Arabia Felix

by Thorkild Hansen

  The whole of the following day passed in confusion and noise: barking dogs, the reek of camel dung, a cloud of dust that gradually gathered over the valley veiling the light of the sun. It was still impossible to establish when the caravan was to leave. Suddenly, without warning, as the sun went down all the tents were packed up and loaded, together with all the other bundles, on the camels; one by one the large animals scattered about the valley rose up and moved off, gliding into a long line pointing to the east. The Danish expedition quickly joined it, trying to keep itself somewhere near the middle of the caravan where the chances of survival in the event of an attack were best. All were riding horses except Niebuhr who from curiosity had chosen one of their many dromedaries. Though he was afraid at first of being thrown off, he soon felt satisfaction at his choice: “I placed my mattress across the saddle so that I could turn first to one side and then the other, by which I found it possible to turn my back to the sun, which at this season of the year is always rather trying. My colleagues, on the other hand, were compelled to go on sitting in the same position. As a result they soon became exhausted; while by evening I was no more tired after the journey than if I had been sitting comfortably all day in a chair. Moreover, the dromedary maintains the same speed as a camel, which means that one does not have to concentrate on keeping pace with the others, while horses at times have to go faster and at other times slower to remain level with the caravan.”

  A sketch by Baurenfeind of a woman selling bread. (From a block by Clemens)

  About the precise number of camels in the caravan there is considerable disagreement in the papers of the expedition’s members. Von Haven, who had now kept a diary for some weeks—the first and only occasion during the whole expedition when he did so—says that the caravan consisted of about 1,500–1,600 camels; Forsskål outbids him on this, claiming that there were “several thousand camels”; while Niebuhr did not count more than four hundred. Although the latter is in the minority, one is more inclined to accept his estimate, not only because he had already given proof of his accuracy in accounts of this kind, but also because the caravan that left Cairo for Suez at the end of August was generally one of the smaller ones. There was still a month before the ships left Suez for Arabia; and not for a week or two yet did those caravans leave whose complement of men and goods were to be shipped on farther—caravans which by contrast often numbered more than six thousand camels. The goods carried by this caravan of 28th August consisted predominantly of materials for the shipbuilders of Suez: timber from Lebanon and copper nails from Europe. The attention of Forsskål and Niebuhr was drawn particularly to four camels, advancing two by two, over each pair being placed a heavy beam; between these two beams hung the anchor for one of the ships that was to take them to Arabia Felix.

  The first day the caravan kept going until eleven o’clock at night. Forsskål describes the arrival at the resting-place; how the Arabs set up camp in ever-widening circles round the first arrivals; how the camels were relieved of their loads and sank to their knees on the outer fringe, forming a kind of wall round the men and their possessions. They were to spend the night on a bare sandy plain; and when after their arrival Forsskål wandered round with his lantern, all he found growing there were a few Zygophyllum bushes, a few moon-flowers and some desert acacias. Throughout the night they took it in turns to stand guard over their possessions, partly against strangers sneaking into the caravan, partly against their own guides who, as Forsskål notes, “found difficulty in keeping their hands off things that were easy to hide and easy to dispose of.”

  Again it was impossible to get any precise information about the time of departure. The only sign came from the hundreds of camels, who almost simultaneously started neighing loudly as one hour before sunrise they were loaded and forced to their feet. Everybody made ready in haste, for nobody wanted to run the risk (as Forsskål says) “of being separated from the group and from safety.” Once again the great confused mass was drawn out into an ordered line of camels, moving over the desert like a long wriggling millipede making its way straight towards the red ball of the sun, which now seemed to rest momentarily on top of a sand-dune ahead.

  On this day, 30th August, they rode with the glare in their eyes until midday, when at last the sign was given to pause among some white, dusty chalk hills. The exhausted Europeans hoped for an extended rest, but there was scarcely time to eat and no time at all to sleep; only one hour after halting the caravan set off again, this time continuing without pause until shortly before sunset, when they set up camp at the foot of Mount Taja. Once again the travellers were vouchsafed only a few hours’ rest. The next stretch led through a narrow pass—the best place for an attack if one was to come, and the place where all the earlier caravans had been plundered by the Sawalhas. As the chance of getting through the hills was greater if the caravan passed this place under cover of darkness, they struck camp at midnight. They had been riding through the hills for only a few hours, however, when suddenly they heard a shot nearby. The rocky walls round them threw the echo back into the night.

