Chapter I

POSITION OF THE COUNTRY BORDERS, RIVERS, SOIL, AND CLIMATE.

Kordofan, one of the most southern provinces under the government of the Viceroy of Egypt, extends in the north from Haraza to Kodero, in the south from the Nuba mountains, and eastwards from Caccia to the Shilluk or Shillook[1] mountains, about four degrees of longitude. The desert of Dongola forms its northern border, that of Darfûr its western limit. Towards the south, no definite confines can be described, as the extent of these dominions increases or decreases accordingly as the inhabitants of this part of the country become tributary, either by their own free-will, or are rendered subjects by force, as occasionally occurs, and subsequently free themselves from the yoke. On this account the present government has divided the country into five districts, and regards Kodero, and the free heathen Nuba, as its southern border. Kordofan has no townships on the Bahr-Abiad, or White Nile, for the village nearest to this river is situate at a distance of about four hours’ march from its banks. The Nomadic tribes, inhabiting the western shore, belong to the realms of Sennaar, and are entirely distinct from the natives of Kordofan; the Bakara-Kubbabeesh[2] only, a Nomadic tribe, also, frequently drive their herds to the borders of the White River for pasturage. The five districts are named severally: Korci, Bara, Ketshmar, Abou-Haraz, and Dayara. Each of them is governed by a Casheff, or captain of the district, who is at the same time captain in a regiment of the line. Taking a general view of Kordofan, it may be said to consist chiefly of a cluster of small and large oases, which are not far distant from each other, as in the Great Desert. The soil is sandy throughout, and the country is rather flat than mountainous. In the vicinity of Haraza, however, a chain of mountains arises, shelving off towards the White River; while the mountains in the interior are inconsiderable, several of which may be seen towards the south and south-east. The soil is, on the whole, very fertile; for, with the commencement of the rainy season, vegetation springs up from the earth as if by magic, and nature then shows herself in her full vigour and pomp; balsamic odours, which act almost intoxicatingly on the senses, are everywhere breathed forth, and the traveller might imagine himself transplanted into the fairy gardens of the Arabian Nights’ tales.

Kordofan has no flowing rivers; during the rainy season, some few running streams are formed, but these dry up as quickly as they appear. There are several lakes, or large ponds, in the country, amongst which those at Arat, Birget,[3] Ketshmar, and Caccia, are the most considerable; in the latter, many leeches are found; but the other stagnant waters, which are generated during the rainy season, quickly evaporate, and only those above-named contain water throughout the year. In the vicinity of Haraza, in a north-easterly direction from the village, pure and fresh water for drinking is found on the summit of a mountain during the whole year. There is an abundance of iron ore in the province, respecting which more explicit information may be gleaned from the work of Russegger, the Royal Imperial inspector of mines, who, in the year 1837, travelled through this country as far as Sheibon, to which book I must refer my readers, as geognostic research was not the purpose of my travels. The climate is very unhealthy, especially during the rainy season; no hut is then, indeed, to be met with in which there are not at least several sick; in the dry season, again, all disease disappears; at this time, however, not only man, but all living creatures, suffer from the extreme heat. The eye then rests with melancholy on the desolate and parched plains,— trophies of the victory of the heat over animated nature,—where nothing is to be seen but bones of men and animals bleached by the burning sun. During the whole of this season, which endures about eight months, the sky is clear and cloudless, and the heat is insupportable, especially in the months of April and May. From eleven o’clock, A.M., to three, P.M., when the thermometer stands in the shade at 38°, or even at 40°, Reaumur (117° to 122° Fahrenheit), it is impossible for any breathing creature to remain in the open air. Every living being, both men and cattle, with equal eagerness seek the shade, to protect themselves from the scorching rays of a fierce sun. Man sits during these hours as if in a vapour-bath, his cheerfulness of disposition declines, and he is almost incapable of thought; listless, and with absence of mind, he stares vacantly before him, searching in vain for a cool spot. The air breathed is hot as if it proceeded from a heated furnace, and acts in so enervating a manner on the animal economy, that it becomes a trouble even to move a limb. All business ceases, everything is wrapped in a sleep of death, until the sun gradually sinks, and the cool air recalls men and animals again into life and activity. The nights, on the other hand, are so sharp, that it is necessary to be more careful in guarding against the effects of cold in this country, than in the northern parts of Europe during the severest winter, for the consequences frequently prove fatal. During the whole year, day and night are equally divided, or with but imperceptible variation, and, as in all tropical climates, there is no twilight; for with sunset night begins. During the dry season, everything in nature appears desolate and dismal; the plants are burnt up; the trees lose their leaves, and appear like brooms; no bird is heard to sing; no animal delights to disport in the gladness of its existence; every living being creeps towards the forest to secrete itself, seeking shelter from the fearful heat; save that, now and then, an ostrich will be seen traversing the desert fields in flying pace, or a giraffe hastening from one oasis to another. In this season, however, frightful hurricanes occasionally arise, and fill the minds of those, who have not been witness of such a phenomenon in nature before, with the utmost consternation. A powerful current of air, of suffocating heat, blows fiercely from one point of the heavens to the other, devastating everything that lies in its course. The atmosphere bears at these times generally a leaden grey appearance, and is impregnated with fine sand: the sun loses its brilliancy, and total darkness envelopes the earth, rendering it even difficult to distinguish objects at a few paces distant. The sky changes suddenly, becomes of a yellow colour, then assumes a reddish hue, and the sun appears as a blood-red disk. The wind howls, tears up everything within its reach; houses, fences, and trees by the roots, carrying them away with it; levels mounds of sand, and piles up fresh hills. In short, the devastation caused by a hurricane of this kind is beyond description. Unfortunate, indeed, is he who happens to be overtaken in the desert by one of these storms. There is no course left for him to save himself, but to throw himself with his face on the ground, in order to avoid suffocation by the pressure of the atmosphere. Respiration is totally impeded; all the fibres are tightly contracted; the chest threatens to burst for want of pure air; and a man of rather weak constitution, overtaken by one of these hurricanes in the open air, generally succumbs. But robust men, even those in full vigour of life, feel depressed in every limb for several hours after exposure to these storms, and recover but slowly, and by degrees. Animals fly and endeavour to conceal themselves; every creature, in fact, seeks a place of shelter. The camels on journeys indicate the storm before it breaks forth by an unsteadiness of gait, and by drooping their heads towards the ground.

