Departure from Cairo — Equipage — Tents — Desert — Sand-Storm — Atakah — Red Sea — Suez
Cairo, Saturday, Jan. 12. 1856. — Rose before seven. Thermometer 45°. Morning fine. Breakfasting at eight, we began, immediately after, the business of removal. It took upwards of two hours to get our camels loaded, which was done in the public street, amid a crowd of onlookers, young and old, of all nations. At a quarter before eleven we moved off, going out at the Shilbra gate, and soon after passing through an avenue of shabby trees, which lined, if they did not adorn, the road. Leaving these trees, we came to what seemed the opening of the desert, — undulating wastes of whitish sand on each side, which soon became of a more rough and stony character, — tlic whitening skeletons of camels beginning to appear. About five o’clock we halted and encamped, not having advanced above eight or nine miles on our journey. Our halting place was as tame and bleak as can be imagined. But we soon shut out the soHtude, and sitting down to a comfortable meal, we forgot that we were now in the Desert. It was strange to notice how quickly the tent dispelled the feeling of loneliness which does at times come down on one when he looks round on such wastes. The moment that the tent went up, and was fairly dravl round us, — leaving us with bed and table and fenuss (folding lanthorn), to our mutual fellowship, the desert seemed shut out, the loneliness at an end. Having joined together in thanking God for his gracious kindness, and committing ourselves and our ways to his guidance, we lay down on our small iron bedsteads, and both in blankets and plaids, soon fell asleep. The thermometer was at 621 We had not the miumur of the stream, nor the rustle of the leaf to lull us; but we had what was equally effectual, — deep stillness, — a stillness to which for some time past we had been strangers. We had now gotten what the prophet longed for, — “a lodging-place of wayfaring men in the wilderness” (Jer. ix. 1.) Our tent-dwellings were exactly the “traveller’s night-lodge,” as the word in that passage means. But even in this sandy solitude, we felt no fear of evil by night or by day, — “thou shalt lie down and none shall make thee afraid” (Job xi. 18.)
As to this day’s work and scenes, I wrote thus in a letter dated “Our Tent, Jan. 14... We left Cairo on Saturday about eleven, taking our donkeys for a few miles, lest we should make an exhibition of ourselves in the public street in omfirst attempts at camel-riding. We then went on board the ’ ship of the desert.’ The motion of the camel is much less unpleasant than I had expected.”
TRAVKLLlu KQUIPAUE. (ilf
Another letter records the scene. “As we moved along I surveyed the whole retinue. There was our dragoman, Haji-Ismael, mounted on one camel, with my two portmanteaus firmly roped to the side of the animal. He was dressed out for the start, with a goodly flowing robe and a head-dress, whose red and yellow stripes glittered Lrightly to the sun. On another camel were two large square panniers, of palm-branch wicker-work, filled with oranges and lemons, to the amount of at least tJOO of the former and 1 00 of the latter. On another was our “canteen,” that is, two immense wooden chests, containing our dining apparatus, such as plates, knives, forks, spoons, cups, not omitting candles and fewlsscs, that is lanterns made of linen, apparently saturated with bccs-wax or some such substance, which draw out to more than a foot in length when in actual use, but can be contracted or folded together into a very small space for jjacking. Above this apparatus was placed our kitchen-grate, a long iron box, pierced with a hundred holes in sides and bottom, — its four legs, like signalpo.sts stretched upwards to the sun. Then came another with an immense wicker-cage, which formed the prison-house of some 100 fowls, all alive, but quite willing a))parently, to go to the stake for us, — as four of them arc to 1)0 called on to do each day at simset. Balancing thf’He fowls is another cage, with half-a-dozen turkeys, which we are told are to be our “Sunday dinners.” On another our bedding is mounted, on another our tents, ou another our cliarcoal, on another our barrels of
Nile-water, en another sacks containing our camp-stoels and table, — our bed-steads, and the pins (ivatt-ivatts) of our tents. Most carefully was everything packed up before it mounted the camel. A tribe of wanderers knows how to “pack,” as indeed they have no security for any part of their property in moving about save the good packing. They have bags for their money, and sacks for other thing a Hence, in reference to God’s careful remembrance of sin, Job says, —
“^ly transgression is sealed up in a bag, And thou scwcst up mine iniquity.” (Job xiv. 17»
And Hosea also, alluding to the same custom, —
“The iniquity of Ephraim is bound up,
His sin is hid.” (IIos. xiii. 12.)
