumed our march. From that moment we took a new view of life, looking on the bright side of the desert. We found that while the heat was intense, the air was of such exquisite purity that we drew in deep inhalations. We breathed though we burned, and each breath seemed to renew our strength. In such an atmosphere one can see to a great distance. We had in full view the chain of mountains on the other side of the Red Sea. We even grew reconciled to the everlasting sand, which, though burning to the touch under the midday sun, was yet so clean that it seemed as if it had never been stained by blood or tears. So pure and undefiled was it that we wondered not that in the absence of water it is sometimes used for the sacrament of baptism, and that the Arabs use it for their washings before prayer. Our dragoman put it to a more homely service: he washed his dishes in the sand, whereby they were not only cleansed, but scoured.

And now as we are fully "at sea," it is time to speak of the "ship" that carries us. To-day began my first experience of camel-riding, of which I had heard such fearful descriptions, and which is to many the great terror of the desert. An English writer, the late Albert Smith, describes the sensation to be like that which one would experience in riding on a piano-stool that was mounted on the top of a Hansom cab, and driven over plowed ground! Friends had told me that my back would be broken, and for the first hour or two I almost expected to hear the bones crack. Yet strange to say, I lived through it, and "still live" after a month's experience of the same kind, and find camel-riding not at all unpleasant. It is a long, swinging motion, and one needs to get limbered up to it. The spine must be made flexible — not a bad thing for a man who is by nature stiff-backed. Indeed I am prepared to take up the defence of the camel as a much-abused and long-suffering beast. True, I cannot boast of his looks or of his temper. He has no beauty, like the horse, with smooth, round body, arched neck, and clean limbs. The only pretty feature of a camel is his ears, which, instead of being long like a donkey's, are small like those of a mouse. But his general features are ungainly: he seems to be all back and legs. These are not graceful proportions. Nor is the absence of physical perfection compensated by his moral qualities, so that we can say "handsome is that handsome does," for the camel is not an amiable beast. He is always groaning and complaining, and has a growl like a lion.

But in spite of all defects of temper, he has some notable virtues. Though he has not the speed of the horse, yet when it comes to the heavy work of carrying burdens, he leaves the horse far behind. Much as camels growl when you are loading them, yet when the burden is placed upon them, though they will not skip off like a prancing steed, they will rise up and carry it all day long. In this they are like some Christians, who are always grumbling, but who, when it comes to the pinch, rise up under their loads, and bear them manfully; while others, who are smooth and plausible and full of promises, manage to evade every irksome duty. But as to riding this beast of burden, one might well hesitate. The first glance is not assuring. When you take your stand beside the huge creature, whose hump towers quite above your head, and think of climbing such a height, it seems like climbing a haystack. But you do not have to climb up to him: he kneels down to you. The only trouble is in mounting. Here there are three separate motions, which may be deseribed as a kind of "double back-action," or a double forward-action. The camel is lying on the ground, his long legs all under him, and they have to be taken out by instalments. The rider mounts, and the beast begins to rise. First he rises to his foreknees. This tips the rider back to an angle of forty-five degrees. Then his long hindlegs begin to move under him, and as he rises, not to the knees, but to the full height, the rider has a violent pitch forward. Then the forelegs are set in motion again, by which the camel rises from his knees to his proper level, and the rider is in the saddle.^[1]

Once seated, the posture is very easy. Indeed one can ride in any posture — astride, as men ride, or sidewise, as ladies ride — and with this advantage, that one can turn either way, to the right or the left. When Dr. Post and I were riding side by side, we often turned so as to face each other, and thus had many a pleasant conversation as we moved slowly along. Sometimes the Doctor, who was an expert in such gymnastics, swung clear round toward the tail, and so watched the caravan as it came lumbering along behind us. The favorite posture of the Arab is with his legs crossed on the camel's neck. To this one easily gets accustomed. I sat thus for hours, with folded arms and folded legs — the picture of a philosopher. It is a great advantage in riding that the camel does not need to be guided. He has no bridle, but only a halter around his nose, by which he is led. To each animal there is a cameleer, who, if need be, will go before and lead him. But I soon found this to be unnecessary, since camels, left to themselves, will follow each other in Indian file, and seldom get out of the way. Thus moving on with slow and steady step, a camel's back is a good place for reading or meditation. As one has no use for his hands in guiding, he can hold a book or a letter. As I could get no new letters on the desert, I read over my old ones again and again. Here too one can find scope for endless reveries. In a caravan one is often left to himself. His companions may push ahead, or drop in the rear, so that the line of march is long drawn out, and each one finds himself alone. At such times I used to cross my legs, and throwing the halter over the neck of my poor dromedary, let her stray along at her own will, now stopping to crop the scanty herbage, and now moving on with measured step. Thus "rocked," as it were, "in the cradle of the deep," who could but give way to his quiet musings? Especially did this mood come upon us at the approach of evening. Isaac went forth to meditate at eventide, and few are not more or less touched with the sweet influences of the scene and the hour. Conversation drooped with the falling of the day, and for an hour or two we rode on in silence. As the sun sank lower on the Egyptian hills, the air grew cooler, and then came the beauty of the desert. The sun went down in glory. Turning on our camels, we watched the dying day as it lingered long on the waters of the Red Sea and on the tops of the distant mountains. Then shot up something like an aurora, or the afterglow on the Nile. The scene was so beautiful that we should have stopped to gaze upon it but that we were growing anxious about our course. The baggage train had gone ahead to pitch the camp, but where was it? We looked eagerly for the white tents, but saw none. The last gleam of twilight faded into night, and the moon, nearly full, rose over the desert, and all things looked weird by its light. But the distance seemed longer and longer. By-and-by it flashed upon us that the old sheikh who was leading us had lost his way. There was not a track of any kind. For half an hour we were in a good deal of anxiety, for we might have to spend the night under the open sky. The Arabs raced the camels across the fields, and we shouted at the top of our voices. At length, to our great relief, we heard an answer, and in a few minutes saw the lights of our tents. It was half-past seven when we came into camp. Our men had been as anxious about us as we were about them. We found dinner awaiting us, after which we strolled out to call upon our neighbors: for another American party from Philadelphia, which had left the Wells of Moses in the morning, was camped near us. Indeed we camped side by side every night but one till we reached Mount Sinai. Taking the two parties together, there were twenty-seven camels, and about the same, or a larger, number of men. It was a picturesque sight to see the huge creatures stretched upon the ground, and the Arabs about their camp-fires cooking their food. All round us the sand glistened in the moonlight, white as the driven snow. In such a scene of peace, we lay down in our tents to sleep the first night on the desert.^[2]

 

1. Dr. Post, who looks at the camel with the eye of an anatomist, describes his rising up on his feet more scientifically, as follows: "It is divided into three stages: 1st, A backward undulation, by which the hindquarters receive the weight of the trunk, while he disengages his left foreleg, and advances it bent at the left foreknee. 2d, A strong forward lunge as he raises both hindquarters together to their full height; it is this lunge which surprises the inexperienced rider by the punch in the back and the forward fling. 3d, The left foreleg is now straightened fully, thus raising the forequarters to their natural level; he assists himself in this motion by steadying himself on his right wrist until he is nearly erect, when he flings the right forefoot into position in the act of straightening the other leg. The act of kneeling reverses these motions, except that he drops upon both foreknees at once, giving something of a jar to the rider."
2. This spot [in the Wady Sudr] where we lay down to sleep so peacefully, was five months later the scene of a fearful tragedy, the capture and massacre of Professor Palmer and his party, an event which thrilled England with horror. For a fuller account of it see Note on pages 238-240.