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Title: A journey to Central Africa : Or, Life and landscapes from Egypt to the Negro kingdoms of the White Nile
Author: Taylor, Bayard
Language: English
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[Illustration: ABA, VILLAGE OF THE SHILLOOK NEGROES.]

CENTRAL AFRICA

BAYARD TAYLOR.

[Illustration: The Ethiopian Nile.

Bayard Taylor del.]

NEW-YORK: G. P. PUTNAM.

A
JOURNEY TO CENTRAL AFRICA;
LIFE AND LANDSCAPES FROM EGYPT
TO THE NEGRO KINGDOMS OF
THE WHITE NILE.

BY BAYARD TAYLOR.

_WITH A MAP AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR._

NEW YORK:
G. P. PUTNAM AND SON, 661 BROADWAY,
OPPOSITE BOND STREET.
1869.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by
G. P. PUTNAM & CO.,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.

RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.

Dedicated to
A. B.
OF SAXE-COBURG-GOTHA,
BY
HIS FELLOW-TRAVELLER IN EGYPT.
B. T.

PREFACE.

There is an old Italian proverb, which says a man has lived to no
purpose, unless he has either built a house, begotten a son, or written
a book. As I have already complied more than once with the latter of
these requisitions, I must seek to justify the present repetition
thereof, on other grounds. My reasons for offering this volume to the
public are, simply, that there is room for it. It is the record of a
journey which led me, for the most part, over fresh fields, by paths
which comparatively few had trodden before me. Although I cannot hope
to add much to the general stock of information concerning Central
Africa, I may serve, at least, as an additional witness, to confirm or
illustrate the evidence of others. Hence, the preparation of this work
has appeared to me rather in the light of a duty than a diversion, and I
have endeavored to impart as much instruction as amusement to the reader.
While seeking to give correct pictures of the rich, adventurous life
into which I was thrown, I have resisted the temptation to yield myself
up to its more subtle and poetic aspects. My aim has been to furnish a
faithful narrative of my own experience, believing that none of those
embellishments which the imagination so readily furnishes, can equal the
charm of the unadorned truth.

There are a few words of further explanation which I wish to say. The
journey was undertaken solely for the purpose of restoring a frame
exhausted by severe mental labor. A previous experience of a tropical
climate convinced me that I should best accomplish my object by a
visit to Egypt, and as I had a whole winter before me, I determined to
penetrate as far into the interior of Africa as the time would allow,
attracted less by the historical and geographical interest of those
regions than by the desire to participate in their free, vigorous,
semi-barbaric life. If it had been my intention, as some of my friends
supposed, to search for the undiscovered sources of the White Nile, I
should not have turned back, until the aim was accomplished or all means
had failed.

I am aware that, by including in this work my journey through Egypt, I
have gone over much ground which is already familiar. Egypt, however,
was the vestibule through which I passed to Ethiopia and the kingdoms
beyond, and I have not been able to omit my impressions of that country
without detracting from the completeness of the narrative. This book is
the record of a single journey, which, both in its character and in the
circumstances that suggested and accompanied it, occupies a separate
place in my memory. Its performance was one uninterrupted enjoyment, for,
whatever the privations to which it exposed me, they were neutralized by
the physical delight of restored health and by a happy confidence in the
successful issue of the journey, which never forsook me. It is therefore
but just to say, that the pictures I have drawn may seem over-bright to
others who may hereafter follow me; and I should warn all such that they
must expect to encounter many troubles and annoyances.

Although I have described somewhat minutely the antiquities of Nubia and
Ethiopia which I visited, and have not been insensible to the interest
which every traveller in Egypt must feel in the remains of her ancient
art, I have aimed at giving representations of the living races which
inhabit those countries rather than the old ones which have passed away.
I have taken it for granted that the reader will feel more interested—as
I was—in a live Arab, than a dead Pharaoh. I am indebted wholly to the
works of Champollion, Wilkinson and Lepsius for whatever allusions I have
made to the age and character of the Egyptian ruins.

B. T.

NEW YORK, July, 1854.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

Arrival at Alexandria—The Landing—My First Oriental Bath—The
City—Preparations for Departure, 13

CHAPTER II.

Departure—The Kangia—The Egyptian Climate—The Mahmoudieh
Canal—Entrance into the Nile—Pleasures of the Journey—Studying
Arabic—Sight of the Pyramids—The Barrage—Approach to Cairo, 21

CHAPTER III.

Entrance—The Ezbekiyeh—Saracenic Houses—Donkeys—The Bazaars—The
Streets—Processions—View from the Citadel—Mosque of Mohammed
Ali—The Road to Suez—The Island of Rhoda, 34

CHAPTER IV.

Necessity of Leaving Immediately—Engaging a Boat—The
Dragomen—Achmet el Saïdi—Funds—Information—Procuring an
Outfit—Preparing for the Desert—The Lucky Day—Exertions to
Leave—Off, 46

CHAPTER V.

Howling Dervishes—A Chicken Factory—Ride to the
Pyramids—Quarrel with the Arabs—The Ascent—View from
the Summit—Backsheesh—Effect of Pyramid-climbing—The
Sphinx—Playing the Cadi—We obtain Justice—Visit to Sakkara
and the Mummy Pits—The Exhumation of Memphis—Interview with
M. Mariette—Account of his Discoveries—Statue of Remeses
II.—Return to the Nile, 55

CHAPTER VI.

Leaving the Pyramids—A Calm and a Breeze—A Coptic
Visit—Minyeh—The Grottoes of Beni-Hassan—Doum Palms
and Crocodiles—Djebel Aboufayda—Entrance into Upper
Egypt—Diversions of the Boatmen—Siout—Its Tombs—A Landscape—A
Bath, 71

CHAPTER VII.

Independence of Nile Life—The Dahabiyeh—Our Servants—Our
Residence—Our Manner of Living—The Climate—The
Natives—Costume—Our Sunset Repose—My Friend—A Sensuous Life
Defended, 85

CHAPTER VIII.

Calm—Mountains and Tombs—A Night Adventure in Ekhmin—Character
of the Boatmen—Fair Wind—Pilgrims—Egyptian Agriculture—Sugar
and Cotton—Grain—Sheep—Arrival at Kenneh—A Landscape—The Temple
of Dendera—First Impressions of Egyptian Art—Portrait of
Cleopatra—A Happy Meeting—We approach Thebes, 98

CHAPTER IX.

Arrival at Thebes—Ground-Plan of the Remains—We Cross
to the Western Bank—Guides—The Temple of Goorneh—Valley
of the Kings’ Tombs—Belzoni’s Tomb—The Races of
Men—Vandalism of Antiquarians—Bruce’s Tomb—Memnon—The
Grandfather of Sesostris—The Head of Amunoph—The Colossi
of the Plain—Memnonian Music—The Statue of Rameses—The
Memnonium—Beauty of Egyptian Art—More Scrambles among the
Tombs—The Bats of the Assasseef—Medeenet Abou—Sculptured
Histories—The Great Court of the Temple—We return to Luxor, 113

CHAPTER X.