  Forsskål and Niebuhr reached for their guns; but then their minds were set at ease by the Arabs. These apparently were not robbers; it was the great Mecca caravan which also wanted to cross this dangerous stretch in the dark and which was now passing them some distance away. A few days ago they had heard its impending arrival heralded by cannon shot from the citadel in Cairo. Now they heard the beat of the camels’ hooves upon the rocky ground, like a passing rain shower, while the men tried to frighten away any Sawalhas by frequent gun-shots. Reassured, Forsskål and Niebuhr slung their weapons over their shoulders again. It was not robbers, but a greeting from Arabia Felix. It was the caravan from Mecca, and it was important that it get through. It came with pearls, diamonds, musk and balsam; and it had to reach Cairo to fetch needles, nails, and glazed and unglazed paper.

  They succeeded in traversing the dangerous hills without being attacked; after another five hours the sun rose once more and the caravan took a short rest. Only half a day’s journey remained to Suez. The Danish expedition sent a servant in advance to rent a room in the town’s only inn. Thereupon the caravan moved off once more, and soon they could see the northern tip of the Red Sea. Then the town itself came into view: the ships out in the roads, the mud houses in the sand, and not so much as a palm tree to enliven its grey surfaces. At ten o’clock in the morning, on 31st August, they rode into Suez. According to Niebuhr’s calculations they had spent exactly thirty-two hours and forty minutes on camel or on horseback.

  To-day there is a road from Cairo to Suez. It is a hundred and thirty-six kilometres long, but is heavily congested and not particularly well surfaced; behind the wheel of a small modern car it sometimes takes two hours to cover the distance.

  2

  For Baurenfeind in particular the trip had been a considerable ordeal. On the way the genial artist began running a high fever, which could not be brought down even by an extra glass of brandy after dinner. On arrival at the primitive inn in Suez he was almost unconscious and had to take to his bed immediately. There was no furniture in the room: they had to be content with setting up one of the camp beds and laying him on it. In spite of the rest his condition deteriorated from hour to hour; and some days after their arrival Niebuhr wrote in his diary that he had given up hope of ever seeing Baurenfeind well again.

  In Suez, for the first time since their stay in Alexandria almost a year before, the Danish expedition was once again gathered under the same roof. The two wrathful professors, Forsskål and von Haven, again slept in adjoining beds and ate at the same table. But Baurenfeind’s serious condition added new complications to a problem that had tormented von Haven ever since he arrived in Cairo. He was now to leave for the Sinai peninsula to seek Djebel el-Mokateb, the Mount of Inscriptions. In three weeks the ships were to leave Suez for Arabia Felix; there was no time to lose, no chance of further procrastination. Apart from the fact that the present hot season was the wor
st time imaginable for an expedition into the desert, and also that the trip would lead him straight into the native district of the terrible Sawalhas, the philologist was now compelled to take the initiative, the first time he had had to do so during the entire expedition. And the last.

  The original intention had been for Baurenfeind to accompany von Haven on the journey so as to copy the inscriptions on Djebel el-Mokateb; the others were to remain in Suez and study the important question of the ebb and flow of the Red Sea. Admittedly Baurenfeind had already refused in Cairo to travel alone with the moody Dane; but there in Suez he would hardly have been able to get out of it—this part of the expedition had been expressly included among the tasks devolving upon him by the royal instructions. When Baurenfeind fell ill, all von Haven’s plans were upset, and he was faced with having to make a most uncomfortable choice. Either he had to undertake this expedition, the great dangers of which he had so often dwelt on, entirely alone; or else he must so humble himself as to beg the help of one of the others, all of whom were hostile to him. Because, in the last resort, von Haven’s fear was greater than his vanity, he chose the latter alternative. One evening shortly after their arrival in Suez, he put the matter to the rest of the group. He could not go to Mount Sinai alone, and he must ask one of the others to accompany him. When none of them said anything, he turned to Kramer, his compatriot. He asked if Kramer would go with him to Djebel el-Mokateb. The even-tempered Kramer had long ago had enough of von Haven’s moods, and scarcely considered him capable of undertaking such a dangerous journey. And in any case Kramer’s excuse was unanswerable. As the doctor, he wished to remain in Suez to attend to the sick Baurenfeind. Kramer would not go with him to Djebel el-Mokateb.