A no less remarkable phenomenon is the Mirage, _i. e._ the appearance of seas and rivers, supposed to be observed in the middle of the desert, but which, in fact, are only represented to the eye in this deceptive manner by a rising vapour, and the reflection of the sun. The sensation is indescribable, of descrying at the distance large rivers and lakes, after having travelled for several tedious days through the desert, where nothing is to be seen but sand and heaven, as but water and sky on the high seas, and at a time, moreover, when the traveller is longing after water. We wish for wings, to be able to reach the element of which we have been so long deprived as quickly as possible. We delight in the idea of invigorating the exhausted and enervated body by a bath, and the eye is continually bent upon this pleasing object. But what is our disappointment,—how are the spirits depressed,—when, notwithstanding these ardent wishes, on our approach, the lakes and rivers, which we had discerned at the distance, are resolved, in the literal sense of the word, into thin air; and when we find, in lieu of water, the sand as hot and dry as in the place we had just left! When the traveller has frequently observed this phenomenon, and accustomed himself to it, he will be pleased with the image which diverts his eye, and will look upon it as a variation in the scene. These aerial phenomena are called in the country, Bahr-el-Ghazal, or Gazelle Rivers, probably because, like these animals, they disappear as soon as seen.

The rains begin in the month of June, and terminate with the month of October. Those who have not spent this season in a tropical country, can form no idea of the showers which then drench the earth. The storms generally arise in the east or in the south. A small black cloud is, at first, perceived on the horizon, which increases as it approaches, spreads in a few minutes, with incredible velocity, over the whole region, and then descends. A fearful storm now rages: flash upon flash, and peal succeeding peal, the lightning illumines the whole heavens, and the thunder rolls most fearfully, as if the sky were about to open and the earth to burst; streams of water pour down with violence, which the soil is incapable of imbibing, and torrents are thus formed, destined, however, soon to be lost in the sands. Showers of this description generally last over one quarter of an hour, seldom for a longer period, and very rarely, indeed, are they repeated on the same day. They remit frequently during two, three, or even six days, and this is the most unhealthy, and even dangerous time both for strangers and natives; but it is admitted by general consent, that those of white colour suffer more than the blacks.

As if by magic, Nature now awakes from her sleep of death; for, immediately after the first shower, the earth is clad with verdure, the trees shoot forth fresh buds, and a vesture of flowers is spread over the whole country.

Certain districts of Kordofan, whose position is not elevated, may, indeed, be compared with Paradise. Everything there appears in most perfect luxuriance. All the trees and bushes are covered with flowers and fruit, so that the leaves are scarcely discernible. The grass attains a height sufficient to cover a rider and his horse. Creeping plants wind themselves up to the summit of the highest trees; in short, the force and vigour of vegetation is everywhere demonstrated. As the eye is delighted by the diversity of the magnificent flowers, so it is also gratified by the varieties of colours displayed in the plumage of the parrots, colibris, and other feathered inhabitants of the desert and the gardens, animating the trees with their gorgeous plumes, and enchanting the ear with their delightful song; melodious and charming notes resound, as if in emulation, from the various branches, and I could almost have forgotten the song of the lark and the nightingale of my own beloved country. But these silvery notes are not of long duration; the song is too sweet to last for a long time. It begins as the first dawn of morning removes the veil of night, increases as the light extends; but when the sun arises above the horizon of the desert, or gilds the mountains with his rays, one warbler after the other becomes mute, and single notes are only heard. Now appear a swarm of butterflies and beautiful insects, delighting the eye with the same change of gorgeous colours. Giraffes, antelopes, and other animals, browse upon the plains in the full enjoyment of life. But all these charms soon disappear, for, under the operation of the unhealthy climate, all cheerfulness of spirits fades in opposition to the resolute efforts of the will, and anxiety befalls man and robs him of all his rest. Debility of stomach, nausea, disinclination for food, in short, all the precursory symptoms of disease, deprive him of every enjoyment which the beauties of nature might afford; and, in a short time, he is stretched upon the bed of sickness, from which no stranger is entirely exempt; thus, of all the Europeans who have visited these regions, and sojourned there for any time, but very few have escaped with their lives, as far as our observations at present reach; for the miasmata with which the air is impregnated, arising from the morasses, the unwholesome water, the damp south winds, penetrating to the very nerves, all co-operate to wear out the thread of life; and every one hastens, if it be, indeed, in his power, to quit this unhealthy climate as quickly as he possibly can. Do not imagine that the showers clear the atmosphere, as is the case in Europe, for they are immediately followed by intense heat, which, during my residence in the country attained a degree of 30° R. = 99° Fahrenheit.

December and January are the most healthy months, but the nights are then so cold that the thermometer frequently falls to 8°, or even 4° R., (50° or 41° F.,) especially shortly before sunrise. This rapid change from the extremes of heat and cold, and the pernicious vapours, are very deleterious in their effect on the constitution of man, especially on the health of strangers coming from the northern districts of Egypt or from Europe; and, indeed, few men can ever totally accommodate themselves to this climate.