The Dancing Girls of Egypt—A Night Scene in Luxor—The
Orange-Blossom and the Apple-Blossom—The Beautiful Bemba—The
Dance—Performance of the Apple-Blossom—The Temple of Luxor—A
Mohammedan School—Gallop to Karnak—View of the Ruins—The Great
Hall of Pillars—Bedouin Diversions—A Night Ride—Karnak under
the Full Moon—Farewell to Thebes, 131

CHAPTER XI.

The Temple of Hermontis—Esneh and its Temple—The Governor—El
Kab by Torch-light—The Temple of Edfou—The Quarries of Djebel
Silsileh—Ombos—Approach to Nubia—Change in the Scenery and
Inhabitants—A Mirage—Arrival at Assouan, 145

CHAPTER XII.

An Official Visit—Achmet’s Dexterity—The Island of
Elephantine—Nubian Children—Trip to Philæ—Linant Bey—The Island
of Philæ—Sculptures—The Negro Race—Breakfast in a Ptolemaic
Temple—The Island of Biggeh—Backsheesh—The Cataract—The Granite
Quarries of Assouan—The Travellers separate, 152

CHAPTER XIII.

Solitary Travel—Scenery of the Nubian Nile—Agriculture—The
Inhabitants—Arrival at Korosko—The Governor—The Tent
Pitched—Shekh Abou-Mohammed—Bargaining for Camels—A Drove of
Giraffes—Visits—Preparations for the Desert—My Last Evening on
the Nile, 162

CHAPTER XIV.

The Curve of the Nile—Routes across the Desert—Our
Caravan starts—Riding on a Dromedary—The Guide and
Camel-drivers—Hair-dressing—El Biban—Scenery—Dead
Camels—An Unexpected Visit—The Guide makes my Grave—The
River without Water—Characteristics of the Mirage—Desert
Life—The Sun—The Desert Air—Infernal Scenery—The Wells of
Mûrr-hàt—Christmas—Mountain Chains—Meeting Caravans—Plains of
Gravel—The Story of Joseph—Djebel Mokràt—The Last Day in the
Desert—We see the Nile again, 171

CHAPTER XV.

A Draught of Water—Abou-Hammed—The Island of Mokràt—Ethiopian
Scenery—The People—An Ababdeh Apollo—Encampment on
the Nile—Tomb of an Englishman—Eesa’s Wedding—A White
Arab—The Last Day of the Year—Abou-Hashym—Incidents—Loss
of my Thermometer—The Valley of Wild Asses—The Eleventh
Cataract—Approach to Berber—Vultures—Eyoub Outwitted—We reach
El Mekheyref—The Caravan Broken up, 198

CHAPTER XVI.

A Wedding—My Reception by the Military Governor—Achmet—The
Bridegroom—A Guard—I am an American Bey—Kèff—The Bey’s
Visit—The Civil Governor—About the Navy—The Priest’s
Visit—Riding in State—The Dongolese Stallion—A Merchant’s
House—The Town—Dinner at the Governor’s—The Pains of Royalty—A
Salute to the American Flag—Departure, 206

CHAPTER XVII.

Fortunate Travel—The America—Ethiopian Scenery—The Atbara
River—Damer—A Melon Patch—Agriculture—The Inhabitants—Change of
Scenery—The First Hippopotamus—Crocodiles—Effect of My Map—The
Raïs and Sailors—Arabs in Ethiopia—Ornamental Scars—Beshir—The
Slave Bakhita—We Approach Meroë, 219

CHAPTER XVIII.

Arrival at Bedjerowiyeh—The Ruins of Meroë—Walk Across the
Plain—The Pyramids—Character of their Masonry—The Tower
and Vault—Finding of the Treasure—The Second Group—More
Ruins—Site of the City—Number of the Pyramids—The Antiquity
of Meroë—Ethiopian and Egyptian Civilization—The Caucasian
Race—Reflections, 229

CHAPTER XIX.

The Landscapes of Ethiopia—My Evenings beside the
Nile—Experiences of the Arabian Nights—The Story of the
Sultana Zobeide and the Wood-cutter—Character of the Arabian
Tales—Religion, 238

CHAPTER XX.

Arrival at Shendy—Appearance of the Town—Shendy in Former
Days—We Touch at El Metemma—The Nile beyond Shendy—Flesh
Diet vs. Vegetables—We Escape Shipwreck—A Walk on Shore—The
Rapids of Derreira—Djebel Gerri—The Twelfth Cataract—Night
in the Mountain Gorge—Crocodiles—A Drink of Mareesa—My
Birth-Day—Fair Wind—Approach to Khartoum—The Junction of the
Two Niles—Appearance of the City—We Drop Anchor, 258

CHAPTER XXI.

The American Flag—A Rencontre—Search for a House—The Austrian
Consular Agent—Description of his Residence—The Garden—The
Menagerie—Barbaric Pomp and State—Picturesque Character of
the Society of Khartoum—Foundation and Growth of the City—Its
Appearance—The Population—Unhealthiness of the Climate—Assembly
of Ethiopian Chieftains—Visit of Two Shekhs—Dinner and
Fireworks, 270

CHAPTER XXII.

Visit to the Catholic Mission—Dr. Knoblecher, the Apostolic
Vicar—Moussa Bey—Visit to Lattif Pasha—Reception—The
Pasha’s Palace—Lions—We Dine with the Pasha—Ceremonies upon
the Occasion—Music—The Guests—The Franks in Khartoum—Dr.
Péney—Visit to the Sultana Nasra—An Ethiopian Dinner—Character
of the Sultana, 280

CHAPTER XXIII.

Recent Explorations of Soudân—Limit of the Tropical Rains—The
Conquest of Ethiopia—Countries Tributary to Egypt—The District
of Takka—Expedition of Moussa Bey—The Atbara River—The
Abyssinian Frontier—Christian Ruins of Abou-Haràss—The
Kingdom of Sennaar—Kordofan—Dar-Fūr—The Princess of Dar-Fūr
in Khartoum—Her Visit to Dr. Reitz—The Unknown Countries of
Central Africa, 297

CHAPTER XXIV.

Excursions around Khartoum—A Race into the Desert—Euphorbia
Forest—The Banks of the Blue Nile—A Saint’s Grave—The
Confluence of the Two Niles—Magnitude of the Nile—Comparative
Size of the Rivers—Their Names—Desire to penetrate further into
Africa—Attractions of the White Nile—Engage the Boat _John
Ledyard_—Former Restrictions against exploring the River—Visit
to the Pasha—Despotic Hospitality—Achmet’s Misgivings—We set
sail, 309

CHAPTER XXV.

Departure from Khartoum—We enter the White Nile—Mirage and
Landscape—The Consul returns—Progress—Loss of the Flag—Scenery
of the Shores—Territory of the Hassaniyehs—Curious Conjugal
Custom—Multitudes of Water Fowls—Increased Richness of
Vegetation—Apes—Sunset on the White Nile—We reach the Kingdom
of the Shillook Negroes, 320

CHAPTER XXVI.