On four lighter animals, which were said to be dromedaries, were the four travellers, — all of them in good spirits, while one of them as the march proceeds, repeats the well-known hymn.
Guide mc, O thou great Jehovah,
Pilgrim through this barren land.
There were nineteen camels in all, and, including dragoman and servants, about the same number of men, — all of them s;^rthy Arabs. Notable amongst them is Sheikh SuHman, the Sheikh or chief of one of the Sinaitic tribes, w’ is our guide and guard. He is a tall erect Arab, beyond the middle age, with a happy face of humour and kindness, which he shews every hour, in every possible way. His voice is shrill and cheerful, his step as light as that of a Wahdsh, Lut he has one or two front teeth knocked out, which mischance, however, does not give him a sinister aspect, for through the vacancy, the free Arab laugh seems to come all the more heartily. He makes a most companionable conductor, though our intercourse is by signs not words, for he knows even less of English than we do of Arabic. His underdress is a loose white shirt like a night-gown (Kaftan), over which ffoes a brown covering; or sackcloth cloak of camels-hair (A bydh). He wears a sort of sandals made of skin and stitched with thongs; they barely protect the soles of his feet. With these he trudges or skips or scrapes along, according to his fancy, his gun (baroudeh) on one side and his sword (jamheh) on the other. Our drivers are like their chief, but each of them has quite a face, air, and dress of his own, — one a fine Grecian j)rofile, another a pleasant round-featured Scotch visage, another wild as a South Sea savage, another with a shaggy beard, another without a beard, another soft-looking like a female, another fierce as a bandit, another (my own driver and valet) tall and vigorous, with an unch-essed sheep-skin hung over his back, which sometimes forms a target for orange-peel and such like. All of them are kind and obliging.”..
S’lhhafh, Jan. 13. 1856. — To-dny we rest “according to the coraniaiidincnt.” Rose about eight. Thermometer 50. 13 reak fasted ut half -past eight. Went out amid the sands while breakfast was preparing. After brefikfast “family worship.” A quiet Sabbath forenoon! How deeply still, — save a casual interruption from the voices of the Arabs or the (^rowl of the camel! After the uproar of Egyptian cities and villages, how peaceful did this wilderness apjicar. We had regular service at twelve, though not summoned by the Sabbath-bell. The tongues of the Arabs sometimes annoyed us, breaking in upon our quiet, and reminding us of him who said, “Woe is me that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar” (Psa. cxx. 5.) The heat was great, and the thermometer stood at 79° in the tent. Towards evening we saw our camels, which had been allowed to wander through the day, sauntering back to our teuts. The moou rose in oriental brightness, sheddins; no inconsiderable light, though but in its first quarter. Jupiter and Saturn shone out in spite of the moonliiiht. The north-star seemed very low to us who had been accustomed to see it far up in our northern heavens. AVhat peaceful splendour filled the wide blue above, and covered as with a veil of transparent snow the yellow waste around!
How beautiful is night!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air;*
No mist obscures, nor clouil, nor speck, nor stain
Breaks the serene of heaven.
* Southey’s expression here, “silent air.” has been remarked upon as peculiarly expressive. So it is. But long before Southey, Ovid had spoken of “muta silentia noctis,” — “alta quies,” — and had said — Kullo cum miirmiu’c sepes, ImmotiEque silent frondes, sUet liumidus aer; Sidera sola micant. — {Metam. vii. 187.) and Lucretius had spoken of “pacati status aeris ille.” — (iii. 294.)
In fall-orbed glory yonder moon divine
Rolls thro’ the dark-hlue depths.
Beneath her steady ray
The desert circle spreads
Like the round ocean gh-dled with the sky.
How beautiful is night!
