JOURNAL
OF
HERBERT EDWARD
PRETYMAN

Shepheard’s Hotel, Cairo,

December 27th, 1890.

My dear Father,

We arrived here last night only, having reached Alexandria thirty-six hours late, owing to a fog in Venice which delayed the “Cathay.” We had a very rough passage, and I felt very sorry for myself. General and Mrs. Walker, the new Commandant in Egypt, was on board with his two aides-de-camp. So I have had friends all the way. We had no trouble at Alexandria, and there is an excellent train service between Alexandria and Cairo. It seemed quite like being on the old G.N.R.

We have made great progress in getting our expedition together, purchasing stores, and telegraphing for camels to be ready at Kenneh. We have got the new War Office map of the country, with all the routes and distances marked. This will[2] simplify matters considerably. There is only one long distance without water, about sixty-five miles, which we hope to get over in four marches. Yesterday I went to get leave from the Sirdar, Sir F. Grenfell, to travel and shoot in the Eastern Desert. He was very kind and made no objection whatever. If I can get all my things together I propose to make a start from this on Tuesday next, the 30th. We go by train to Assiout, then by Nile steamer to Kenneh—the whole distance takes about three days. At Kenneh, the camels are to be collected and the final start made to the Kittar Mountains, where we propose to make our first permanent camp. I find Powney cannot possibly reach here before January the 8th, so he will have to come on straight after me. If I can wait, I may possibly visit Luxor and Karnac before starting from Kenneh. In this case we should both go over the desert together; but it depends upon many things whether I wait for him or not. Cairo is unbearable—a ball and a dinner party every night. To-morrow I dine with General Walker, and go to a big ball at the Kasr-el-Nil palace afterwards. I lunched to-day with my old friend Phipps of the Dorset Regiment. Cairo is full of friends, and more like London in the season than an Eastern city. Most of my old crew of the “Isis-Sothis” have turned up like bad pennies, and made their salaam.

You will hear from me from Kenneh before we leave for the Kittar Mountains, and I shall write in the form of a diary, so you will see what we do from day to day.

[3]It is decidedly cold here and a thick coat is by no means to be despised. It was bitterly cold in the Overland mail, deep snows right down to Ancona. It has just begun to rain. I send a rough map of our route, so you will have an idea where we are going.

January 2nd, 1891.

I leave to-night for Kenneh as I could not get all the things collected any sooner. However, at last everything seems to be right. I have left full directions for Powney to come on after me next week. Floyer has been a “friend at court” throughout. He had another son born on New Year’s Eve, and is as proud as a peacock in consequence. Cairo has been very gay. I have dined and lunched out every day since I came, except once. Luckily I have escaped with only one ball. It rains here every day—yesterday in torrents; Cairo is a sea of liquid mud; it is impossible to get about anywhere. Athlumney will be my companion as far as Kenneh. He goes on to Wadi Halfa where his regiment is quartered. We went to the Pyramids together on Wednesday, right down inside. Thank goodness it is all over. I hope never to go there again. Those rascals calling themselves guides completely ruin all ones pleasure and interest. They are more like howling wolves than human beings, and money is their god, and who is to blame but the English tourist? The sun is struggling to get out to-day, but it is still very cold. I[4] hope you are well. This is the last you will hear of me for some time.

Friday, January 2nd, 1891.

Left Cairo at 7 P.M. after great trouble with baggage, &c. These Egyptians are just like children, consequently we had to be at the station long before the train starts. We are a party of four, Lord Athlumney and Spong, both Bimbashis (majors) in the Egyptian army, and a doctor, by name Fowler. We had a good meal in the train and then turned in to sleep as best we could. My carriage is next door, with only one other in it, a Frenchman, so we each had a whole seat to sleep on. I did not get much sleep owing to the loud snoring of my companion; besides which, the Upper Egypt trains are not of the smooth-running kind. Moreover, they stop at every station and start afresh with a jerk, which I hoped would awake my noisy Frenchman, but in this I was disappointed.

January 3rd, 1891.

Arrived at Assiout at about 7.30 A.M., in time to see a most lovely sunrise over the desert. Here began again the difficulty about baggage. The depôt where it was stored (I had sent my heavy baggage on two days before) was nearly a mile from where the steamer leaves, so it had all to be put upon camels and brought down to the river. This seems a bad arrangement considering the train itself goes right down to the wharf. But[5] the mind of the Egyptian official moves very slowly, and it apparently does not occur to him to have the luggage depôt at the point of departure of the boats. There are only about a dozen passengers on board, so we each have a good big cabin to ourselves, which is a great comfort. We are a mixed company at meals—English, French, Italian, Greek, Egyptian, Turks, and a party of Americans joined us in the afternoon. They feed us fairly well, considering—plenty of eggs and fruit; the former are worth seventy-five for a shilling in the native markets, where one can buy a whole sugar cane for a farthing. They say we shall reach Kenneh to-morrow night late. Our boat stops at intervals of about two hours to land the mails and take in passengers. We whiled away the evening with a rubber of whist, and retired to bed most sleepy after our journey of last night.

January 4th, 1891.

Still going up the river. Lovely weather; the thermometer stands at seventy-five during the day but drops to forty-five soon after sunset, so rugs and overcoats are not to be despised. They have got the railway extension[1] from Aniont to Girgeh nearly finished. This will make a good day difference in the Nile[6] journey. Such an odd man came on board this morning, a huge Frenchman[2] dressed in the following garb. On his head an enormous helmet extending right round over his shoulders, a magnificent suit of brand new kharku, the whole finished off with a pair of long brown boots right up a foot over his knees; these were ornamented with spurs. He also wore a big overcoat, and was followed by two dogs. In his hands, which were carefully gloved, he carried a long thing like an alpenstock. I suppose the latter was to keep his dogs in order. This magnificent specimen of the French race has just disembarked again. Athlumney says he looked like one of Augustus Harris’s brigands.