Morning—Magnificence of the Island Scenery—Birds and
Hippopotami—Flight of the Natives—The Island of Aba—Signs
of Population—A Band of Warriors—The Shekh and the Sultan—A
Treaty of Peace—The Robe of Honor—Suspicions—We walk to the
Village—Appearance of the Shillooks—The Village—The Sultan
gives Audience—Women and Children—Ornaments of the Natives—My
Watch—A Jar of Honey—Suspicion and Alarm—The Shillook and the
Sultan’s Black Wife—Character of the Shillooks—The Land of the
Lotus—Population of the Shillook Kingdom—The Turning Point—A
View from the Mast-Head, 329

CHAPTER XXVII.

Explorations of the White Nile—Dr. Knoblecher’s Voyage in
1849-50—The Lands of the Shillooks and Dinkas—Intercourse with
the Natives—Wild Elephants and Giraffes—The Sobat River—The
Country of Marshes—The Gazelle Lake—The Nuehrs—Interview
with the Chief of the Kyks—The Zhir Country—Land of the
Baris—The Rapids Surmounted—Arrival at Logwek, in Lat.
4° 10′ North—Panorama from Mt. Logwek—Sources of the
White Nile—Character of the Bari Nation—Return of the
Expedition—Fascination of the Nile, 345

CHAPTER XXVIII.

We leave the Islands of the Shillooks—Tropical Jungles—A Whim
and its Consequences—Lairs of Wild Beasts—Arrival among the
Hassaniyehs—A Village—The Woman and the Sultan—A Dance of
Salutation—My Arab Sailor—A Swarthy Cleopatra—Salutation of the
Saint—Miraculous Fishing—Night View of a Hassaniyeh Village—Wad
Shèllayeh—A Shekh’s Residence—An Ebony Cherub—The Cook Attempts
Suicide—Evening Landscape—The Natives and their Cattle—A Boyish
Governor—We reach Khartoum at Midnight, 356

CHAPTER XXIX.

The Departure of Abd-el Kader Bey—An Illuminated Picture—The
Breakfast on the Island—Horsemanship—The Pasha’s
Stories—Departure of Lattif Effendi’s Expedition—A Night
on the Sand—Abou-Sin, and his Shukoree Warriors—Change
in the Climate—Intense Heat and its Effects—Preparations
for Returning—A Money Transaction—Farewell Visits—A
Dinner with Royal Guests—Jolly King Dyaab—A Shillook
Dance—Reconciliation—Taking Leave of my Pets, 372

CHAPTER XXX.

The Commerce of Soudân—Avenues of Trade—The Merchants—Character
of the Imports—Speculation—The Gum Trade of Kordofan—The Ivory
Trade—Abuses of the Government—The Traffic in Slaves—Prices of
Slaves—Their Treatment, 384

CHAPTER XXXI.

Farewell Breakfast—Departure from Khartoum—Parting with Dr.
Reitz—A Prediction and its Fulfilment—Dreary Appearance of
the Country—Lions—Burying-Grounds—The Natives—My Kababish
Guide, Mohammed—Character of the Arabs—Habits of Deception—My
Dromedary—Mutton and Mareesa—A Soudân Ditty—The Rowyàn—Akaba
Gerri—Heat and Scenery—An Altercation with the Guide—A Mishap—A
Landscape—Tedious Approach to El Metemma—Appearance of the
Town—Preparations for the Desert—Meeting Old Acquaintances, 392

CHAPTER XXXII.

Entering the Desert—Character of the Scenery—Wells—Fear of
the Arabs—The Laloom Tree—Effect of the Hot Wind—Mohammed
overtakes us—Arab Endurance—An unpleasant Bedfellow—Comedy
of the Crows—Gazelles—We encounter a Sand-storm—The Mountain
of Thirst—The Wells of Djeekdud—A Mountain Pass—Desert
Intoxication—Scenery of the Table-land—Bir Khannik—The
Kababish Arabs—Gazelles again—Ruins of an Ancient Coptic
Monastery—Distant View of the Nile Valley—Djebel Berkel—We come
into Port, 406

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Our whereabouts—Shekh Mohammed Abd e’-Djebàl—My residence
at Abdôm—Crossing the River—A Superb Landscape—The Town of
Merawe—Ride to Djebel Berkel—The Temples of Napata—Ascent of
the Mountain—Ethiopian Panorama—Lost and Found—The Pyramids—The
Governor of Merawe—A Scene in the Divan—The Shekh and I—The
Governor Dines with me—Ruins of the City of Napata—A Talk about
Religions—Engaging Camels for Wadi-Halfa—The Shekh’s Parting
Blessing, 421

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Appearance of the Country—Korti—The Town of Ambukol—The
Caravan reorganized—A Fiery Ride—We reach Edabbe—An
Illuminated Landscape—A Torment—Nubian Agriculture—Old
Dongola—The Palace-Mosque of the Nubian Kings—A Panorama
of Desolation—The Old City—Nubian Gratitude—Another
Sand-Storm—A Dreary Journey—The Approach to Handak—A House
of Doubtful Character—The Inmates—Journey to El Ordee (New
Dongola)—Khoorshid Bey—Appearance of the Town, 438

CHAPTER XXXV.

We start for Wadi-Halfa—The Plague of Black Gnats—Mohammed’s
Coffin—The Island of Argo—Market-Day—Scenery of the
Nile—Entering Dar El-Màhass—Ruined Fortresses—The Camel-Men—A
Rocky Chaos—Fakir Bender—The Akaba of Màhass—Camp in the
Wilderness—The Charm of Desolation—The Nile again—Pilgrims from
Dar-Fūr—The Struggle of the Nile—An Arcadian Landscape—The
Temple of Soleb—Dar Sukkôt—The Land of Dates—The Island of
Sai—A Sea of Sand—Camp by the River—A Hyena Barbecue, 457

CHAPTER XXXVI.

