Arrival at the Greek convent of St. Catharine—The ensemble of the scene—A sketch of one of the oldest monasteries in the world—Founded by the Emperor Justinian—Successive endowments by monarchs through intervening times—The camp by the convent wall—A thunderstorm at Sinai—Adventure with a jolly friar—Description of the convent buildings—The treasures of the chapel and shrine—Chapel of the Burning Bush—The charnel-house—The ascent of Mt. Sinai—What the Governor of North Carolina said to the Governor of South Carolina—Legends of the mountain—View from the mountain-top—The ancient manna—The valley of Feiran—The rival of Gebel Musa—Extreme healthfulness of the Sinaitic Peninsula—Ancient mines—Bas-reliefs and hieroglyphics—Arrival again at Suez.
ANOTHER two days' travel, and we climbed a sandstone mountain road through a desolate waste, destitute of vegetation on every side. The crumbling mountains had clean-cut peaks, like the buttes on the North American plains. Over this void to the convent we saw neither bird, reptile, nor any living thing, until, near Mount Sinai, a little bird with white head and tail and black body flew across our path, when our imaginings taken from the surroundings were startled as though by an apparition. Our last day's ride before reaching the Greek convent at the base of Gebel Musa took us over the Pass of the Winds, which route it is supposed a part of the chosen people took, while the greater number chose a long and better road around. This road is difficult, rocky, and dangerous ; and when thrown, as is often the case, upon the neck of your painstaking animal carefully picking his way along the narrow paths over precipices, you fear looking down, it being at best difficult to keep an equilibrium. It was on this day that we came in sight of the lofty peak of Gebel Musa (Mount Moses), on and around which tradition fixes the places where the momentous events so graphically described in the Bible took place. Nothing could be more exciting than our first full view of the mountain and of the celebrated Greek convent of St. Catharine, which is nestled among these wild and desolate rocks immediately at the base of Mount Sinai. I can never forget how the mountain's clear outline broke upon us, towering above all others, glistening in the morning sun, and surrounded on all sides by the uttermost conceivable desolation. Everything impressed the mind with a great past. The mountain and valley have their wonderful story to tell. Upon the summit, according to Biblical tradition, Moses tarried under divine inspiration. Here the Law was given direct from Jehovah, while the valley beneath was filled with the chosen people, awed by the fiat that went forth in the thunders of heaven. On this scene, so awfully consecrated, unimaginable desolation reigned. As we neared the convent the eye was relieved by the sight of green trees—the lofty cypress and, strange to say, the orange-tree with its golden fruit, and the pomegranate—in the long garden of the convent, stretching out toward us as if to welcome us to its shade. This garden, filled with plants, vegetables, and flowers, is tended with great care by the monks who inhabit the old convent—time-honored recluses, whose history dates back to a very early Christian epoch, and who are only moved from their lethargy when a party like ours journeys so far, to visit the venerated scene close by. Soon the time-worn outer walls came in sight. These surround and hide the inner buildings. All we could see were the watch-towers upon the heights. Huge walls they are, mostly built to guard against the torrents in winter, which sometimes sweep down in immense volume, carrying portions of both the building and the mountain with them. They were also intended to guard against the incursions of enemies, and were erected by the Emperor Justinian nearly a thousand years ago. In the changes of centuries armed hordes have sometimes directed their fury against the venerable pile. Then the outer gate closes, and a chance visitor would have to be hauled up a great many feet through an inclosed way. Upon the occasion of our visit its portals were thrown open to us with a hearty welcome. We witnessed here that which is of daily occurrence—the feeding of large numbers of Bedouins, Mussulmans who are only too glad to accept Christian hospitality to keep them from starving. It is a traditional policy of the monks to keep on friendly terms with the Ishmaelites. Their uninterrupted charity makes these their fast friends, and as the convent is richly endowed it never fails to perpetuate this happy fraternization.