A telegram has just been handed to me to say that rooms for the night have been secured for me at Kenneh. This is luck, as I expected to spend the night in the open somewhere outside the town. Arrived at Kenneh landing-place at 10.30 P.M., and had the greatest difficulty in getting the baggage ashore in the dark. At last, after fighting our way through a howling mob of men and donkeys, we managed to make a goodly heap on the river bank. Our difficulties were here by no means at an end, as there was nothing on wheels to remove our things to the town, about a mile off. However, after a while two camels were forthcoming, of which we made the most by fairly smothering them with baggage. I thought they would never carry it all, but[7] the drivers said it was nothing of a load. I was informed on landing that a hotel had just been started at Kenneh; so we determined to give it a trial. The place is kept by a most villainous-looking Greek; but really he did his best to provide for his late and unexpected guests. I really believe we are the first. Clean sheets were forthcoming, and by the help of our own rugs we managed to make a very decent shakedown. There are no windows in the house, or rather no window-frames, so the space is filled up with a kind of open Venetian blind-arrangement of wood, which lets in plenty of fresh air.

January 5th, 1891.

Went in the morning to see my friend Hassan Effendi. He came down on the steamer with us; and, as he speaks excellent English, he has been quite a godsend. He informed me that he had found a camel sheikh, but that I must first go and visit the Mudir of the town to get permission to travel in the Eastern Desert. Accordingly, we set off together to the great man’s house. We found him seated on his divan, surrounded by his scribes and counsellors. Having been formally introduced to all the high officers of state, I was given a seat, and our “shauri” began.

Hassan Effendi explained that I had permission from the Sirdar to shoot in the Kittar mountains, but that it had not been[8] given me in writing, which was certainly unfortunate. The Mudir thought deeply for a long time. Then he and all his supporters chattered and talked against each other, till I began to wonder what it was all about. When it was all over, Hassan Effendi told me that they had been discussing how I could possibly live in a country where there was no food. This, I explained, was easily done by means of stores carried on camels. I hoped the old boy was satisfied; but he said he would not let me go without leave from the Minister of the Interior at Cairo, and that I had better telegraph to the Sirdar to telegraph to the said Minister, who would in turn telegraph to him (the Mudir), sanctioning my departure. So matters stand at present, and I am awaiting a telegram to let me start. If it does not come to-night I shall go and “draw” the Mudir again, if only to get some more of that excellent coffee. My breakfast this morning consisted of an omelette and native black bread toasted. It is not very delicate in flavour, but I thought it better than the native bread one gets in Norway. Having only one kettle and no teapot in this establishment, they boiled the goat’s milk and tea up together, and brought it up as it was.

I rode out on a donkey with my dragoman Faragh, and succeeded in shooting fourteen pigeons and two doves. The pigeons fly very well, nice rocketing shots, and consequently give good sport. I could have shot a lot more, but had enough for our pot.

[9]Have arranged with a camel sheikh, by name Suliman Jirmān, to pay him eighteen piastres (there are 97½ piastres in an English pound) a day for each camel. We are to have three for our baggage, one for the water in four skins, and three for riding. He says our first well, Bir ’Arrās, is dried up, so we shall have a longer distance to travel without water. He also says he knows the road to the mountain.

January 6th, 1891.

Still dawdling here, as no telegram has been received from the Minister. I telegraphed to Floyer this morning, and have had a reply saying he is telegraphing to the Sirdar, and that he is sorry the Mudir is so troublesome. The worst of it is, the Sirdar is up the river about three days from Cairo, and consequently it is rather difficult to get a telegram to reach him. I visited the ancient temple of Dendera on the other side of the river, such a wonderful place. I climbed up to the top after a great scramble, and got a magnificent view of the Nile Valley, and of the mountain opposite. The hieroglyphics on the wall are in wonderfully good preservation, especially in the chamber beneath the temple. These chambers are full of bats, and smell accordingly. I took eight photographs, and shot one pigeon. We lunched in the shade of the temple. All my camels are ready for a start, and I long to be off, especially as I want to send the camels and waterskins back here for Powney.

[10]I was just getting into bed last night when a centipede about two and a half inches long crawled out. I secured him in a tumbler and counted his legs this morning. There were over one hundred on each side of his body. The mosquitoes here are very fierce and hungry, but one never sees them on the Nile itself,—they all seem to frequent the towns. An old fossil came here to-day and offered to take me two days into the desert to shoot wolves. I suppose he meant hyænas. I declined with thanks. Great preparations are being made here to receive the Khedive, who is coming up to Wadi Halfa next week.

Such lovely weather. Mail leaves to-night.

January 7th, 1891.

A telegram came from the Minister of the Interior to-day directing the Mudir to let me go but added that it was entirely on my own responsibility, and that the party must be well armed. Why such a fuss should be made I can’t understand, as there is about as much danger as in one’s own garden at home.

The old camel sheikh is quite a character, and seems very particular that our waterskins, &c., are in good order. We are to start at sunrise to-morrow. I killed seventeen pigeons to-day; there was a strong wind, so they flew like lightning. I was not in good form at first, but retrieved my character by accounting for eight birds in the last ten shots. We lunched under an[11] enormous fig tree[3] just at the edge of the desert. The figs grew out of the trunk, and the leaves were oval. The fruit was hardly ripe, I tasted it and should say it would be very good when ripe. There was a heavy shower of rain early this morning. They tell me the average rainfall in these parts is two hours per annum. We might spare them a little from England.

January 8th, 1891.

Started this morning. Our caravan consists of twelve camels, three riding camels for myself, Froggatt (soldier servant), and Faragh the interpreter; four for all our baggage; the remainder carry waterskins and their own beans and cut straw for fodder. Besides these there are three baby camels who are following their mammas. Altogether we make up a goodly caravan.

The first march, six miles, is over flat desert, with no growth whatever till just at the end, when the Wadi curls round a spur of rocky cliff, where there is a group of stunted tamarisk trees, growing each on a mound of sandy soil formed of tangled roots. We pitched our first camp here under a tamarisk tree, the only one worthy of the name, and set to work to cook our dinner, consisting of bread and pea soup, which latter I am quite an adept at making in the following manner:—boil a lot of dried[12] Egyptian peas in the saucepan till fairly soft, then pound them up with one of the tent peg mallets. Next add salt and pepper, also a few stalks of a plant which grows in the sand and resembles mint[4] (I think it is really artemisia). Strain the decoction through a piece of mosquito curtain, and eat hot. I don’t believe S——— could make better soup with all her pots and pans at home.

Our old camel sheikh took leave of us at Kenneh, and handed us over to the care of his son and grandson, who looks after my camel, a white one, the pick of the herd. There are also three other drivers. They all carry long guns, like pieces of gaspipe about as long as telegraph poles, which are fired with a slow match. They can’t be less than two hundred years old.