Monday, Jan. 14. 1856. — Our Sabbath-rest greatly refrejhed us, and we all started this morning about 8, quite inlngorated and braced either for heat or cold. The day was fine, and the thermometer at 56^ in the tent. “We had to be patient witnesses of some clamour and strife among our men, arising not so much from the adjustment of the loads, as from some new Arabs, who had arrived last nioht and insisted on beino- taken into service. We left the dragoman to fight the battle and walked on for a mile or two.
We were now in the direct road for Suez, There are others, — one specially, farther south, through Wady TawariJi, by which some have supposed that Israel went, resting their supposition on the name said to be given to this valley, — viz., Wady Et-Tih, or, “the Valley of the Wanderings.” It is not likely, however, that Israel came so far south before they struck eastward. It appeared to us that their route had lain more eastward all along, so that to have got round the extremity of the ridge that forms the northern Avail of this Wady, would have been very far indeed out of their way. They appear rather to have come nearly straight south, along the vast sandy plains, and to have pursued their way till they suddenly found themselves locked in by the
7-4 ENCAMPMENT.
promontory which projects into the sea, and forms an acute ancle with its western mar2:in.
The road lay through dreary flats of sand, with occasional undulations. It is marked off by low walls of sand, about two feet in height, thrown up on each side to indicate the proper track, which otherwise must have been hard to find in such a monotonous plain. The only relief to the eye to-day was a desert tree, on a small sandy mound. It was just shewing its leaves, no more. It stood like life in the midst of death. It looked somewhat like a thorn to us, but we did not .see it in leaf The Arabs called it Saydleh, and it is supposed to be the shittim-wood of Scripture. It is a kind of acacia. To the left rose some sandy peaks as we advanced, and about mid-day we saw Jehel Atdkah, or the mountain of deliverance, towards our right. We pushed on till six o’clock, and encamped under the lee of the Transit Company’s eighth station, as the wind was beginning to blow strongly from the west. The day went down amid clouds and gloom. We had some hard work in pitching our tents, and securing them from the desert-blast, which seemed to increase every hour, and which sung through our cordage while it shook our dv.-elling furiously, putting pole and canvas to the proof Disregarding these assaults from without, we made ourselves comfortable within, and employed the evening in writing letters which we might post at Suez.
Tuesday, Jan. 1 5. 1856. — A bleak cold morning aftei a stormy night of rain. Thermometer 51°. Unmoorec
THE DESERT, /O
about nine, though the day promised ill. The blasts
swept bitterly along, bringing with them sometimes
rain and sometimes sand. We had started for a walk,
but found it difficult to face the storm. At one time
we sat down at a break in the low wall of sand, which
was hio’h enoucjh to afford some shelter. The words oi
the prophet seemed vividly real; and we felt that we
needed not only a “shadow from the heat,’’ but a
“covert from storm and from rain.” (Isa. iv. 6.) Ours
was a poor enough covert, but we were thankful for it,
as both “storm” and “rain” kept driving on. We
stood the buffeting, however, much better than our
Arabs and their camels. The former shivered and
cowered, the latter stood still, as if afraid of the wind,
and benumbed by the cold rain. We made but little
way, yet still keyt moving upon the whole, till we came
1 to the next “station,” where we all took shelter, men
. and beasts, hoping that the tempest would go by. When
; resting here for upwards of an hour, we paid a visit to
; a curious-looking hillock of sand about half a mile off.
. There we found an enormous shaft sunk in the sand, —
the memorial of a vain attempt to discover water in this
I desert. Its diameter was upwar Is of twenty feet; but
, of its depth avc can say nothing. We came as near to
the edge as the crumblinof sand would allow us with
safety, in order to look down; but in vain, we could see
no bottom. We heaved in huge stones, — the debris of
huts built doubtless for the diggers, — and judging from
the interval ere the sound came to us, the depth must have been very consiJeral)le. Many of the “pits** spoken of in Scripture may have been, like this, the re* suit of a fruitless attempt to dig for water, as it is difficult otherwise to conceive for what purpose they were digged. “Whether “the pit in the wilderness” (Gen. xxxviL 22) into which Joseph was cast was such, we know not, but we know that “the pit was empty, there was no water in it” (Gen. xxxvii. 24). Yet it would appear that these pits were sometimes dug for shelter, as in the case of that one “which Asa made for fear of Baasha king of Israel” (Jer. xli. 9). Sometimes they were made for the execution of criminals, — “bring them to the pit of destruction” (P.sa. Iv. 23); “they have hid for me their net in a pit” (Psa. xxxv. 7). Sometimes they were used as prisons, “they shall be gathered as prisoners are gathered in the pit” (Isa. xxiv. -’2); “I have sent thy prisoners out of the pit” (Zech. ix. 11). Sometimes they were employed for the burial of the slain (Jer. xli. 7, 9).