We soon pitched our tent in the beautiful garden of the holy place, and were visited by Monsieur Gregorio, the principal, a good-looking, reserved, and dignified monk, to whom we had letters from his patriarch at Cairo. As usual their hospitality was bountiful, payment therefor being left to our discretion on leaving. Though pressed to enter the convent, we camped out. Though the climate at this season is often dry, on this occasion it looked threatening. One ought always to be prepared here for a storm in winter, as it comes, sometimes as early as the time of our arrival, with great violence. About midnight the gathering of the black clouds made it as dark as Erebus, and soon the floodgates were opened, and such a terrific storm set in as is seldom witnessed in any other portion of the globe. It was the first rain since the previous winter, and pent-up nature, seeming angry with the eternal sun, visited its wrath amid the loudest peals of thunder. Crash followed crash, accompanied by vivid lightning, the thunder reverberating from mountain to mountain until one could imagine he saw Mount Sinai lit up just as it was upon the day when the Mosaic law is said to have been given to man. If the thunder then was anything like what we heard, it must have made the chosen people quake. This splendid scene was agreeable beyond expression, and fixed forever in our minds Mount Sinai and its surroundings. At the same time the roar of the torrent on either side of us was distinctly heard as it rushed past carrying earth and rock with it. In the midst of the deluge we saw by the flashes of lightning a hooded monk in the dim distance, groping his way on the side of the dangerous mountain, at the risk of being swept away by the increasing waters, holding in his hand a lantern to guide him. He soon came to us with the warning of impending danger. Just then another peal crashed, which made the earth tremble and caused our jolly monk to take a seat inside our tent with a sudden jerk, as if the tumult had scared him a little. We proposed to talk over the subject, but he thought it dangerous to play with forked lightning. He soon consented to be warmed with a little creature comfort, for considering the storm I suggested to him that it was no harm even for a monk to indulge in a little brandy, as St. Paul says, for the stomach's sake. The reverend brother wisely thought so too, and he and I discussed his mission and kept the chilly blast off at the same time. It was long after midnight, and he begged us to enter the convent, fearing the rapidly increasing waters might sweep us away. But as we regaled ourselves and enjoyed a pleasant talk, the holy man forgot the waters and the tempest, and as we smoked and talked of the pleasures of life, our friar proved himself a good fellow, a jolly boon companion of an old-time anchorite, such as Scott introduces to us in his novels. Having a large Oriental tent protecting us from the elements, we promised, if daylight found us alive, to enter the sacred portals and remain during our stay.
The massive walls bear the scars of centuries. Built close to the holy mountain, the convent has an abundant supply of water, an element specially important in the desert. Within its sacred inclosure is the place where stood the burning bush, still sacred in the eyes of the faithful. Here the Empress Helena built a chapel to commemorate the holiness of the place. The broad entrance soon gives place to low portals and narrow passages, on entering which you seem to be winding up into some old baronial castle or threading your way into the ancient Egyptian Labyrinth. Then you commence mounting venerable and curiously wrought stairs and enter inclosed ways in your tortuous windings, the architecture of different centuries revealing itself during your progress. The medley of buildings, without form or apparent plan, hangs like the nests of birds on the side of a craggy mountain. As you advance you meet monks of all grades and ages, apparently intent, in their hurried walk, upon something important, and yet you cannot imagine what, except that you know that the larger portion of their time is taken up in the solemn duty of prayer and worship. During our stay this was the only occupation of the monks, and the feeling impressed me with great force that these isolated beings, who voluntarily separate themselves from the human family and live in this worse than howling desert, have indeed made a miserable waste of life if they never get to heaven. You hear their pitiful plaints all night, and are often awakened toward morning, when sleep is sweetest, by the ringing of bells and the horrible screeching of their song and prayer continuing from their midnight vigils. We have already referred to the assaults of man upon this ancient convent, and while climbing to its outer wall there were to be seen near the top and running at intervals around the immense structure, numerous little embrasures into which were poked small iron cannon about three feet long, sitting majestically and appearing very fierce upon their diminutive carriages. More dangerous to those inside than any one beyond, it is doubtful whether a monk could be found bold enough to level one of these frail pieces. They are as ancient as the hills, not even modern enough for their patterns to be found in the museums for the curious. The conclusion is that this effort of the monks to make war, being harmless, is only another pious fraud, to play upon the credulity of the Bedouins, who no doubt are impressed with the destructiveness of these terrible engines of death, high up in the air, sticking out of the sides of the massive walls.