January 9th, 1891.

Started again at 8.30 A.M. after a light breakfast of eggs and bread. The nights are cold, the temperature falls to 38° Fahr. by 8 A.M., then rises to over 90° by midday—rather a difference. A short march to-day to Kasr el Jinn, meaning the fort of the Evil Spirit. It is only about twelve miles from our last camp, and we reached it at 3 P.M. This used to be an old Roman station, and is built on the top of a hill. The walls at the base are very thick, and built of big[13] stones surmounted by sun-dried bricks, which are now quite decayed and in ruins. I went and dug with a “Wallace” spade for anything I might find; but there was nothing but bits of broken pottery. The whole place is choked with sand, and I soon got tired of digging in the sun. The desert was most dreary all to-day, nothing to relieve the monotony of the journey, and a camel goes so slowly, about two and a half miles an hour. I frequently got off and walked, leaving the caravan far behind.

CAMP AT KASR-JINN.

We see a lovely mirage every now and again. We halt always for twenty minutes lunch at midday under the shade of our kneeling camels. Something went wrong with the pea soup this evening, which was not quite up to the mark. It is very amusing to watch the camels scrambling for their ration of beans after their march. They have nosebags put on and stand feeding for all the world like a lot of London cab-horses.

January 10th, 1891.

Made a good march to-day—nearly ten miles, pitching our camp about two miles short of the foothills which surround our mountain, which can now be seen looming big in the distance. We lunched to-day close to another old Roman station,[5] a large[14] square hole about two hundred feet across and perhaps thirty-one feet deep. It evidently, once upon a time, contained water, as there are still the ruins of an old cistern surrounding it, in which the water was stored. The Wadi here branches off into two, one leads away eastward towards the Red Sea, the other still takes us on towards our destination. We now come to a few scattered mimosa bushes and dried up thistles—in fact, our camp to-day is surrounded by little greeny-brown shrubs, so we get plenty of firewood. Came upon gazelle tracks to-day, and at about 3 P.M. the keen eyes of my camel driver espied three of those pretty creatures scampering away in the distance. Dined on bread and sardines to-night, washed down by milkless tea. Saw two crows and a hawk to-day. I wonder what they find to eat and drink.

January 11th, 1891.

Started as usual about 8.30 A.M., and in about an hour entered the foothills. The Wadi now becomes narrower and improves in appearance, being decorated with two or three different kinds of scrub, some of which are really quite green. The valley is swarming with locusts, which are preyed upon by great numbers of hungry hawks and a few crows. We also saw two kinds of butterflies—the common English painted lady, and a small white[15] one. Saw more gazelle to-day; they are very shy. These low mountains are of black granite and look like gigantic cinderheaps. The midday sun is “powerful” hot, and one longs for a little shade. We made a large, cheery camp fire this evening, and I sat and wondered what you were all of you doing at home— probably enjoying a good dinner. It is deadly still here; nothing to break the stillness of the night but the munching of the camels as they chew the cud. There is a planet rises at about 2 A.M., which is so bright that it casts a shadow like the moon. I suppose it is Jupiter, or perhaps it is the star Sirius.

January 12th, 1891.

Still winding our way up the Wadi; the mountains getting higher and steeper as we go on. Spied a most beautiful gazelle at about 10 o’clock, feeding on the scrub at the entrance to a ravine; not the common Dorcas gazelle, but quite a different sort. The Arabs called it a white gazelle, and said it was rare. I had a good look through my glass at it. It was nearly all white, with a few black markings on it, and lyre-shaped horns. It had evidently seen our caravan and was slowly making for the mountains. I made hot haste in pursuit, and after a long run got on its spoor. It had evidently heard me coming, as my boots made such a scrunching in the cindery ground, for when I came to the place where I expected to see it, it had decamped. I followed at a run on its tracks, and on[16] reaching the top of a rocky rise I saw it standing, about five hundred yards away, on the far side of a ravine. It was no use following, so I turned back to the Wadi, meeting my camel-driver half way coming to see if I was lost. At midday the Wadi opened out into a large valley bounded on the north by the high mountains, at the foot of which we unloaded the thirsty camels, and started off to look for the long-hoped-for water, which our Bedouin told us was about half an hour’s climb up a gorge in the mountains. We found it as he said, two rocky pools, an upper and a lower, snugly hidden away in a deep cañon between two gloomy precipices. What a treat it was to see the camels quenching their thirst. It is a wonder how they ever managed to clamber up such a ravine, all a cascade of huge boulders and water-worn rocks. To-morrow the camels return for Powney, so we shall be alone for eleven days at least, during which time I hope to shoot an ibex and explore the mountains. We are 1700 feet above Kenneh by aneroid, and the night seems warmer than in the desert.

January 13th, 1891.

Climbed the mountain close to our camp in a N.E. direction, so as to cut into the gorge higher up than the spot where we had watered our camels yesterday. According to Floyer’s map, which is so far the only one in existence, the Kittar cascade should be reached about eight miles higher up this same ravine. So we[17] climbed on, hoping to reach it in a few hours; but what was my surprise at suddenly coming upon this lovely waterfall before we had left camp an hour. Thus proving that in the map the cascade is put about six miles higher up the gorge than it really is. I shall chaff them about their map making when we get home. Having rested awhile, and filled the water-bottles, we proceeded up the ravine, which now widens considerably. After marching about two miles, clambering over big boulders, with which this mountain torrent is strewn, we came upon a narrow place in the ravine which was suddenly ended by a wall of granite, over the edge of which a tiny little trickle of water threaded its way until it finally lost itself in the sand at the foot of the wall, which was only about fifteen feet high. My Arab scooped out the sand with his hands and soon made a little hollow, which rapidly filled with water. This water is not marked in the map. At the base of the wall, and in the ravine where we stood, grew tall rushes and various green weeds, also a bunch of young date-palms all in a tangled mass. Close by grew two good sized fig-trees, not the common sort, as their stems were quite white and the leaves very small. Then again, out of a cleft grew a most peculiar tree,[6] with flat, round leaves of brightest green. The stems were covered with white thorns, and here and there ripe fruit hung down like long purple figs, full of juicy pulp and seeds. I eagerly picked some and took a hasty bite, but spat it out in[18] disgust as it was most utterly nasty, bitter as gall, and left a burning on the tongue. However, my Arab ate a lot of it, and is, still alive. I am keeping the fruit to bring home as the tree was a very pretty one. Altogether this little glen made quite a pretty oasis in the midst of the mountains which towered around on all sides. Having climbed up over the rock we scrambled on about half a mile till the ravine opened out again; and we found ourselves in a deep hollow amongst the mountains. Close by was a rude shelter of stones, roofless, but with a little window in it, and on the floor we picked up a few relics of old pottery.[7] After spying all the cliffs carefully for ibex and finding none, we returned to camp, after waiting awhile at the waterfall, which I must shortly describe. The narrow gorge ends suddenly in a sheer cliff about seventy feet high. At the top is a basin of clear water, the overflow of which trickles over the edge in scores of little silvery rills; all down the face of the rock grows lovely maidenhair ferns and tufts of rushes. Finally each little thread of water falls into the pool below, which I roughly put at ten feet deep and forty-one feet long, its breadth being the same as the ravine which held it, perhaps twenty-one feet.[8] Below,[19] again, were two more pools about the same size, the whole forming a lovely necklace of limpid water, cool and quiet, as the sun never shines there. We viewed the spot from above, the only other occupant being a little waterwagtail that flitted about after insects on the water, and took no notice of us. I could find no way down the fall into the gorge below, which winds about till water again reappears at our old watering-place.