  So von Haven lost his one chance of an ally. Now he stood alone against Forsskål and Niebuhr, the two men he hated so intensely that there had been a moment when he planned to kill them both with arsenic. There was a long moment of silence. Then once again fear triumphed over vanity. He turned to Peter Forsskål and asked in a low voice if he was willing to go to Djebel el-Mokateb. Again a few moments passed in silence. Von Haven looked down at the table. Forsskål regarded him expressionlessly. Then he answered his question. Nowhere in the royal instructions was it stated that the duties of the botanist included the expedition to the Sinai peninsula. Moreover, he also felt concern for Baurenfeind who had helped him so tirelessly during the whole journey, drawing his specimens. Forsskål would not go along with him to Djebel el-Mokateb.

  Now only one man stood between von Haven and a lone journey among the Sawalhas, the last man in the world of whom in normal circumstances he would have asked anything: the uncultured yokel from whom he had tried innumerable times by abuse and threat to wrest financial control of the expedition. One can imagine how Carsten Niebuhr had listened to the conversation, with his back turned to the others. Now he continued to look the other way, pretending perhaps to be absorbed in the adjustment of his astrolabe. This time the silence was unbearable. Nobody came to the rescue of the Dane. There were more long moments of silence. The sick Baurenfeind could be heard in the next room, breathing heavily. Then Professor von Haven asked in a low voice if Carsten Niebuhr would do him the service of accompanying him to Djebel el-Mokateb.

  Forsskål continued, quite unperturbed, to look at von Haven. Von Haven looked down at the table. In the adjoining room Baurenfeind’s heavy breathing could be heard. Niebuhr continued to sit bent over his astrolabe. When he finally spoke there was no hint of irony in his voice; it was as if he were confiding his answer only to his instrument. Carsten Niebuhr said that he had no objection to accompanying Herr Professor von Haven to Djebel el-Mokateb.

  It must have happened rather in this way; but we do not know all the details, for both Forsskål and von Haven are with good reason silent about these events, and Niebuhr, though mentioning the order in which von Haven addressed the others, touches on them only very circumspectly in his diary. The decisive factor is that from the moment Niebuhr assented to making the trip to Djebel el-Mokateb, Friedrich Christian von Haven was a spent force. What the many letters to von Gähler and Bernstorff had not been able to achieve, Niebuhr managed to bring about almost without wishing it, by his “yes.” The proud professor had by his questions betrayed the extent to which he was dependent on the others. When at the last moment Niebuhr came to his rescue, it was not out of pity; it was rather an extension of that decision he took in Cairo to belong in future neither to the one party nor to the other. But his attitude had further consequences, for it revealed once and for all who was strong and who weak; and with this was established once and for all von Haven’s inferiority. This time he was not merely humbled, as he was after his pitiful defection in Helsingör. This time he was conquered, rendered harmless, crushed. From now on any idea he might have had of standing out against the others was ruled out in advance. Now the path led only downwards; and when once his conceit in himself had been destroyed, that path dropped very steeply in the case of such a nature as von Haven’s. He was the kind of person who must try to make himself leader if he is not to sink right to the bottom. Now all hope was lost. Those words from Niebuhr that seemed to rescue him were in fact the words that started his downfall.