Now we are on the top of the convent, church, and fortification, and on each side, being in a gorge, we can almost touch the mountains, one of them being Mount Sinai, called by the Arabs Gebel Musa, whose peak is 7379 feet above the level of the sea. From the top you look down into this fabric of a thousand years and see the Greek monks, who under the magic power of religion have regularly succeeded each other in all these many years, immured here even in this enlightened time. It is not to be wondered at that, many centuries back, in a more superstitious age, there should have been great numbers of these recluses who filled the convent's numerous cells, and that thousands of hermits were persuaded that they had solved the problem of getting to heaven simply by occupying every glen, dell, craggy hill, and valley in this neighborhood ; also that there should have been many incidents and stories of these departed saints handed down for the edification of holy men of the present day. On the summit of this house of ages we were introduced into a neatly fitted-up chamber and salon especially set aside for guests. Wine and coffee with an agreeable collation were placed before us, and the further proffer of hospitality. Next day, the storm continuing, was devoted to exploration of the convent. Entering the church, which is located in its centre, we found the first view of its interior handsome and imposing. Walking upon an extremely rich mosaic floor, in fine preservation and not very old, on either side of its aisle you are attracted by numerous columns, very ancient, with singular caps and cornices. The walls are ornamented with pictures of celebrated Greek saints. These were decorated and preserved with religious care according to their ecclesiastical style. Approaching the altar, you are pleased with a beautiful mosaic of the Saviour in transfiguration surrounded by Moses, Elias, Peter, John, and James. Behind the altar on either side are burnished silver and gold coffined effigies of St. Catharine, the patron saint of the convent, who died a martyr to her faith at Alexandria early in the Christian era, and whose skull and hand the monks tell you were transplanted hither by a miracle, and are religiously preserved upon their altar. On these gorgeous silver coffins lie the splendidly jewelled effigies of St. Catharine, half raised and attached as far as the waist, after the manner of the Greek Church. Imagine an exquisitely beautiful woman, about half her person in relief and painted to simulate life, with the roseate hue of flesh and blood, and all the color the artist can give her, adorned with diamonds, emeralds, and other precious stones, a rich diadem over her superb forehead, and a necklace of diamonds around her well-turned neck ! Nothing can exceed the beauty of her bust and waist, the one adorned with a precious emerald of great size, and the other with a ceinture of large brilliants. Her rich dress glitters with gems, her hands are folded as though in life, and upon one of her fingers shines a gorgeous diamond. The tout ensemble dazzles you with its magnificence. Time and place considered, I think I never saw anything more beautiful than these costly and extraordinary pictures adorned with their rare jewels. Both these simulacra were royal gifts—one from the Empress Catharine, the other from Alexander, late Emperor of all the Russias. They are kept covered with a golden cloth except when pilgrims like ourselves are entertained. Then, with pious care and great solemnity, they are unveiled for you to admire, under the flash of many brilliant lights. After looking at them we turned and gazed at the monks who were with us, who, with glassy eyes and shaggy beard and hair, had a wild and furtive look.
One of the interesting sights of this convent is the charnel-house, where repose the bones of departed monks, which stands outside and apart from the monastery. This repository the stranger is allowed to see if he has the desire. Back of this interesting sanctuary you pass through a portal into another, where, like Moses, the visitors are requested to take off their shoes, for like him they are about to tread upon holy ground. Soon they step upon a rich Persian carpet and into the Chapel of the Burning Bush, the precise spot being pointed out where this momentous historical object once stood. It is now covered with burnished silver and gold, and lighted from richly embossed gold and silver lamps, which give, after all, a very poor representation of that effulgence of which the inspired pen of Moses has written.