The Batn El-Hadjar, or Belly of Stone—Ancient Granite
Quarries—The Village of Dal—A Ruined Fortress—A Wilderness of
Stones—The Hot Springs of Ukmé—A Windy Night—A Dreary Day in
the Desert—The Shekh’s Camel Fails—Descent to Samneh—The Temple
and Cataract—Meersheh—The Sale of Abou-Sin—We Emerge from the
Belly of Stone—A Kababish Caravan—The Rock of Abou-Seer—View
of the Second Cataract—We reach Wadi-Halfa—Selling my
Dromedaries—Farewell to Abou-Sin—Thanksgiving on the
Ferry-boat—Parting with the Camel-men, 471

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Wadi Haifa—A Boat for Assouan—We Embark on the Nile
Again—An Egyptian Dream—The Temples of Abou-Simbel—The
Smaller Temple—The Colossi of Remeses II.—Vulgarity of
Travellers—Entering the Great Temple—My Impressions—Character
of Abou-Simbel—The Smaller Chambers—The Races of Men—Remeses
and the Captive Kings—Departure, 486

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

I Lose my Sunshine, and Regain it—Nubian Scenery—Derr—The
Temple of Amada—Mysterious Rappings—Familiar Scenes—Halt at
Korosko—Escape from Shipwreck—The Temple of Sebooa—Chasing
other Boats—Temple of Djerf Hossayn—A Backsheesh
Experiment—Kalabshee—Temple of Dabôd—We reach the Egyptian
Frontier, 495

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Assouan—A Boat for Cairo—English Tourists—A
Head-wind—Ophthalmia—Esneh—A Mummied Princess—Ali Effendi’s
Stories—A Donkey Afrite—Arrival at Luxor—The Egyptian Autumn—A
Day at Thebes—Songs of the Sailors—Ali leaves me—Ride to
Dendera—Head-winds again—Visit to Tahtah—The House of Rufaā
Bey, 506

CHAPTER XL.

Siout in Harvest-time—A kind Englishwoman—A Slight Experience
of Hasheesh—The Calm—Rapid Progress down the Nile—The Last
Day of the Voyage—Arrival at Cairo—Tourists preparing for the
Desert—Parting with Achmet—Conclusion, 517

JOURNEY TO CENTRAL AFRICA.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION TO AFRICA.

Arrival at Alexandria—The Landing—My First Oriental Bath—The
City—Preparations for Departure.

I left Smyrna in the Lloyd steamer, _Conte Stürmer_, on the first day of
November, 1851. We passed the blue Sporadic Isles—Cos, and Rhodes, and
Karpathos—and crossing the breadth of the Eastern Mediterranean, favored
all the way by unruffled seas, and skies of perfect azure, made the
pharos of Alexandria on the evening of the 3d. The entrance to the harbor
is a narrow and difficult passage through reefs, and no vessel dares to
attempt it at night, but with the first streak of dawn we were boarded
by an Egyptian pilot, and the rising sun lighted up for us the white
walls of the city, the windmills of the Ras el-Tin, or Cape of Figs, and
the low yellow sand-hills in which I recognized Africa—for they were
prophetic of the desert behind them.

We entered the old harbor between the island of Pharos and the main
land (now connected by a peninsular strip, on which the Frank quarter
is built), soon after sunrise. The water swarmed with boats before the
anchor dropped, and the Egyptian health officer had no sooner departed
than we were boarded by a crowd of dragomen, hotel runners, and boatmen.
A squinting Arab, who wore a white dress and red sash, accosted me in
Italian, offering to conduct me to the Oriental Hotel. A German and a
Smyrniote, whose acquaintance I had made during the voyage, joined me in
accepting his services, and we were speedily boated ashore. We landed
on a pile of stones, not far from a mean-looking edifice called the
Custom-House. Many friends were there to welcome us, and I shall never
forget the eagerness with which they dragged us ashore, and the zeal with
which they pommelled one another in their generous efforts to take charge
of our effects. True, we could have wished that their faces had been
better washed, their baggy trousers less ragged and their red caps less
greasy, and we were perhaps ungrateful in allowing our Arab to rate them
soundly and cuff the ears of the more obstreperous, before our trunks
and carpet-bags could be portioned among them. At the Custom-House we
were visited by two dark gentlemen, in turbans and black flowing robes,
who passed our baggage without scrutiny, gently whispering in our ears,
“_backsheesh_,”—a word which we then heard for the first time, but which
was to be the key-note of much of our future experience. The procession
of porters was then set in motion, and we passed through several
streets of whitewashed two story houses, to the great square of the
Frank quarter, which opened before us warm and brilliant in the morning
sunshine.

The principal hotels and consulates front on this square The architecture
is Italian, with here and there a dash of Saracenic, in the windows and
doorways, especially in new buildings. A small obelisk of alabaster, a
present from Mohammed Ali, stands in the centre, on a pedestal which
was meant for a fountain, but has no water. All this I noted, as well
as a crowd of donkeys and donkey-boys, and a string of laden camels, on
our way to the hotel, which we found to be a long and not particularly
clean edifice, on the northern side of the square. The English and French
steamers had just arrived, and no rooms were to be had until after the
departure of the afternoon boat for Cairo. Our dragoman, who called
himself Ibrahim, suggested a bath as the most agreeable means of passing
the intermediate time.

The clear sky, the temperature (like that of a mild July day at home),
and the novel interest of the groups in the streets, were sufficient
to compensate for any annoyance: but when we reached the square of the
French Church, and saw a garden of palm-trees waving their coronals of
glittering leaves every thing else was forgotten. My German friend,
who had never seen palms, except as starveling exotics in Sorrento and
Smyrna, lifted his hands in rapture, and even I, who had heard tens of
thousands rustle in the hot winds of the Tropics, felt my heart leap as
if their beauty were equally new to my eyes. For no amount of experience
can deprive the traveller of that happy feeling of novelty which marks
his first day on the soil of a new continent. I gave myself up wholly to
its inebriation. _Et ego in Africâ_, was the sum of my thoughts, and I
neither saw nor cared to know the fact (which we discovered in due time),
that our friend Ibrahim was an arrant knave.

The bath to which he conducted us was pronounced to be the finest in
Alexandria, the most superb in all the Orient, but it did not at all
accord with our ideas of Eastern luxury. Moreover, the bath-keeper was
his intimate friend, and would bathe us as no Christians were ever
bathed before. One fact Ibrahim kept to himself, which was, that his
intimate friend and he shared the spoils of our inexperience. We were
conducted to a one-story building, of very unprepossessing exterior.
As we entered the low, vaulted entrance, my ears were saluted with a
dolorous, groaning sound, which I at first conjectured to proceed from
the persons undergoing the operation, but which I afterward ascertained
was made by a wheel turned by a buffalo, employed in raising water from
the well. In a sort of basement hall, smelling of soap-suds, and with
a large tank of dirty water in the centre, we were received by the
bath-keeper, who showed us into a room containing three low divans with
pillows. Here we disrobed, and Ibrahim, who had procured a quantity of
napkins, enveloped our heads in turbans and swathed our loins in a simple
Adamite garment. Heavy wooden clogs were attached to our feet, and an
animated bronze statue led the way through gloomy passages, sometimes hot
and steamy, sometimes cold and soapy, and redolent of any thing but the
spicy odors of Araby the Blest, to a small vaulted chamber, lighted by a
few apertures in the ceiling. The moist heat was almost suffocating; hot
water flowed over the stone floor, and the stone benches we sat upon were
somewhat cooler than kitchen stoves. The bronze individual left us, and
very soon, sweating at every pore, we began to think of the three Hebrews
in the furnace. Our comfort was not increased by the groaning sound which
we still heard, and by seeing, through a hole in the door, five or six
naked figures lying motionless along the edge of a steaming vat, in the
outer room.