January 14th, 1891.

Had an adventure with ibex to-day, but failed to get a shot. We had come about three miles up the Wadi in an easterly direction from camp. Then the Wadi turns north to the Kohila water, about ten miles off. Here we turned to the left, and entered a narrow ravine, which led us up in a short time to the base of the mountain-top. Here we rested, and lunched on eggs and biscuits, admiring the grand view of these steep mountains, which shut us in on every side. Having lunched, we set off again, still bearing north, and soon saw our Wadi far away below us, as it curled gradually round to the N.W. We were just going down a narrow cleft in the rock, about two yards wide. I was first, and my Arab close on my heels, when I suddenly saw, not above fifteen yards off, a fine old buck ibex. He had heard us, and was slowly making off. I snatched the rifle from the hands of the Arab; but before I could cram a cartridge in and get[20] a shot the old fellow had got round a corner of the cleft. It was too steep for me to follow, so I quickly divested myself of my boots, and started off up the side, telling my Arab on no account to move from where he was. On looking over the edge, I saw my beast, who had been joined by another, standing about 250 yards off, staring hard at my head, which was all he could see of me. We stared at each other for fully a minute; and, as I did not budge an inch, he seemed satisfied and walked slowly on. I waited till he had got over the top of a cliff—which I knew was very steep, as I had seen it from the Wadi in the morning—then started off quietly in pursuit. I fancied I had him in a corner; but not a bit of it! When I reached the edge of that precipice I could hear him climbing down underneath me. I dared not follow, so I hastily climbed down a gully close by, which led to the Wadi below, hoping thereby to cut him off before he could climb down. But I never saw either him or his mate again. They had either hidden in a cleft in the rocks or else gone off on the other side. They both had good heads, more especially the buck, whose horns shone in the sun and curled right over his back. Their coats are a beautiful soft silvery brown, shading off to white below. I was disappointed; moreover, my stockings and feet were cut by the rocks; so, as it was getting late and our water was nearly finished, I put on my boots, and we went home. We passed on the way a family of Bedawin in two little tents, three or four little black dots of children, their mother, two little[21] kids and a puppy dog. How the latter can have got across the desert I can’t make out. We met the father later on, returning home up the Wadi, leading a camel with a cord tied through the poor beast’s nose, which was quite raw.[9]

So we have still no fresh meat in camp; but, as the Arabs say, “bukra” (to-morrow).

January 15th, 1891.

Visited the same ground as yesterday, and examined every ravine, nook and cranny in the vicinity without success. This took about three hours; and, as I had no boots on, my poor feet were fairly worn out—also a pair of socks, which I put over my stockings to save them from being cut. This is a capital way of getting over the ground quietly, as one can tread like a cat and peep round all the corners without being observed. I had an unconquerable thirst on all to-day; and as we passed the little Arab encampment which I spoke of yesterday, we were only too glad to get a good drink of water from one of their skins. I gave them a little salt and tobacco in exchange, which gladdened their hearts. After this halt by the way, for refreshment, we passed two more Arabs leading a camel, one an old man, the other young. My Bedawin recognized them as fellow-tribesmen, Ababdi, and they ran and fell into each others arms. The younger one had his hair in plaits, hanging down all round his[22] head, and cut off all the same length at the bottom, just like the pictures of one of Bertie’s Somalis. Neither of them had ever seen a breech-loading rifle before. They were struck with wonder at the charge going in at the wrong end. The grooving down the barrel also astonished them muchly. They went into fits of laughter as each new thing was pointed out to them. I fear they departed rather out of conceit with their own old gaspipes. I gave them each a cigarette, and lit them by means of the object-glass of my telescope and the sun. They were simply speechless with wonder; took the lens and examined it all over, and finally ended, as usual, in going off into roars of laughter. The younger man had a beautiful set of white teeth, contained in a mouth like a rat trap. When he laughed I could see right down his throat, and nearly out at the other side of his head.

January 16th, 1891.

It blew hard in the night, and I feared for my tent several times; but nothing happened. Determined to spend an idle day to-day, so did not leave camp till 11 A.M., when I sauntered off alone to the camel pool in the ravine. There I sat for some time watching the dragon flies depositing their eggs in the water. I counted one lay 130 odd eggs in less than five minutes. Presently two lizards made their appearance and looked wonderingly at the intruder. I sat quite still; and at last, after shying several times,[23] they scrambled down the rocks and came to drink head downwards at the edge of the pool close to my feet. Presently two fat mice came out of a crack in the rock and quenched their thirst. They did not seem at all afraid, though I could have kicked them easily. A pair of eagles came sailing over my head at the top of the ravine as I sat there. Such fine birds, breasts pure white, as also the top of their heads; the wings were black. I could have killed one with a good big charge of shot, but was very glad to let them go.

POOLS IN MEDISA RAVINE

LOOKING SOUTH-WEST.