Passing from these interesting scenes we behold the pictures of the Emperor Justinian and his wife, the Empress Theodosia, the emperor having been the original builder and benefactor of the convent. Near the church, inside the convent, and preserved with particular care, is a small Mussulman mosque. To our wondering question how it came there, where a strange God was worshipped, the smiling answer was given that in the olden time they permitted Moslems to pray to Mahomet within their sacred convent, to show their tolerance for other religions. But the general impression in seeing this curious relic of the past is that if its true history were known it would be that this tolerance of the Christian for the Mahometan was inspired more by policy tinged with wholesome fear than by the mild virtue of charity. In their library are some old manuscripts dating as far back as the fourth century, though not many of value. The best are kept in secret with their valuables. There is, however, a copy of the Codex Sinaiticus here, said to be a manuscript of the Bible of great value, which had remained hidden among the musty rolls of the convent for ages until the famous scholar Tischendorf unearthed and published it to the civilized world. Calling upon the amiable Superior, we found him far down in the lower regions, luxuriously ensconced in a richly furnished saloon, where it would be difficult for a ray of the sun to penetrate, and a man without a guide would find it difficult to ferret him out. After the Eastern custom, his apartment was surrounded by richly covered divans, and a soft Persian carpet covered his floor. There were many articles of virtu and elegance arranged about him, indicating a man of taste and culture. Seating us pleasantly on the divan after mutual salaams, wine and Mocha coffee were served, followed by jewelled pipes, and soon he brought for our inspection the noted illuminated copy of the New Testament which has a world-wide reputation. Written by a monk on vellum before the art of printing was known, it is ornamented on many pages with pen-pictures of the Saviour and the apostles beautifully executed. Then follows the Testament, written in gold, the cover embossed in silver with scriptural characters. Our pleasure at seeing this relic had scarcely given way before the refined Superior turned over the pages of a book equally remarkable—the Book of Psalms, written by a woman, who, the monk told us, was St. Thecla, one of their feminine Greek saints. This pretty evidence of pious labor is the entire Book of Psalms compressed into six pages of writing about four and a half inches long and three wide, exquisitely fine and in perfect regularity, which can only be read with a microscope. The convent garden is luxuriant with foliage—a charming picture of life in contrast with that just seen—an oasis in the midst of utter desolation. The weather being fine, though piercingly cold, I began the ascent of Mount Sinai, filled with the purpose of following the steps of the renowned lawgiver ; but before climbing many thousand feet truth compels me to say that I was convinced that to a patriarch of eighty years of age the ascent to the top was no trifling undertaking, particularly if he attempted the 7000 feet on a short day. The ascent begins in a glen twenty yards in the rear of the convent, and looking up at it the mountain-side has the appearance of being perpendicular. For ages the monks have been making rocky stairs after a fashion all the way up, but the steps are so high that it requires a tall man to mount them without great effort. Time and floods too have made sad changes in these so-called stairways. I venture to say that any pilgrim with my weight to carry calls very often in vain for Moses to help him on the weary way. Before completing the ascent I had struck a bargain and made a fast friend of the good-natured and jolly monk who guided me. As he and I, unknown to the rest of the human family, at each of the holy places where there were gushing springs, took a drink of the limpid waters, it will not do to say that they were mixed with anything else, for the monk's sake ; but truth compels the confession that I had a good-sized flask of old eau de vie with which to renew flagging strength, but not to tempt the pious man, since any indulgence might, if found out, bring him under discipline. But he was a giant of a man, and often do I recollect with pleasure that after refreshing ourselves at these fountains he renewed his herculean efforts in a way which inspired immense respect. I can say in confidence that we never failed at these many places to renew our friendly relations, and to hope that all those sainted pilgrims who had gone before us were in unalloyed bliss, the memories of many of whom were embalmed in the sympathizing hearts of the occupants of St. Catharine's Convent.