Presently our statue returned with a pair of coarse hair-gloves on his
hands. He snatched off our turbans, and then, seizing one of my friends
by the shoulder as if he had been a sheep, began a sort of rasping
operation upon his back. This process, varied occasionally by a dash of
scalding water, was extended to each of our three bodies, and we were
then suffered to rest awhile. A course of soap-suds followed, which was
softer and more pleasant in its effect, except when he took us by the
hair, and holding back our heads, scrubbed our faces most lustily, as if
there were no such things as eyes, noses and mouths. By this time we had
reached such a salamandrine temperature that the final operation of a
dozen pailfuls of hot water poured over the head, was really delightful.
After a plunge in a seething tank, we were led back to our chamber and
enveloped in loose muslin robes. Turbans were bound on our heads and we
lay on the divans to recover from the languor of the bath. The change
produced by our new costume was astonishing. The stout German became
a Turkish mollah, the young Smyrniote a picturesque Persian, and I—I
scarcely know what, but, as my friends assured me, a much better Moslem
than Frank. Cups of black coffee, and pipes of inferior tobacco completed
the process, and in spite of the lack of cleanliness and superabundance
of fleas, we went forth lighter in body, and filled with a calm content
which nothing seemed able to disturb.

After a late breakfast at the hotel, we sallied out for a survey of
the city. The door was beleaguered by the donkeys and their attendant
drivers, who hailed us in all languages at once. “_Venez, Monsieur!_”
“Take a ride, sir; here is a good donkey!” “_Schœner Esel!_” “_Prendete
il mio burrico!_”—and you are made the vortex of a whirlpool of donkeys.
The one-eyed donkey-boys fight, the donkeys kick, and there is no rest
till you have bestridden one of the little beasts. The driver then
gives his tail a twist and his rump a thwack, and you are carried off
in triumph. The animal is so small that you seem the more silly of the
two, when you have mounted, but after he has carried you for an hour in a
rapid gallop, you recover your dignity in your respect for him.

The spotless blue of the sky and the delicious elasticity of the air
were truly intoxicating, as we galloped between gardens of date-trees,
laden with ripe fruit, to the city gate, and through it into a broad
road, fringed with acacias, leading to the Mahmoudieh canal. But to the
south, on a rise of dry, sandy soil, stood the Pillar of Diocletian—not
of Pompey, whose name it bears. It is a simple column, ninety-eight feet
in height, but the shaft is a single block of red granite, and stands
superbly against the background of such a sky and such a sea. It is the
only relic of the ancient Alexandria worthy of its fame, but you could
not wish for one more imposing and eloquent. The glowing white houses of
the town, the minarets, the palms and the acacias fill the landscape, but
it stands apart from them, in the sand, and looks only to the sea and the
desert.

In the evening we took donkeys again and rode out of the town to a café
on the banks of the canal. A sunset of burning rose and orange sank
over the desert behind Pompey’s Pillar, and the balmiest of breezes
stole towards us from the sea, through palm gardens. A Swiss gentleman,
M. de Gonzenbach, whose kindness I shall always gratefully remember,
accompanied us. As we sat under the acacias, sipping the black Turkish
coffee, the steamer for Cairo passed, disturbing the serenity of the air
with its foul smoke, and marring the delicious repose of the landscape in
such wise, that we vowed we would have nothing to do with steam so long
as we voyaged on the Nile. Our donkey-drivers patiently held the bridles
of our long-eared chargers till we were ready to return. It was dark,
and not seeing at first my attendant, a little one-eyed imp, I called at
random: “Abdallah!” This, it happened, was actually his name, and he came
trotting up, holding the stirrup ready for me to mount. The quickness
with which these young Arabs pick up languages, is truly astonishing.
“_Come vi chiamate?_” (what’s your name?) I asked of Abdallah, as we rode
homeward. The words were new to him, but I finally made him understand
their meaning, whereupon he put his knowledge into practice by asking
me: “_Come vi chiamate?_” “Abbas Pasha,” I replied. “Oh, well,” was his
prompt rejoinder, “if you are Abbas Pasha, then I am Seyd Pasha.” The
next morning he was at the door with his donkey, which I fully intended
to mount, but became entangled in a wilderness of donkeys, out of which
Ibrahim extricated me by hoisting me on another animal. As I rode
away, I caught a glimpse of the little fellow, crying lustily over his
disappointment.

We three chance companions fraternized so agreeably that we determined to
hire a boat for Cairo, in preference to waiting for the next steamer. We
accordingly rode over to the Mahmoudieh Canal, accompanied by Ibrahim,
to inspect the barks. Like all dragomen, Ibrahim had his private
preferences, and conducted us on board a boat belonging to a friend of
his, a grizzly raïs, or captain. The craft was a small _kangia_, with a
large lateen sail at the bow and a little one at the stern. It was not
very new, but looked clean, and the raïs demanded three hundred piastres
for the voyage. The piastre is the current coin of the East. Its value
is fluctuating, and always higher in Egypt than in Syria and Turkey, but
may be assumed at about five cents, or twenty to the American dollar.
Before closing the bargain, we asked the advice of M. de Gonzenbach, who
immediately despatched his Egyptian servant and engaged a boat at two
hundred and twenty-five piastres. Every thing was to be in readiness for
our departure on the following evening.

CHAPTER II.

FIRST VOYAGE ON THE NILE.

Departure—The Kangia—The Egyptian Climate—The Mahmoudieh
Canal—Entrance Into the Nile—Pleasures of the Journey—Studying
Arabic—Sight of the Pyramids—The Barrage—Approach to Cairo.

We paid a most exorbitant bill at the Oriental Hotel, and started on
donkey-back for our boat, at sunset. Our preparations for the voyage
consisted of bread, rice, coffee, sugar, butter and a few other
comestibles; an earthen furnace and charcoal; pots and stew-pans, plates,
knives and forks, wooden spoons, coffee-cups and water-jars; three large
mats of cane-leaves, for bedding; and for luxuries, a few bottles of
claret, and a gazelle-skin stuffed with choice Latakieh tobacco. We were
prudent enough to take a supper with us from the hotel, and not trust to
our own cooking the first night on board.

We waited till dark on the banks of the Canal before our baggage
appeared. There is a Custom-House on all sides of Alexandria, and goods
going out must pay as well as goods coming in. The gate was closed,
and nothing less than the silver oil of a dollar greased its hinges
sufficiently for our cart to pass through. But what was our surprise on
reaching the boat, to find the same _kangia_ and the same grizzly raïs,
who had previously demanded three hundred piastres. He seemed no less
astonished than we, for the bargain had been made by a third party, and I
believe he bore us a grudge during the rest of the voyage. The contract
placed the boat at our disposition; so we went on board immediately, bade
adieu to the kind friends who had accompanied us, and were rowed down the
Canal in the full glow of African moonlight.