  The extent of his defeat was already visible by the following day. He was now reduced to such insignificant proportions that even Forsskål deigned to do him a service. When the Dane, because of his inadequate knowledge of the language, showed himself incapable of negotiating with the Arabs, Forsskål took it upon himself to deal with the three sheiks, all three of them Sawalhas, who were to show Niebuhr and von Haven the way to Djebel el-Mokateb. On 4th September, Forsskål came to an arrangement with the Arabs whereby they were to provide eight dromedaries and two camels at a price of eighteen pattak per dromedary and fifteen pattak per camel. It was further agreed that the Arabs themselves should take along their own provisions, that Niebuhr and von Haven would be permitted to stay at Djebel el-Mokateb long enough to allow them to copy the inscriptions, and that, after arriving at the Mount, one section of the Arabs would ride back to Suez and fetch the remainder of the expedition, supposing that, in the meantime and against all expectation, Baurenfeind had recovered.

  Two days later, on the far shore of the bay, the little caravan was ready to leave. That same evening Niebuhr and von Haven were ferried across in a fishing-boat. They spent the first night on the beach under the open sky. The following morning, 7th September, 1762, according to Niebuhr’s diary, a strong gale was blowing from the north. Now baggage was being loaded on to the animals, and the caravan moved off south towards the land of the Sawalhas. On the harbour mole in Suez stood Peter Forsskål, watching Niebuhr and von Haven and their Arab guides as they disappeared into the sandstorm on the opposite shore.

  3

  For the first time on the expedition, time seems to have dragged for Forsskål in Suez; perhaps he was even a little angry with himself for not going along on the hazardous but exciting trip to the mountain in Sinai. Now that their trying colleague had been so thoroughly deflated, it could have been a most profitable experience to have gone along in company with Niebuhr. Instead, Forsskål had to wander about alone in the burning wastes of the desert round Suez. He ventured out to a couple of valleys called Dgirr and Mosbeha, which had seemed to him from a distance to be faintly green. Because of marauding bands, he had to arm himself with a gun. He did not encounter any robbers; but neither unfortunately did he find any plants, apart from the usual Zygophyllum bush, for all these valleys were dry and sandy in the middle of the hot season. The one sight that did capture his attention were the desert gazelles, which now and then approached to within a short distance and looked curiously at the lonely wanderer.

  There was a little more to engage the attention down by the shores of the Red Sea. Forsskål made a comprehensive collection of shells, caught a few fish and managed to dry them in the sun, and afterwards pressed them as he did with the plants in his herbarium, in order to preserve them. He disco
vered that the sand foamed when he poured nitric acid on it, but that seemed to exhaust this particular subject. The sun beat down across the water, and the next thing Forsskål discovered was that “the shallow water is warm and quite delightful to bathe in.”

  After a week a noticeable improvement took place in Baurenfeind’s condition, and Forsskål looked for ways of getting away from his stagnant existence in Suez. On 16th September, he hired a fishing-boat and sailed forty miles or so south in the gulf to the town of Ghobeibe, where Moses was supposed to have led the Jews through the Red Sea. A fresh wind was blowing from the north, and at sunset they reached Ghobeibe. He found nothing very much there either in the way of botanical specimens : a number of different kinds of reeds and salt herbs. A much-mentioned memorial stone turned out to be nothing more than a natural outcrop of rock without any inscriptions. And as for the mystery surrounding the flight of Israel across the sea, Forsskål got no nearer any solution in Ghobeibe. He discovered that at this point the sea was twelve fathoms deep, and confirmed that the tidal difference between flood and ebb was only about two ells. Even if, as it is said, there was a double ebb tide when the Israelites crossed the sea, it would still only have reduced the depth of the water by four ells, which would not have been sufficient to leave the gulf dry at Suez, still less at Ghobeibe; added to which was the fact that Forsskål could see from various signs in the terrain that the water level had probably been even higher in ancient days. He concluded politely: “That an unusually low ebb tide should have occurred precisely at such an important moment is in itself a very exalted matter, which resembles nothing less than a miracle. If one admits this, why then be reluctant to acknowledge that the whole incident was by all the ordinary laws of nature an impossibility, and therefore in its entirety a genuine miracle?”