After toiling for some time and coming to the first spring with only breath enough to call a halt, I repeated the old joke between the Governors of North Carolina and South Carolina. This seemed to strike his fancy, and his reply was that such evidence of wisdom greatly elevated American statesmen in his esteem. This spring was the fountain of Moses, and tradition says the great sage watered here the flocks of Jethro, his father-in-law. The monk being orthodox we ignored Moses, and sitting on a rock together, close by the gushing stream, as it came out from under a huge boulder surrounded by beautiful maiden-hair fern, it was proposed that we should drink, in silence, of the pure water to the memory of Jethro, the statesman of the desert. In the course of this interesting episode, having incidentally mentioned another famous personage who dwelt here, known in the annals below as St. Stephen the cobbler, whose skeleton was preserved in their charnel-house arrayed in gorgeous vestments, and being pleased with the opportunity of continuing the rest, I soon learned that the saint was accustomed to patch up weary sinners on their way, which gave him the familiar name mentioned. As the monk did not consider it sacrilegious, we agreed to mention this saint of the calendar, St. Stephen the cobbler, in our next libation, and we drank accordingly. The good-natured guide, under the influence of the exhilarating air of the mountains, went forward with great elasticity, so that in a short time we had ascended several thousand feet and seated ourselves in a pretty little chapel among the rocks, this time erected to a holy female saint. The monk informed me that she passed their convent one bright, beautiful day, and finding the lazy monks terribly worried by those industrious little insects commonly called fleas, she charitably took mercy upon them and miraculously banished the pests forever from their convent. I complained that passing travellers were so stirred up by these little creatures that they thought it necessary to renew the miracle again. That, he said, was a slander upon the pious sanctity of St. Catharine's Convent ; but they had great numbers of bed-bugs, and it was these biters that reminded them of the others. Hoping that a miracle might lessen this grievance, we left this hallowed place and our seat by the spring, and under the agreeable inspiration climbed to an archway in the mountain where our old acquaintance St. Stephen of several thousand feet below used to sit in the olden time and for a trifle shrive the numerous pilgrims. This favorite saint coming to our aid, we soon glided up the rocks ahead and came to a small plain where stood a solitary cypress-tree, the melancholy relic of a fine garden. At this spot was another chapel, where we made a cup of coffee, which helped to keep off the chill of the fierce blast. The monk said it was here that Elijah and Elias came, and to prove the truth of the tradition quoted I Kings 19 : 8, 9.
This is a small plateau which answers the description of the place where Moses left Joshua and the elders of Israel when he made his final ascent to the top of the mount, and where he expected them to remain until his return. While here they beheld that wonderful sight, “ the God of Israel, and under his feet as it were a paved work of a sapphire stone, and as it were the body of heaven in its clearness.” In the valley of Rahah, which is at the base of the mountain, it was impossible for the multitude to see anything except the “ devouring fire,” but from this plateau, immediately under the peak, Joshua and the elders had a better view of the magnificent vision, and the fire girding around the mount. The peak of Gebel Musa was so surrounded by other peaks that Moses could not see the multitude in the valley of Rahah, nor the golden calf, nor the dancing there, but only heard the shouting of the people. Though the multitude might have seen the peaks before, after they saw the brilliant fire and glory extending into the heavens from it, it became so enveloped as “ it burned with fire in the midst of heaven with darkness, clouds, and thick darkness,” that it was impossible to see it.
Somewhat refreshed, though terribly cold, our limbs stiffened and worn with fatigue, I began to despair of ever gaining the height. Commencing again, we came to the footprint of Mahomet's camel. It was distinctly and handsomely engraved in the solid granite rock, not far from the spot where Elijah turned back as unworthy to tread the holy ground above. Finally, with the aid of my companion, I succeeded in reaching the summit, and taking the traditional seat of Moses, the monk quoted the Scripture of the occurrences which happened here. While seated on this summit of Mount Sinai (Gebel Musa, the highest peak) we took within the scope of our vision the whole range of rugged mountains, of which immediately under us was Mount Sufsâfeh, believed to be the Mount of the Law. All these mountains lie in a circle of two or three miles, and form part of the same mountain upon which we now stood.