Having sat by the pool for an hour or so, I scrambled on up the ravine, which twisted about as I went on and became choked with huge boulders of granite, which were climbed with difficulty. In about three quarters of an hour I came to the foot of the waterfall already described. Having rested awhile and had a drink I hunted about for a way over the cliff up the side of the fall. After some time, and a stiffish climb, I reached the top in safety, and sat down again close to the head of the cascade. I had not been there many minutes when my eye fell upon some droppings. I satisfied myself that the ibex could not be far off. After a diligent search in the sand I found his tracks, which led down a neighbouring ravine towards the Wadi in which lay our camp. I crept stealthily from rock to rock, feeling sure my friend could not be very far off, and had not been creeping down the ravine for more than a hundred yards or so when, to my disgust, I heard a shot fired lower down the ravine in front[24] of me. I hurried down to find my Bedawi had just killed a fine buck ibex,—the very one I was after. It appears he had come up the ravine to look for me, fearing I had lost my way in the mountains. He had taken his gun and had come on the ibex feeding in the ravine quite unconscious of danger. He got a pot shot at about fifteen yards; so the old gaspipe has beaten the breechloader after all!

We got back to camp at sunset and, as my Arab had to go off to the water to fill our skins, I set to work and had the skin off before dark. The horns are fair for an African ibex; and, what is more, we have now plenty of fresh meat in the camp. I have given strict orders that all offal left over, and any pieces of meat, are to be buried in a deep hole, so as to prevent unpleasant smells. I find a “Wallace” spade invaluable on expeditions of this sort, as it can be turned to so many purposes. I consider them the most useful tool ever invented.

January 17th, 1891.

I spent a long day in the mountain;—a very hot one, too, as there was no wind and the sun was overpowering. Found signs of ibex in several places, but saw no beasts at all. We reached a great height to-day, and got a fine view of the surrounding mountains. This, of course, entailed a stiff climb down again. My Bedawi is as nimble as a cat. An Arab brought in a fine ibex head. He killed the beast yesterday not far from here. I have[25] now thoroughly explored all the mountain to the east of our camp, and to-morrow start in the other direction. When Powney arrives, probably next Thursday, we shall shift camp a day’s journey farther into the mountains. There is a pool there, and I hear from some of the Bedawin that there are more ibex there.

MEDISA FALL, UPPER POOL.

I caught a spider as big as a mouse crawling up inside my tent, such a loathsome brute. He was consigned to a tin of boiling water. There are lots of ants in camp, some nearly an inch long; so far they have not bitten any of us. Two little waterwagtails live here, and they are as tame as dogs. They are getting quite fat on the hundreds of flies.

January 18th, 1891.

Spent the morning in skinning the ibex head, and in making an oven, as our bread is finished; but we have lots of flour. I dug a hole in the sand and lined it with the flattest stones hereabouts, putting a big one at the bottom and a similar one as a lid at the top. The oven when finished was like a hat box let into the ground. We then lit a big fire inside, and after about an hour, when the pit was hot, we raked out the ashes and put in the dough in “fids,” like penny buns. We put on the lid, covered the whole with sand, and waited patiently for two hours. The result was excellent, and we now have a ready method of making our own bread without difficulty. The sky has been overcast for the first time since we came. It was unlucky, as I had fixed upon[26] to-day to photograph the Medisa ravine, and the cascade at the head of it. Faragh and I scrambled up, and I took eight views; we did not get back till dusk. I am sorry to find that nearly all my photographic plates got broken on the journey, so my pictures will be limited in number.

I have got a small magnetic machine with me. This evening I took it over to the two Bedawin who were sitting by their fire in the dark. I made one of them hold one wire in his hand; the other I put into his drinking vessel and told him to drink. The poor fellow tried his best; but as soon as the water touched his lips he dropped it like a red hot poker, declaring that a devil was in the water and he would not drink. Dined on fried ibex brain and home made bread to-night; and, being Sunday, a tin of greengage jam was broached.

January 19th, 1891.

Had a very long day in the mountains to the west of camp. We reached the water, marked on the War Office map, “Um Yessar,”[10] in about one hour from our camp. It is merely a hollow under an enormous boulder, but the water always keeps its level, and it is beautifully clear. One man only can reach down at a time, drawing the water in a wooden bowl. This well lies close to the Wadi, at the end of a magnificent cañon full of[27] monster rocks. We scrambled up this ravine for about two hours finding great quantities of ibex droppings, but though we went as quickly as possible, we never came in sight of one. The wind now began to blow at our backs up the ravine, so we knew any beast ahead of us would merely get our wind. We therefore retraced our steps about halfway till we got to a very steep gorge leading up the mountain, out of our cañon. We set to work to climb this. It was very steep, but not difficult, as there were quantities of stones to use as steps. I was astonished to find about halfway up, growing out of a crack, one solitary little bunch of mignonette in flower. How sweet it smelt. I picked some and carried it back to camp. We saw no ibex. We now followed along the tops of the mountains till we got to the big one overlooking our camp. The tents looked like little white specks far below. After a difficult descent we reached home disappointed with our bad luck.

January 20th, 1891.

Had two long and fruitless stalks to-day after ibex, but never got a shot, though I climbed up a precipice barefooted. It was about three times as high as Louth spire; and, when I got to the top, I fully expected to see my beast waiting for me. But he had gone, goodness knows where, and I never saw him again. The same thing happened with the other one. It is useless to stalk these brutes without a dog, as they hide amongst the rocks, and[28] it is like hunting for a needle in a bottle of hay. I was joyfully surprised, on my return to camp, to find Powney had come, having made the journey from Kenneh in four days, travelling light and making long marches. We sat up late exchanging all the news.

An Arab came in to-day with two heads, which he killed two days’ ago in the mountain where we went yesterday. No wonder we found no game. There are too many Arabs about this place, and we have decided to visit a place two days’ further north from here, where we hear there are more ibex. We have sent also some Arabs to try to get a dog.

January 21st, 1891.

Struck our camp and reached the Kohila water at midday. Here we stopped for luncheon. Then went on in an easterly direction nearly to Fatireh, where we pitched camp in a spot which we made 2600 feet above Kenneh by aneroid.[11] The man we sent about a dog came in this evening, and has brought two Bedawin and three “varmint”-looking yellow dogs with him. We shall bargain to-morrow morning for these. It is cold up here, and all our rugs are required. I gave an Arab a cigarette to-day which made him sick like a schoolboy.

January 22nd, 1891.