Some account of our vessel and crew will not be out of place here. The
boat was about thirty-five feet in length, with a short upright mast in
the bow, supporting a lateen sail fifty feet long. Against the mast stood
a square wooden box, lined with clay, which served as a fireplace for
cooking. The middle boards of the deck were loose and allowed entrance to
the hold, where our baggage was stowed. The sailors also lifted them and
sat on the cross-beams, with their feet on the shallow keel, when they
used the oars. The cabin, which occupied the stern of the boat, was built
above and below the deck, so that after stepping down into it we could
stand upright. The first compartment contained two broad benches, with a
smaller chamber in the rear, allowing just enough room, in all, for three
persons to sleep. We spread our mats on the boards, placed carpet-bags
for pillows (first taking out the books), and our beds were made. Ibrahim
slept on the deck, against the cabin-door.

Our raïs, or captain, was an old Arab, with a black, wrinkled face, a
grizzly beard and a tattered blue robe. There were five sailors—one with
crooked eyes, one with a moustache, two copper-colored Fellahs, and one
tall Nubian, black as the Egyptian darkness. The three latter were our
favorites, and more cheerful and faithful creatures I never saw. One of
the Fellahs sang nasal love-songs the whole day long, and was always
foremost in the everlasting refrain of “_haylee-sah!_” and “_ya salaam!_”
with which the Egyptian sailors row and tow and pole their boats against
the current. Before we left the boat we had acquired a kind of affection
for these three men, while the raïs, with his grim face and croaking
voice, grew more repulsive every day.

We spread a mat on the deck, lighted our lantern and sat down to supper,
while a gentle north wind slowly carried our boat along through shadows
of palms and clear spaces of moonlight. Ibrahim filled the shebooks, and
for four hours we sat in the open air, which seemed to grow sweeter and
purer with every breath we inhaled. We were a triad—the sacred number—and
it would have been difficult to find another triad so harmonious and
yet differing so strongly in its parts. One was a _Landwirth_ from
Saxe-Coburg, a man of forty-five, tall, yet portly in person, and
accustomed to the most comfortable living and the best society in
Germany. Another was a Smyrniote merchant, a young man of thirty, to whom
all parts of Europe were familiar, who spoke eight languages, and who
within four months had visited Ispahan and the Caucasus. Of the third
it behooves me not to speak, save that he was from the New World, and
that he differed entirely from his friends in stature, features, station
in life, and every thing else but mutual goodfellowship. “Ah,” said
the German in the fulness of his heart, as we basked in the moonlight,
“what a heavenly air! what beautiful palms! and this wonderful repose in
all Nature, which I never felt before!” “It is better than the gardens
of Ispahan,” added the Smyrniote. Nor did I deceive them when I said
that for many months past I had known no mood of mind so peaceful and
grateful.

We rose somewhat stiff from our hard beds, but a cup of coffee and the
fresh morning air restored the amenity of the voyage. The banks of the
Canal are flat and dull, and the country through which we passed, after
leaving the marshy brink of Lake Mareotis, was in many places still too
wet from the recent inundation to be ploughed for the winter crops. It
is a dead level of rich black loam, and produces rice, maize, sugar-cane
and millet. Here and there the sand has blown over it, and large spaces
are given up to a sort of coarse, wiry grass. The villages are miserable
collections of mud huts, but the date-palms which shadow them and
the strings of camels that slowly pass to and fro, render even their
unsightliness picturesque. In two or three places we passed mud machines,
driven by steam, for the purpose of cleaning the Canal. Ropes were
stretched across the channel on both sides, and a large number of trading
boats were obliged to halt, although the wind was very favorable. The
barrier was withdrawn for us Franks, and the courteous engineer touched
his tarboosh in reply to our salutations, as we shot through.

Towards noon we stopped at a village, and the Asian went ashore with
Ibrahim to buy provisions, while the European walked ahead with his
fowling-piece, to shoot wild ducks for dinner. The American stayed on
board and studied an Arabic vocabulary. Presently Ibrahim appeared with
two fowls, two pigeons, a pot of milk and a dozen eggs. The Asian set
about preparing breakfast, and showed himself so skilful that our bark
soon exhaled the most savory odors. When we picked up our European he had
only two hawks to offer us, but we gave him in return a breakfast which
he declared perfect. We ate on deck, seated on a mat; a pleasant wind
filled our sails, and myriads of swallows circled and twittered over our
heads in the cloudless air. The calm, contemplative state produced by the
coffee and pipes which Ibrahim brought us, lasted the whole afternoon,
and the villages, the cane-fields, the Moslem oratories, the wide level
of the Delta and the distant mounds of forgotten cities, passed before
our eyes like the pictures of a dream. Only one of these pictures marred
the serenity of our minds. It was an Arab burying-ground, on the banks of
the Canal—a collection of heaps of mud, baked in the sun. At the head and
foot of one of the most recent, sat two women—paid mourners—who howled
and sobbed, in long, piteous, despairing cries, which were most painful
to hear. I should never have imagined that any thing but the keenest
grief could teach such heart-breaking sounds.

When I climbed the bank at sunset, for a walk, the minarets of Atfeh,
on the Nile, were visible. Two rows of acacias, planted along the
Canal, formed a pleasant arcade, through which we sailed, to the muddy
excrescences of the town. The locks were closed for the night, and we
were obliged to halt, which gave us an opportunity of witnessing an
Arabic marriage procession. The noise of two wooden drums and a sort of
fife announced the approach of the bride, who, attended by her relatives,
came down the bank from the mud-ovens above. She was closely veiled, but
the Arabs crowded around to get a peep at her face. No sooner had the
three Franks approached, than she was doubly guarded and hurried off to
the house of her intended husband. Some time afterwards I ascended the
bank to have a nearer view of the miserable hovels, but was received with
such outcries and menacing gestures, that I made a slow and dignified
retreat. We visited, however, the house of the bridegroom’s father,
where twenty or thirty Arabs, seated on the ground, were singing an
epithalamium, to which they kept time by clapping their hands.

Next morning, while our raïs was getting his permit to pass the locks
(for which four official signatures and a fee of thirty piastres
are necessary), we visited the bazaar, and purchased long tubes of
jasmine-wood for our pipes, and vegetables for our kitchen. On all such
occasions we detailed Seyd, the tall Nubian, whose ebony face shone
resplendent under a snow-white turban, to be our attendant. The stately
gravity with which he walked behind us, carrying bread and vegetables,
was worthy the pipe-bearer of a Sultan. By this time we had installed
the Asian as cook, and he very cheerfully undertook the service. We soon
discovered that the skill of Ibrahim extended no further than to the
making of a _pilaff_ and the preparation of coffee. Moreover his habits
and appearance were not calculated to make us relish his handiwork. The
naïveté with which he took the wash-basin to make soup in, and wiped
our knives and forks on his own baggy pantaloons, would have been very
amusing if we had not been interested parties. The Asian was one day
crumbling some loaf sugar with a hammer, when Ibrahim, who had been
watching him, suddenly exclaimed in a tone of mingled pity and contempt,
“that’s not the way!” Thereupon he took up some of the lumps, and wrapped
them in one corner of his long white shirt, which he thrust into his
mouth, and after crushing the sugar between his teeth, emptied it into
the bowl with an air of triumph.