On the north, east, and west are valleys which separate them from the surrounding mountains. On the south these peaks are separated from the lofty peak of Gebel Catharine by another valley. Sloping toward its northern peak is the plain El Rahah, two miles long and one mile broad, gradually rising up the mountain-side, which surrounds it. The plain and mountain-side are capable of holding easily a larger number of people than any figure yet given of the chosen people. Those who have studied the mountains of the peninsula, both from survey and observation, think this one, beyond any doubt, fills the requirements, as it is easy of approach, prominent, and rises abrupt from the plain, so that one can stand under it and touch it. The view from this summit takes in great numbers of peaks and craggy heights, and the scene is unrivalled in beauty and sublimity. The visitor turns from this view with an agreeable recollection, to hear the good man say that where we stand was Mount Horeb, so beautifully depicted by Moses as the place where he stood “ when the glory of the Lord passed by” (Ex. 33 : 22) ; and near where we stood the monk knowingly pointed to the impression of the head of Moses in the solid granite rock when this great event occurred.
Before descending we must not forget to say that on this height are a small chapel and a small mosque, the Mussulman being a believer in the Old Testament, though he makes but little noise over it, confining his pious regards to the Koran, which gives him such a comfortable paradise to contemplate, and makes it easy to arrive at. He never, for the sake of religion, cares to travel far into out-of-the-way places. When the time for prayer comes he prostrates himself, directs his eyes toward Mecca, calls the name of Allah, and proclaims Mahomet his prophet. Even here he tries not to waste his prayers without being seen of men, and rather condemns worshipping in secret.
Having visited all the holy places requiring our stay in the convent, we parted with the hospitable monks, the Superior giving us some of his preserved dates gathered in these mountains, and some of the honeyed manna upon which the Israelites fed, gathered near here from what is known as the shrub tarfa, called by travellers the tamarisk-tree. Having collected what few green things are to be found in the mountains and in the valleys, with specimens of rock—these, with the manna and dates, were all that we were able to take away with us. Sending our camels and our servants on the return road through the valley of the Wady El Sheikh, we mounted our dromedaries, and leaving our hospitable friends to their solitude, turned in the opposite direction, toward the Ras Sufsâfeh, on the path skirting the valley El Rahah, in which the Israelites heard the law. An hour's sweeping trot and another of toilsome climbing brought us to several huge granite boulders near the head of a small valley. They looked as though they had been detached from Mount Sinai several thousand years ago and had lain in this gorge for that time partly buried in the earth. One of these immense boulders was pointed out as the veritable rock from which Moses brought the living water. We were all parched with thirst at the time, and regretted to find that at this rock there was not a drop of water wherewith to slake it. If this was the rock, which I doubt, here, too, another miracle is necessary. We heard of another reputed site of the miracle in the Feiran Valley, which we determined to visit on passing through. On our way back we encountered our friar of Gebel Musa, who crossed our path like a bright vision. I was pleased to renew a pleasant recollection of the past. He led us to another great granite rock, immediately at the base of Ras Sufsâfeh, and our mentor with great glee pointed to it as the renowned rock of the idol. It was more than twenty feet in circumference, and had a huge hole in its centre, running to a great depth. Into this hole, he naïvely told us, all the gold, silver, and jewels of the people were poured to make the golden calf. Seated on my dromedary near this rock in the valley of El Rahah, the monk with an air of simplicity turned toward me and said “ Do you see that hill? It is there that Aaron sat and watched the dancing around the golden calf.” This valley, as I have already said, comes nearer filling all the requisites than any other on the peninsula. It was interesting to believe that near where we stood Moses came after descending the mount and beheld the naked multitude dancing around the golden calf, and that here he dashed into pieces the stone tablets upon which the law had been written. Hidden from him until then, he was ignorant of what had happened (Ex. 32 : 19). The traditions of this rock and the valley were related in the same spirit of earnestness as those of the mountain. In visiting holy places I always carry a kindly spirit. I have thought it the part of wisdom to leave all questions for the antiquarians to dispute over ; and on this particular occasion I am willing to think that it was here, or near here, that the stupendous events happened, that Moses and Elijah were on this mountain, and that it is not improbable that St. Paul visited it in his travels to Arabia, in the account of which he makes plain mention of Mount Sinai (Gal. 1 : 17). It is an agreeable reflection to the pilgrim that he has traversed the path over which thousands have for ages been ascending ; that he has been where the grandest figure of that early day stood—the mighty lawgiver who proclaimed under divine inspiration those statutes which for more than three thousand years have been the foundation of all other laws ; that he has climbed Mount Horeb by the same path as that followed by Elijah, whose brilliant genius stands so marked among the prophets of the Old Testament.