Struck camp again and came on to this water, which we reached at about 5.30 P.M. There were two difficult passes through the mountains for the camels, and we found we are nearly one thousand feet lower than yesterday.[12] We have agreed, after a lot of bargaining to hire the two men and their three dogs for 30s for ten days, to see how they get on. They began well by going off at about 3.30 P.M. into the mountain; sure enough! we heard yap! yap! yap! up the side of a valley about a mile off, which meant they had “treed” a beast of some sort. I seized my rifle, which I always carry ready slung on my camel saddle, and rushed off. I, fortunately, always carry a couple of cartridges in my waistcoat pocket. So I was soon running up the rocky slope to the foot of the mountains. Here we halted, and I took off my boots which my Arab carried in his hand. I was dripping with perspiration, but we hurried on up the face of the cliff to where we had heard the dogs. Here we found they had driven a wretched ibex into a corner. He had taken refuge in a hollow in the rock about halfway up a precipice about[30] two hundred feet high. We crept like cats to the edge, and looked over; his horns were just visible below,—his body hidden, so that I could not shoot, though he was not above twenty feet below. We soon, however, found a place where I could creep down and hope to get a sight of him. So by slithering down on my back, and with the Arabs help, I eventually secured a position where I could see him about twenty yards on one side. He was “end on,” facing me, and looking down at the dogs, so there was little to aim at. Suddenly he saw me and raised his head,—an opportunity which I seized, and aimed well below his chin. The shot hit him just right fortunately, and he fell stone dead right to the bottom of the precipice. We now clambered round and secured the carcase from the hungry dogs who had not mauled it, but luckily contented themselves by licking up the blood. We carried our burden off, and found Powney had already pitched camp and got tea ready. We have had a few drops of rain here during the last few days, and this particular place is really quite cold. Powney sleeps in his Norsk reindeer bag, and does not find it too hot. We have got twenty days more to spend in the mountains, during which time we hope to get some sport, as there seems to be no Arabs here to disturb the game. My soldier servant fell asleep on his camel to-day and rolled off, much to everybody’s amusement.

January 23rd, 1891.

Powney went out to-day and visited the mountains on the Red Sea side of our camp, but saw no game. I stayed in camp in the morning and busied myself preparing the skin, head, and feet, &c., of yesterday’s ibex. I was sitting in the tent at about midday, when a “devil” suddenly came past and blew it down flat.[13] Luckily the bamboo ridge pole did not break, so we put up our home again; but presently another devil came, and blew it down a second time. We have now got guy ropes out from the tent poles and big rocks on all the pegs, so I hope we shall not get blown down again. In the evening I took my gun and visited the waterhole, distant about ten minutes walk. Our men had reported[32] some partridges[14] (probably sandgrouse) as having been there in the morning, but none appeared when I was there. The well, which lies in a hollow at the foot of the mountains, is merely a hole scratched in the sand which contains about thirty gallons of dirty water, and is the worst we have so far seen; so dirty, in fact, that it has all to be boiled and filtered before we can use it. Hard by the well is a little stone enclosure containing a few miserable specimens of date palm, two mimosa bushes, and five Arab graves; this appears to be the Bedawi cemetery in these mountains. It is much colder here than at the Medisa camp; we are only one day from the Red Sea, which is visible from the mountain tops close by.

January 24th, 1891.

A very cold windy morning. The thermometer fell to “freezing” during the night. Took the pack of hounds out, and explored the mountains to the north-west; but saw no ibex and very little spoor. Found three small pools of dirty water in a deep gorge about an hour from here. These are not marked in the map which, however, only marks the places where there is “enough to water one hundred camels.” The north wind was like ice all day, and the fog of this morning[33] never quite cleared off. Lovely sunset this evening. We are getting short of meat, so Powney or I will have to go hunting to-morrow (Sunday) from necessity.

January 25th, 1891.

Powney was out all day and saw nothing, a bitterly cold wind blowing, 33° Fahr. in the early morning. I suspect the ibex hide in the mountains this cold weather, and won’t come out. We had to kill our pet goat to-day for food, as we have no meat and our flour is running short. We make our bread now—half flour and half potatoes; this saves the former. I stayed in camp and spent the time in carving a saltspoon out of a piece of mimosa. Never took off my overcoat all day.

January 26th, 1891.

Cold night again, but lovely morning; cool wind which makes walking pleasant. Killed an ibex about five miles from camp in some low cinder mountains at the edge of the range. He, as usual, on being hunted by the dogs, took refuge in a cleft of the rock in the side of a low precipice. The express ·450 bullet cut his heart and lungs all to bits, but did no injury to the meat. It is a mistake to use an “express” for these beasts as, unless one hits them exactly in the right place, the meat is spoiled. Powney has a ·500 express, big enough to kill an ox with. If he does get[34] any game it will be blown to pieces. Ernest’s rifle, which he lent me to bring out as a spare rifle, is a ·500 pure and simple. He said it was some bore which no one had ever heard of before. I wonder how he came to make such a mistake. The full moon looked lovely, rising behind the mountain, to-night. We amused ourselves playing picquet this evening, before dinner. We have to go to bed very early as candles are precious and getting scarce.

January 27th, 1891.

No game killed to-day, so nothing particular to record. One degree of frost last night. Took an inventory of our stores to-day. Our flour will only last four more days at the most, and the rice is nearly done. After a great deal of bargaining we managed to buy a bag containing about fifteen pounds of coarse native flour, price fifteen piastres. This we mixed with our old stock, and now have enough for ten days. We are on a fixed ration of food now, based on the supposition that we can reach Kenneh on February 15th. When the flour is all done we shall have to buy “dhurra” from our camel drivers, and grind it between two stones.

January 28th, 1891.

Struck camp early, and made a short march of three hours in a northerly direction. I went off, and hunted in the mountains[35] towards the Red Sea. Saw no ibex, so joined Powney in our new camp, which I found he had pitched in a snug corner at the foot of a steep cliff. The thermometer registered one degree of frost again last night but reached 100° in the middle of the day.

January 29th, 1891.