As we lingered at the station, sheltered and safe, we watched the fury of the storm, which swept past us, and which seemed now at its height. Blast after blast rushed eastward, bearing before it miles of sand-drift, which surged, and whirled, and eddied, as if the soil had broken loose from the rocks beneath it. The whole ilain seemed to writhe beneath the scourging wind. One gTey wave after another came rolling past us, scattering the sand-syray as it went by, and dashing round the corner, under the lee of which our camels lay sheltered. Now it rose and fell in cloudy wreaths; now it poured itself along in divided streams over the slopes of the hillocks; now, in one wide torrent, it scoured the whole breadth of the waste; now, in hasty volumes, it rose up and mingled its yellow with the black of the rain-clouds above, gi’ing to the sky a peculiar tinge of dun and purple, altogether indescribable. Then at last came a fierce hail-shower, with the discharge of which the storm all but exhausted itseE* We moved off at once without delay, as the sky began to clear and the wind went down, giving us only now and then a reminiscence of its former vehemence, — a parting token of overspent fury. As we went along the landscape became finer, the wild hills coming sharply out on each side, in the clear air. At’dkah, to the right, sku’ted our way, — hollowed and indented at every part; and one or two Sayalehs at different places took off the tameness of the scene. But, as a whole, the day
The old poet’s description of a sand-storm is true and vivid: —
“Behold these needlcsse banks of sand, which have No seas to bound but this vast ocean Of barrenncssc; wlierc, when the windes conceive nigh swoll’n displeasure, and to battell run, Bandying their niutiuil blasts a thousand waies At once, a drie and pai ching storm they raise.
“For the wihle soilc, inijiaticnt to be plow’d, At lOolus” pleasure flies full in his face, And, climbing up into a tawny cloud,
With smoking rage toimcnts its new-gain’d place; Whilst blinded passengers amazed stand. And all the aire is nothing else but sand.”
BeaumoiiCs Psyche, Canto Till.
was a disagreeable one, and we were not sorry to pitch our tents and shut out the remains of the storm.
Yet one thought relieved the dreariness of the day. It could not be far from this that the desert-pillar first came down and rested over Israel. These peaks had felt its glow; these sands had known its brightness. Our route was now that which Pharaoh took in his pursuit of Israel, till arrested by the fire of the mysterious cloud, which, more effectual than a wall of cliffs or than troops of chariots and horsemen, barred his way, till his victims were beyond his reach.
Desert, Wednesday, Jan. 16. 185G. — A cloudy dawn after a sad night of rain, which soaked all belonging to us, — tents, clothes, &c. Thermometer at 50^ We struck our tents about nine. The wind had gone low, and the rain had quite ceased, so I walked on before, for a solitary saunter. The sky looked heav)% but the sunshine was not lacking altogether. It came out through the masses of cloud in brilliant bursts, like fiery columns, calling the pillar-cloud to mind, — for through that very sky the glory of Jehovah had passed. The hill-range on the left came out beautifully in the sun, — brown in its general hue, but everywhere streaked with sand in long: strata, like belts of snow. Not far off to the left, was the Pasha’s deserted palace. Soon the plain widened and grew more thoroughly desert, the road quite ceasing, and the sand getting rough with stones. The hills on the left (Atvaheit) were speedily left behind, and the Atdhah range, on the right, came out magnificently
During the whole afternoon we kept in sight of it. “What a reUef to the eye were its brown peaks and its gloomy hollows; while its long serrated line seem to cut the half cloudy, half-azure sky. Towards evening, this range took a bend southward, as if retiring to leave room for a larger plain, round one side of which it swept in a semicircle, while it left the other to be bounded by the sea. This noble semicircle of precipices is Mas Atdhali, “the head of Atdkah.” It maintains its full height for some twelve miles, and then drops right into the sea, eight or ten miles down from Suez, leaving not a foot of land for passage. Into this angle formed by the sea on the one hand, and Ras Atdhali on the other, Israel marched; and here they were “shut in,” (Exod. xiv. 8); while Pharaoh coming from the west, in the route which we had taken, marched upon their rear, and cut off all retreat. It is worth remembering, that Ras Atdkah is not the name merely for the abrupt headland which shoots into the sea; it is the name for the whole twelve miles of precipice which form the termination of the range. More than once I asked the Arabs about this, to make sure of it. Pointing to the one end of it, I inquired its name, — “Atdkah.” Pointing to the other end, I inquired its name, — “AidkaJt.” Then passing my finger along the whole line, I put the (question again; — “KtU Ras Atdkah,” rcpHc’d my camel-driver, rather amazed at my ignorance, and, waving his hands impatiently, as he pointed to the whole headlaiul, from end to end, — “Kill Ras Atdhah, — it is all Ras AtdlMh.”