Having closed our visit to all the remarkable places at and around Mount Sinai, and feeling fully repaid for the fatigue and exposure, we turned our faces again toward the Red Sea. Rapidly passing the magnificent approach to the convent called Nakb-el-Hâwi (the Pass of the Winds), the near way that Moses and his staff took, we entered the valley through which the multitude came, the best and longer route. I have already spoken of our first beautiful view of St. Catharine, the rosy summit of Mount Sinai, and the stately cliff of Ras Sufsâfeh, which overlooked other points below. Leaving all these in the rear, we too commenced our return on the road of the people.
The rain had not dried, and our dromedaries slipped badly, for no animals are on wet ground so uncertain and dangerous. Some of them fell, and the height being great, there was always danger of breaking bones. Luckily nobody was hurt. The next day, entering the valley of the Feiran, we found for the first time the manna-yielding shrub tarfa, and a village of the Bedouins with some date-trees and sheep. There are great numbers of these tamarisk-trees in the valley, and the manna exudes during two months in the autumn, being quite an important article of commerce. It is called in the Hebrew and Arabic, min (what) : “ They wist not what it was.” This valley is called the Paradise of the Bedouin, because from its extreme fertility it will grow the date and tamarisk in spite of all the efforts of the wild man of the desert, who for thousands of years has been allied with nature in destroying this whole peninsular region—in fact, every part of Asia and Africa where he has a foothold. There is no question that there are in Asia vast stretches of country, many valleys, hills, and mountain-sides, which only require the industry of man aided by a little science to make use of water, the one necessary thing—which is found in springs, rivulets, and supplied by the rains—in order to make fertile again these desolate wastes with the terrace gardens and cultivated valleys of the olden time. That these arid valleys once supported a dense population, rich in flocks and herds, is a fact engraved on the monuments of ancient Egypt, and with more certainty stated in the Bible. Not far from the Bedouin village in the valley of Feiran we came to the rock to which Arab tradition points as the Rock of Moses. Here is a spring. The valley of Feiran is thought to be Rephidim, the land of the Amalekites (Ex. 19 : 2), this being the natural approach from the sea after the three days' march of Moses, and the first region supplying an abundance of water. It was here that Moses struck the first blow at his enemy which gave him final possession of the peninsula. This valley is not far from the base of Mount Serbal, two valleys coming into it from that mountain. This prominent granite peak was for many centuries the rival of Gebel Musa, in its claim to be the true Mount Sinai, and its sides were lined with convents, the abodes of hermits, who, it is said, were in such great numbers in front of their cells that they looked like rabbits in front of their holes. Careful investigations, however, settled the point in favor of Gebel Musa. At Mount Sinai there is abundance of water, there being no less than four rivulets near it capable of fertilizing an extensive plain, and enough to irrigate lands for grazing purposes. The almost entire absence of this element from Mount Serbal and the contracted valleys contiguous to it has established the weight of authority against it. These are among the important reasons which have induced learned observers to give up Mount Serbal and its immense nest of mountains as the real Mount Sinai, though the fertile valley of the Feiran is near by. The peaks of Mount Serbal in their wild grandeur are so sharply defined, without soil or vegetation, that few persons are able to climb to their tops as they stand, glittering in the clear sky of to-day. The mountain is majestically grand, and in striking contrast with the soft and gentle scenery of waving palms, shady acacias and tamarisks which skirt the beautiful rill where we are now seated, the waters of which, sparkling and limpid, flow with a musical ripple at our feet. The Bedouins who live here are in conversation with us while man and camel are slaking their thirst after a long and desolate