Our pet thermometer recorded 33° of frost last night. I take it some one has been playing football with it during the night. Moved our camp to Badia, which is on the northern face of the mountains, and in full view of the Red Sea, which looks quite close. Mount Sinai is plainly visible on the far shore. This was once an old Roman Station.[15] There are still very substantial remains of two old forts, each about one hundred yards square, built of large stones and burnt bricks; some of these latter we have used for building an oven. The ground is covered in all directions with pieces of old pottery, but we have failed to discover anything of value. Our tent seems to be pitched on an ancient burial ground, as there are deep holes all round, full of old human bones. Probably if one dug one would find a few old relics; as, so far, only an odd tomb or two have been dug into.[36] The water here is good, but one has to crawl down a narrow hole and scoop it out with a cup to get any at all. Our last ibex meat is finished, so I hope another will be killed by one of us to-morrow.

January 30th, 1891.

Eight degrees of frost last night; our tubs were very cold this morning. I was hardly warm enough with five rugs on my bed. Our flour will not last out, so we are sending off two camels to Kenneh to-morrow for more. They will take our letters for England. Our meat is all gone, so I was glad to see Powney returning to camp this evening with an ibex which he had got late in the afternoon. Whenever any of our people go to the wells in the mountains they always report having seen a few partridges there drinking. I have been there frequently with my gun, but have never seen one. To-day I passed the well with a rifle, and, of course, there were three fat partridges there, as tame as chickens. I ran back for my gun. They certainly awaited my return; but directly they saw I had a gun they flew off! It is astonishing how birds can distinguish between a gun and a rifle, and know that the latter is harmless to them!! I remember, in Norway, when on the Fjeld with a rifle, the ryper used to potter about round us like chickens; but if we took up a gun for the purpose of shooting them, not one would show itself all day!

WADI KITTAR.

[37]I made an excellent oven with some old Roman bricks, and we have made half a dozen loaves since morning. We move a day’s journey south to-morrow to the Wadi Kittar. Our present plans are to return to Kenneh by February 12th, and then leave for England, arriving in London February 23rd, viâ Brindisi.

January 31st, 1891.

Seven degrees of frost last night! I got up early and visited the well before breakfast, but the birds were not there. I paid it another visit just before the caravan started, but again failed to see them, so shot a small bird for skinning purposes. On our arrival here at about 3.30 P.M. we found some fresh spoor, so I immediately started off with the dogs. The tracks led us about two miles up the Wadi, and then up a mountain. We followed at our best pace, and presently saw an ibex climbing up ahead of us. The wind was wrong, and it had got our scent. After a stiff climb, we came to a place where neither dogs nor men could follow, so had to give up the hunt and return home. The sun was hot to-day.

February 1st, 1891.

Spent an idle day in camp; skinned my little bird, and built an oven, which is now in full swing. This place is about 10° warmer than Badia.

February 2nd, 1891.

Breakfast at dawn, and made an early start up the Wadi in an easterly direction. The valley forks at about three miles, the south fork leading to Medisa, the north leads into the Munfia mountains, and eventually curls south-east to the Kohila water. The wind was north, so we started up the latter ravine. After clambering over the rocks for two miles we picked up some fresh spoor, which took us down a branch ravine leading south-east. We soon started a beast, but it ran down a precipice, down wind, where we could not follow, so we had to give it up, and pursue our way again up the main ravine. We came to a large rock with water at the foot, so we had a good drink without exhausting our water-bottles. It was now about 11.30 A.M., so we climbed over the rock and kept on north-east up the ravine, which here became full of green plants and rushes, with, in one place, quite a jungle of rushes, tamarisks, moringa, &c. I also found a shrub just like our whitethorn, but the leaf seemed a little different.[16] I am bringing a slip of it home, besides lots of seeds which are found here.[17] We now came to a place where the gorge forked,[39] and saw fresh spoor leading up the northern arm. The wind would have been wrong for following it, so we went on up the eastern arm, meaning eventually to curl round and gain the wind by striking into the first gorge, where we expected the ibex was, higher up. This we succeeded in doing, after a weary climb of over an hour, and eventually came upon two beasts. They, as usual, were hidden amongst the rocks, and saw us first. However, we were right for the wind, and the dogs soon got on the scent of one of them; the other made off down wind, and escaped. The dogs were now gaining on their beast, and, after a while, brought it to bay on the side of a steep mountain. We hurried on, and, after a long bit of climbing without boots, eventually found ourselves at the top of a precipice, with the ibex at bay beyond, 150 yards off, on the side of the next mountain. It was impossible to get any closer; and, as the ibex was standing tail towards me, I did not know exactly how to aim. The head was just visible over her back, so I resolved to have a shot at that. Though much out of breath, I took as careful an aim as possible, and fired. She (it afterwards proved to be a “she”) dropped like a stone; and I was congratulating myself on having made a good shot, when I saw her stagger to her legs again, and stand in exactly the same position as before. I had another shot at the back of her head, but saw the bullet hit a stone just past her cheek. This made her turn slightly, so I took advantage of a chance behind the shoulder, and bowled her over, this time stone dead. We[40] found my first shot had gone an inch too high, cutting off one of the horns at the base, as clean as if done with a knife. This had stunned her for a moment. The third shot entered the top of the shoulder, and, passing through the lungs, had come out at the neck at the other side.

EASTERN SPUR OF JEBEL KITTAR.

WADI KITTAR.

LOOKING NORTH.

KITTAR WATERFALL.

After we had taken off the skin and fed the dogs on titbits from the inside, the two Arabs proceeded to collect a large heap of firewood, and presently came to me for a match; as they, thinking an Englishman was never without his match box, had carelessly left their tinder boxes at home! Their jaws dropped several holes when I explained that I had none, and blank despair was written on their faces. However, by means of the sun, the object glass of my telescope, and a handful of dry pounded ibex droppings, we soon, much to their wonder and delight, had a blazing fire going, large enough to roast an ox. I waited to see what would happen next, wondering what they wanted the fire for. Presently they went to the dead ibex, and collected from its inside various nasty portions which they put into the fire, and mixed up with the embers. After three minutes or so they dug out the half-cooked offal, and proceeded to devour it, after first bringing me a piece of stuff like a cinder which I declined with thanks in my best Arabic. In five minutes their meal was over, and we started off home, arriving at dusk after a hard day.

February 3rd, 1891.