In the course of the afternoon we came within sifrht of the sea, — a mere gleam of blue amid the yellow sand, — yet bright and beautiful. We could discern three large vessels riding at anchor; but, saving these, no signs of humanity or of life. Yet across that blue stripe, and probably just at the point where these vessels were lying, moved the hosts of Israel, those very watei-s rising up on their right and left to form a liquid wall, and the pillar-cloud moving before them to lead them through. Each part of the scene seemed sacred, — desert, mountain, sea, and sky.
The rapidity with which the sun sinks down, when once it begins its descent, stnick us. Instead of taking a long slanting curve as with us, it drops almost right down “in western cadence low,” — “hasting with prone career,” — not indeed to “the ocean isles,” — but to the desert hills. The speed, too, with which the shadows lengthen is very much greater than mth us; and to this, no doubt, is the allusion of Psalm cii. 12, — “My days are as a shadow which declineth,” — or more truly, “My days are as the shadow which is inclined;” that is, which has begun to lengihen, and which goes on rapidly lengthening till it has vanished wholly.
About six, the sun set brightly behind Ras Atdhah, «vhose summits continued to glisten with the soft purple radiance, long after its eastern slopes were hung with shadows. We paced on in the cloudless moonhght, for every cloud had disappeared, and the moon, almost right above our heads, hardly cast the shadow of either man or beast upon the sand. It was a splendid scene, — just such a night as we could have wished to be our first upon the shore of such a sea.
As we came nearer, we joined in singing first the Hundredth Psalm, Mr Beddome leading the song, and filling the desert air with the old melody. We then sung together,
Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea,
Jehovah has triumphed, his people are free.
I shall say nothing as to the performance, save that at such an hour and in such a scene, it could not fail both to stir and to solemnize.
Had the light allowed, we ought to have seen before this, on our left, the Castle of Ajvdd, an old fort upon the pilgrim-route, — or as it is called the Haj-road, — to Mecca. But all in the distance was invisible. Even f astern moonlight cannot throw back the veil of night. The sun of Egypt and the sun of the desert seemed certainly to widen the horizon of day, but that of night, under the briijhtest moonshine, was no wider than our own. The ‘-’desert circle” in which Thalaba and his mother are made to wander, did not spread to any greater breadth than upon our own brown moors.
Wc stopped a few minutes at a gi’cat public well called Bir-Sueiss, the well of Suez, a little way from the town of Suez, to give our camels drink. Most of them drank greedily; but one or two did not, though they had been vnthout -water for nearly five days. The well looks like a large fort, with water-troughs outside the walls. It was a strange moonlight scene, — the old walls above us, — camels and Arabs clusterhig under them upon the yellow sand. The whole cavalcade soon moved off along the plain. We encamped about eight, hard by the town, and still nearer the sea.