ride over the desert. How welcome the gushing water of even a small rivulet is, only those know who have just travelled over a weary waste for many hours without it ! To-day we commence taking leave of the network of granite mountains, their rocky glens and desolate valleys, with few open spaces to let us out. The scenery as we ride along is enhanced in beauty by the light and clear atmosphere, and the party-colored rocks reflected in the noonday sun are very beautiful. The climate is dry and healthy. Man lives here without disease to extreme old age. But there is not much game—only a few gazelles, hares, leopards, ibexes, porcupines, and quails. Soon after leaving this valley the next attraction is the ancient inscriptions on the eternal rock, so long an enigma. Exhaustive researches of late have proved that they are not Hebrew writing, as was at first thought, confirmatory of the passage through here of the chosen people. They are an old form of Arabic, with many of the letters obsolete, supposed to be of an antiquity prior to the time of Moses. The pilgrims gaze upon them in their ignorance as one of the mysterious links connecting them with the great past. They look old enough to have been written by Job with his iron pen. Arriving in the sandstone region, we are warned of our approach to the Red Sea again. The transition is startling, the variegated tints of the stone and the magical purity of the air bringing out in great beauty streaks of white, red, blue, violet, and yellow in exquisite combination. We encamped near the noted turquoise mines, and toiled to a height of over 200 feet, to be entertained on reaching them, not so much in gathering the precious stones, an operation which requires considerable labor, as by the beautiful rainbow veins of sandstone in which they are found. It is here that Mariette Bey read the hieroglyphics which give the history of the working of these very mines by Cheops of the fourth dynasty, 4235 years B.C., and the Pharaoh who constructed the great Pyramid of Ghizeh, near Cairo. There are bas-reliefs in these mines of Ouady Magharah picturing this great warrior as chastising the people called in that day On (Bedouins), who troubled the Eastern frontier of Lower Egypt. Buying a few specimens of turquoise as they came fresh from the mines, we gathered some of the rock of ages in which they were imbedded, to bring home with us. The next day the descent was abrupt. Sandstone and limestone were mixed in peculiar and fantastical forms, so that the imagination could picture any object in art or nature it pleased : a pretty cottage, massive fortifications, or many-steepled cathedrals could be conjured up. Discharging our Bedouins and camels, we started on our eighty-mile trip before daylight. A rain-storm, however, coming on, the boat returned to the same old Arab saint again. Some of our party, in despair of getting to Suez, and fearing our dwindling supplies would fall short, thought it advisable to go upon the desert to hunt up the Bedouins and their camels to take us through by land. I had no idea of sharing this folly, and advised either that we divide our supplies, pack them on our backs and foot it for three days—the time necessary to go through the desert, a weary way between us and the Wells of Moses—or else, which was better, to stick to the boat and take our chances of a fair wind. I insisted that hunting Bedouins in the desert was a chase to which I could not consent to be a party. So I called for a division of the supplies. This settled the question, and our boat again sailed. It had not got fairly into the middle of the Red Sea, before there was a perfect calm, and as the boat made no movement it was determined to hail the first ship which came along. Three or four steamed past, out of hailing distance, but finally a huge Dutch ship came near enough to see and hear us. In the mean time the pistols were in requisition for firing minute-guns as though we were in distress ; and though the whole party made all the noise they could, the old ship went pitching on under steam in the calm, without deigning to take the slightest notice, and not a living thing was to be seen from either deck. That night a fair wind struck us, and the next morning we took the train at Suez in time to catch that going to Cairo, arriving there in time for dinner the same night.