The mystery of the War Office waterfall is solved! The map is right, but I was not wrong either, as there are two waterfalls, one as pretty as the other. The one I previously described is not mentioned in the description, nor marked on the map, so I claim to be the discoverer of it. I found the one marked on the map to-day, about six miles from here, up the arm of the ravine which I did not visit yesterday. Powney was going this way, stalking, so I went with him, intending to take some photographs at the head of the Wadi. Luckily, we suddenly came upon the cascade before I had used any of my plates. There is not so much water as in the Medisa fall, but the wall over which it flows is higher, probably about eighty feet, and the basin below is larger. But, on the other hand, there is only one, as against four at Medisa. The fall is covered with maidenhair fern, and a Syrian fig-tree spreads its branches over the pool.

About one hundred feet above the fall, and perched on a ledge of rock, is what Sir Gardner Wilkinson describes as an ancient church. He describes an inscription on it which I failed to find.[18] Having taken all my photographs and torn off a lump of fern, we set off home, and arrived hungry enough at 3 P.M. Powney[42] returned at dark, having killed a “she” ibex. We are unlucky in having, so far, killed four “shes” out of five. But it can’t be helped, as we have no other source for getting meat.

To-morrow we shift camp to our original position at Medisa. Powney will go round the mountain with the caravan, and I shall re-visit the falls, walking thence across the mountains, about fourteen miles, till I meet him again at the camp in the evening.

February 4th, 1891.

Reached the “falls” in an hour and a half, after bidding goodbye to Kittar. We did not loiter there, but climbed on up the ravine in a southerly direction, till we reached the top of the “divide” between the Kittar and Medisa group of mountains. It was a very steep and tedious climb; and I thought we never should get to the top. But when we did, the view quite repaid us for our trouble. To the north east we could see the Red Sea, with Mount Sinai on the other side. It looked quite close, but was really nearly one hundred miles off. To the south we could see the desert stretching away right to the Nile. Having eaten our bread and cheese, we set off to clamber down the Medisa ravine. It was not by any means easy, and I parted with one of my soles about halfway down. However, we soon got down, and held our course along the gradually descending valley, till we reached the Medisa cascade, which is only three quarters of an[43] hour from camp, which we reached at dusk, after a hard day. We saw no ibex, but several coveys of partridges. Powney had arrived with the camels and pitched camp on our old ground.

February 5th, 1891.

As Powney went out for ibex, I stayed about camp, and went for partridges to the water, but found nothing. Made a fresh oven. Powney saw no ibex.

February 6th, 1891.

Started early, and hunted the mountains in the direction of Kohila; but found the Wadi full of sheep instead of ibex. We made a mistake in leaving Kittar, as all the game seems to be there; it is quieter than the rest of the mountains. But we could not foresee that the Arabs would bring their sheep up here.[19] It was very hot and close all day, with a cloudy sky. The Arabs say we are in for a storm, so we have been putting out guy-ropes in all directions from the tent, and strengthening the pegs with rocks.

February 7th, 1891.

The Arabs were right, as a thunderstorm broke over us at bed-time last night. It lasted till this morning, and the lightning was very bright. We sat at our tent doors for a long time watching it playing around the mountains. The night was very hot and sultry, but there were only a few big drops of rain falling every now and again, and occasionally a heavy gust of wind. Rain is badly wanted here to fill up the wells, as there has been none for two years. The camels we sent to Kenneh on February 1st should be back by Monday with mails and provisions; but as there is no game here we have decided to leave to-morrow morning, and to meet the camels on their way here. We shall then be able to catch the steamer to Luxor on Friday 13th. We told our camel sheikh this evening, but he immediately began to raise objections, by saying we should miss the two camels from Kenneh, &c. This man has given us a lot of trouble all the way, though we have treated him very well. He is extremely greedy, and thinks we don’t know the road. However, we insisted, and ordered him to have the caravan ready by 7 A.M. This made him furious, and he said we might break his head before we should have the camels. His object is to delay us as long as possible, so as to get an extra day’s pay for the camel hire. We said nothing, and left him.

February 8th, 1891.

The kurbatch[20] was produced at an early hour this morning, and had a magical effect on Salaama (the camel sheikh). All his threats of last night vanished, and he ran about after his camels and men, and got the caravan in order in the shortest time on record. Nothing like a little persuasion!

Our water-skins were frozen hard last night, and the necks had to be thawed before we could get water out. At about midday we made out our two returning camels in the far distance, much to our delight and Salaama’s disgust. I hope he feels what a fool he has been. I jumped off my camel and ran to meet them. The saddle-bags were emptied of their contents—oranges, bread, rice, jam, candles, eggs, and letters. We have now ample provision for the rest of the journey. We should have been hard up if we had not met our relief camels, as our commissariat department contained one dhurra loaf and one box of Cornish pilchards. Did twenty miles to-day.

February 9th, 1891.

Twenty-miles done to-day in a march of nine hours, with half an hour for luncheon. My camel has a sore back.

February 10th, 1891.

Twenty miles to-day to Bir Arras. The wells here have been dry for nearly two years, and we found no scrub for firewood. This was against dinner, but we met the difficulty by felling a telegraph pole and chopping it up. This telegraph line used to go from Kenneh to the petroleum wells on the Red Sea. But it is not now used, so the poles were handy for cooking our dinner.

February 11th, 1891.

Arrived here at midday, and pitched camp outside the town at a well in the Muhammadan cemetery, as I prefer that to the mosquitoes, fleas, &c., in the so-called hotel. Powney has decided to sleep at the latter place. We both dined at the hotel, and were delighted to get a bit of meat, as we had tasted none since Powney shot the two sand grouse at Medisa. We were lucky to-day in finding the owner of the camels, so we squared up our accounts with him. He is an old man, nearly blind now, poor old chap, but still has a keen eye for business. He was full of apologies for the behaviour of Salaama, and, for a wonder, did not haggle over his account, which was rather complicated and amounted to over £50.

February 12th, 1891.

There was a wake going on all last night in my cemetery; beating of tomtoms and howling of women and dogs. I thought Powney must be having the best of it at the hotel, till I met him this morning, with his wrists as big as his legs from mosquito bites. I pitied him and said not a word about my disturbed night.

February 12th, 1891.

Our plans are suddenly all altered. Powney has received a telegram offering him a staff appointment in India, so he will not be able to visit Luxor, but must return to London at once. As I do not care about going alone, I have decided to come home with him. Fortunately we found a steamer, an extra one, leaving for Assiout to-day, so we hurriedly packed up, and here we are in the river. We shall catch a steamer leaving Ismailia on the 7th, arriving in London on February 23rd.