We had now reached the shore of that sea up to which God led Israel. This was our direct route to Sinai, but it was not theirs. Had it been a straight road to that mountain that they were seeking, they would have kept more to the east, and there would have been no need of crossing the sea at any point. In coming up to the sea at all, they were taking a circuit, — a circuit which, without any compensating advantage, threw them upon their enemies, and made their position most perilous. But in going south along the western margin of the sea for miles, as they did, they were doing more than taking a circuit. They were deliberately interposing the sea between them and Sinai, — and voluntarily imposing upon themselves the necessity for crossing a gulf which they could easily have avoided, thereby making their extrication almost impossible. Had any general done so with his army, he would have been declared eitb&v mad or utterly ignorant of the country. But Moses knew the region well. He had more than once gone to Sinai, and was fully acquainted with the way. He could not but know that he was misleading Israel, imless he was conscious of divine guidance all the way, — guidance which superseded and overruled his own jadgment.
Suppose that, in the time of Rome’s early invasion of our country, the Roman army under Agricola had been compelled to retreat from the Grampians upon Perth, intending from that to fall back on Edinburgh, what should we have thouoht of Aoricola, had he led his troops eastward to the shores of Fife, and set them down on the sands of Burntisland, with eight miles of sea between them and the city, when by pursuing a more southward march he wovdd have secured as near a route, without a sea to cross or an enemy to face? It would have been accounted the “most thorough blunder that was ever committed by a general. Moses was precisely in these circumstances. His object was to reach the Sinaitic desert, yet he turns away from it and throws a broad sea between himself and that desert! Only one thing can account for this, and acquit him of the greatest fully ever manifested by the leader of a people. That one thing is, that it was at the direct command of God that all this was done. God’s purpose was to shew his power both to Israel and to their enemies. For this eud he led them by a way which required the special and supernatural forthputting of that power. What is the cleavinjT of the sea, or the levellinoj of a mountain, or the drying vip of a river to Him? ][an is not entitled to lead others into difficulties in order to shew Lis hkill and ])owor in their deliverance; for he cannot calculate u])on being able to effect his object in any circum-
81’ ROUTE OF THE ISRAELITi:S.
stances. Eut it is otherwise vritli God. And Israel’s march down the western shore of the Red Sea is one of the most striking examples of such a procedure. There was need of a stupendous miracle for many reasons. It was needed to overthrow the last remains of Egypt’s pride, as well as to overawe them in all time to come. It was needful in order to strike alarm into the nations around; and it was needful in order to give Israel one proof mcrep — the crowning proof of all, — of what Jehovah was ready to do in their behalf By this was Israel in after ages furnished with matter of thankful song to all generations, —
To Him who divitied the Red Sea into parts;
For his mercy cndurcth for ever.
And made Israel to pass through the midst of it;
For his mercy endureth for ever.
Such were some of our speculations as we were skirting the spacious plain that stretches down from Ras At’’’lxih to the sea. We seemed to trace the whole march of Israel up to the point where the mountains stayed them, — and looking at it in all its parts, we came to the conclusion, that either there was in this case a most enormous blunder or a most signal miracle, — a miracle deliberately fore- intended, — a miracle which owes its magnitude to the peculiarly circuitous march which Israel was commanded to take. Deny the miracle, and you make this circuitous route a piece of reckless folly, or pure ignorance on the part of Moses. Dilute the miracle till you have brought it to a minimum by means of an extraordinary ebb tide, and you still Lave the march to account for, — and to account for in a way wliicli brings no glory to God, and allows small credit to Moses for anything but incapacity. It is only by admitting the miracle in full that you clear up all mystery, and make the narrative as consistent and intelligible as the event is marvellous and divine. How little is gained by assailing one miracle in a book which relates a thousand! What a poor thing it is to clijD and pare off all the edges of miracle in order to make it look like a natural event! And what a cowardly state of mind is indicated by the attempt to reduce a miracle to its minimum before consenting to believe it, or to avow your belief of it. The admission of the smallest amount of the suj)ernatural is in truth the admission of the greatest amount, for the direct interposition of the chvine arm to raise or to smoothe a riyple, which would not othewise have been raised or smoothed, is as truly a miracle, as to cleave the broad ocean in twain. The question of the miraculous is not as to the amount of power put forth, but as to the direct interference of that power. Why should a man who believes in a God be afraid to believe in a miracle? The Bible is a narrative of miracles, and you can only drive out the supernatural from its events by thrusting the non-natural into its word a