A whole squadron of boats was waiting at the locks, but with Frankish
impudence, we pushed through them, and took our place in the front rank.
The sun was intensely hot, and we sweated and broiled for a full hour,
in the midst of a horrible tumult of Arabs, before the clumsy officers
closed the last gate on us and let us float forth on the Nile. It is
the western, or Canopic branch of the river which flows past Atfeh. It
is not broader than the Hudson at Albany, but was more muddy and slimy
from its recent overflow than the Mississippi at New Orleans. Its water
is no less sweet and wholesome than that of the latter river. After
leaving the monotonous banks of the Canal, the aspect of its shores,
fringed with groves of palm, was unspeakably cheerful and inspiring.
On the opposite side, the slender white minarets of Fooah, once a rich
manufacturing town, sparkled in the noonday sun. A fresh north wind from
the Mediterranean slowly pressed our boat against the strong current,
while the heavily-laden merchant vessels followed in our wake, their
two immense lateen sails expanded like the wings of the Arabian roc.
We drank to the glory of old Father Nile in a cup of his own brown
current, and then called Ibrahim to replenish the empty shebooks. Those
who object to tobacco under the form of cigars, or are nauseated by the
fumes of a German meerschaum, should be told that the Turkish pipe,
filled with Latakieh, is quite another thing. The aroma, which you inhale
through a long jasmine tube, topped with a soft amber mouth-piece, is
as fragrant as roses and refreshing as ripe dates. I have no doubt that
the atmosphere of celestial musk and amber which surrounded Mahomet,
according to the Persian Chronicles, was none other than genuine
Latakieh, at twenty piastres the oka. One thing is certain, that without
the capacity to smoke a shebook, no one can taste the true flavor of the
Orient.

An hour or two after sunset the wind fell, and for the rest of the night
our men tracked the boat slowly forward, singing cheerily as they tugged
at the long tow-rope. The Asian spread on the deck his Albanian capote,
the European his ample travelling cloak, and the representatives of three
Continents, travelling in the fourth, lay on their backs enjoying the
moonlight, the palms, and more than all, the perfect silence and repose.
With every day of our journey I felt more deeply and gratefully this
sense of rest. Under such a glorious sky, no disturbance seemed possible.
It was of little consequence whether the boat went forward or backward,
whether we struck on a sand-bar or ploughed the water under a full
head of wind; every thing was right. My conscience made me no reproach
for such a lazy life. In America we live too fast and work too hard, I
thought: shall I not know what Rest is, once before I die? The European
said to me naïvely, one day: “I am a little surprised, but very glad,
that no one of us has yet spoken of European politics.” Europe! I had
forgotten that such a land existed: and as for America, it seemed very
dim and distant.

Sometimes I varied this repose by trying to pick up the language.
Wilkinson’s Vocabulary and Capt. Hayes’s Grammar did me great service,
and after I had tried a number of words with Ibrahim, to get the
pronunciation, I made bolder essays. One day when the sailors were
engaged in a most vociferous discussion, I broke upon them with: “What
is all this noise about? stop instantly!” The effect was instantaneous;
the men were silent, and Seyd, turning up his eyes in wonder, cried
out: “_Wallah!_ the Howadji talks Arabic!” The two copper-faced Fellahs
thought it very amusing, and every new word I learned sufficed to set
them laughing for half an hour. I called out to a fisherman, seated on
the bank: “O Fisherman, have you any fish?” and he held up a string of
them and made answer: “O Howadji, I have.” This solemn form of address,
which is universal in Arabic, makes the language very piquant to a
student.

During our second night on the river, we passed the site of ancient Saïs,
one of the most renowned of Egyptian cities, which has left nothing but
a few shapeless mounds. The country was in many places still wet from
the inundation, which was the largest that had occurred for many years.
The Fellahs were ploughing for wheat, with a single buffalo geared
to a sharp pole, which scratched up the soil to the depth of three
inches. Fields of maize and sugar-cane were frequent, and I noticed also
some plantations of tobacco, millet, and a species of lupin, which is
cultivated for its beans. The only vegetables we found for sale in the
villages, were onions, leeks and tomatoes. Milk, butter and eggs are
abundant and very good, but the cheese of the country is detestable. The
habitations resemble ant-hills, rather than human dwellings, and the
villages are dépôts of filth and vermin, on the most magnificent scale.
Our boat was fortunately free from the latter, except a few cockroaches.
Except the palm and acacia, without which a Nile journey would lose half
its attractions, I saw few trees. Here and there stood a group of superb
plane-trees, and the banana sometimes appeared in the gardens, but there
is nothing of that marvellous luxuriance and variety of vegetation which
is elsewhere exhibited in the neighborhood of the Tropics.

On the evening of the third day we reached the town of Nadir, and, as
there was no wind, went ashore for an hour or two. There was a café on
the bank—a mud house, with two windows, adorned with wooden frames,
carved in the Moorish style. A divan, built of clay and whitewashed,
extended along one side of the room, and on this we seated ourselves
cross-legged, while the host prepared the little coffee-cups and filled
the pipes. Through the open door we saw the Nile, gleaming broadly under
the full moon, and in the distance, two tall palm-trees stood clearly
against the sky. Our boatmen, whom we had treated to _booza_, the
Egyptian beer, sat before us, and joined in the chorus of a song, which
was sung to entertain us. The performers were three women, and a man who
played a coarse reed flute. One of the women had a tambourine, another a
small wooden drum, and the third kept time by slapping the closed fingers
of the right hand on the palm of the left. The song, which had a wild,
rude harmony that pleased me, was followed by a dance, executed by one of
the women. It was very similar to the fandango, as danced by the natives
of the Isthmus of Panama, and was more lascivious than graceful. The
women, however, were of the lowest class, and their performances were
adapted to the taste of the boatmen and camel-drivers, by whom they are
patronized.

The next day the yellow hills of the Libyan Desert, which in some places
press the arable land of the Delta even to the brink of the Nile,
appeared in the west. The sand appeared to be steadily advancing towards
the river, and near Werdan had already buried a grove of acacias as
high as their first branches. The tops were green and flourishing above
the deluge, but another year or two would overwhelm them completely. We
had a thick fog during the night, and the following day was exceedingly
hot though the air was transparent as crystal. Our three faces were
already of the color of new bronze, which was burned into the skin by
the reflection from the water. While my friends were enjoying their
usual afternoon repose, a secret presentiment made me climb to the roof
of our cabin. I had not sat there long, before I descried two faint
blue triangles on the horizon, far to the south. I rudely broke in upon
their indolence with a shout of “the Pyramids!” which Seyd echoed with
“_El-hàram Faraoon!_” I was as much impressed with the view as I expected
to be, but I completely nullified the European’s emotion by translating
to him Thackeray’s description of his first sight of those renowned
monuments.

The same evening we reached the northern point of the Delta, where we
were obliged to remain all night, as the wind was not sufficiently strong
to allow us to pass the _Barrage_. Singularly enough, this immense work,
which is among the greatest undertakings of modern times, is scarcely
heard of out of Egypt. It is nothing less than a damming of the Nile,
which is to have the effect of producing two inundations a year, and
doubling the crops throughout the Delta. Here, where the flood divides
itself into two main branches, which find separate mouths at Damietta
and Rosetta, an immense dam has not only been projected, but is far
advanced toward completion. Each branch will be spanned by sixty-two
arches, besides a central gateway ninety feet in breadth, and flanked
by lofty stone towers. The point of the Delta, between the two dams,
is protected by a curtain of solid masonry, and the abutments which it
joins are fortified by towers sixty or seventy feet in height. The piers
have curved breakwaters on the upper side, while the opposite parapet
of the arches rises high above them, so that the dam consists of three
successive terraces, and presents itself like a wedge, against the force
of such an immense body of water. The material is brick, faced with
stone. When complete, it is intended to close the side-arches during low
water, leaving only the central gateway open. By this means sufficient
water will be gained to fill all the irrigating canals, while a new
channel, cut through the centre of the Delta, will render productive a
vast tract of fertile land. The project is a grand one, and the only
obstacle to its success is the light, porous character of the alluvial
soil on which the piers are founded. The undertaking was planned and
commenced by M. Linant, and has since been continued by other engineers.

The Egyptian boatmen have reason to complain of the Barrage. The main
force of the river is poured through the narrow space wherein the piers
have not yet been sunk, which cannot be passed without a strong north
wind. Forty or fifty boats were lying along the shore, waiting the
favorable moment. We obtained permission from the engineer to attach
our boat to a large government barge, which was to be drawn up by a
stationary windlass. As we put off, the wind freshened, and we were
slowly urged against the current to the main rapid, where we were
obliged to hold on to our big friend. Behind us the river was white
with sails—craft of all kinds, pushed up by the wind, dragged down by
the water, striking against each other, entangling their long sails and
crowding into the narrow passage, amid shouts, cries and a bewildering
profusion of Arabic gutturals. For half an hour, the scene was most
exciting, but thanks to the windlass, we reached smoother water, and
sailed off gayly for Cairo.

The true Nile expanded before us, nearly two miles in width. To the
south, the three Pyramids of Gizeh loomed up like isolated mountain-peaks
on the verge of the Desert. On the right hand the Mokattam Hills lay
red and bare in the sunshine, and ere long, over the distant gardens of
Shoobra, we caught sight of the Citadel of Cairo, and the minarets of the
mosque of Sultan Hassan. The north wind was faithful: at three o’clock we
were anchored in Boulak, paid our raïs, gave the crew a backsheesh, for
which they kissed our hands with many exclamations of “_taïb!_” (good!)
and set out for Cairo.

CHAPTER III.

PICTURES OF CAIRO.

Entrance—The Ezbekiyeh—Saracenic Houses—Donkeys—The Bazaars—The
Streets—Processions—View from the Citadel—Mosque of Mohammed
Ali—The Road to Suez—The Island of Rhoda.

Our approach to and entrance into Cairo was the illuminated frontispiece
to the volume of my Eastern life. From the Nile we had already seen the
mosque of Sultan Hassan, the white domes, and long, pencil-like minarets
of the new mosque of Mohammed Ali, and the massive masonry of the
Citadel, crowning a projecting spur of the Mokattam Hills, which touches
the city on the eastern side. But when, mounted on ambling donkeys, we
followed the laden baggage-horses through the streets of Boulak, and
entered the broad, shaded highway leading through gardens, grain-fields
and groves of palm and banana, to the gate of the _Ezbekiyeh_—the great
square of Cairo—the scene, which, at a distance, had been dimmed and
softened by the filmy screen of the Egyptian air, now became so gay,
picturesque and animated, so full of life and motion and color, that
my dreams of the East were at once displaced by the vivid reality. The
donkey-riding multitudes who passed continually to and fro, were wholly
unlike the crowds of Smyrna and Alexandria, where the growing influence
of European dress and customs is already visible. Here, every thing still
exhaled the rich aroma of the Orient as it had been wafted to me from
the Thousand and One Nights, the Persian poets and the Arab chroniclers.
I forgot that I still wore a Frank dress, and found myself wondering at
the temerity of the few Europeans we met. I looked without surprise on
the long processions of donkeys carrying water-skins, the heavily-laden
camels, the women with white masks on their faces and black bags around
their bodies, the stolid Nubian slaves, the grave Abyssinians, and all
the other various characters that passed and repassed us. But because
they were so familiar, they were none the less interesting, for all had
been acquaintances, when, like Tennyson, “true Mussulman was I, and
sworn,” under the reign of the good Haroun Al-Raschid.

We entered the Ezbekiyeh, which is wholly overgrown with majestic acacias
and plane-trees, and thickets of aromatic flowering shrubs. It is in the
Frank quarter of the city, and was first laid out and planted by order of
Mohammed Ali. All the principal hotels front upon it, and light, thatched
cafés fill the space under the plane-trees, where the beau monde of Cairo
promenade every Sunday evening. Nothing of the old City of the Caliphs,
except a few tall minarets, can be seen from this quarter, but the
bowery luxuriance of the foliage is all that the eye demands, and over
the plain white walls, on every side, the palms—single, or in friendly
groups—lift their feathery crowns. After installing our household gods in
the chambers of the quiet and comfortable Hotel d’Europe, we went out to
enjoy the sweet evening air in front of one of the cafés. I tried for
the first time the narghileh, or Persian water-pipe. The soft, velvety
leaves of the tobacco of Shiraz are burned in a small cup, the tube of
which enters a glass vase, half filled with rose-scented water. From the
top of this vase issues a flexible tube, several feet in length, with a
mouth-piece of wood or amber. At each inspiration, the smoke is drawn
downward and rises through the water with a pleasant bubbling sound. It
is deprived of all the essential oil of the weed, and is exceedingly
mild, cool and fragrant. But instead of being puffed out of the mouth
in whiffs, it is breathed full into the lungs and out again, like the
common air. This is not so difficult a matter as might be supposed; the
sensation is pleasant and slightly exhilarating, and is not injurious to
the lungs when moderately indulged in.

The Turkish quarter of Cairo still retains the picturesque Saracenic
architecture of the times of the Caliphs. The houses are mostly three
stories in height, each story projecting over the other, and the plain
stone walls are either whitewashed or striped with horizontal red bars,
in a manner which would be absurd under a northern sky, but which is
here singularly harmonious and agreeable. The only signs of sculpture
are occasional doorways with richly carved arches, or the light marble
gallery surrounding a fountained court. I saw a few of these in
retired parts of the city. The traveller, however, has an exhaustless
source of delight in the wooden balconies inclosing the upper windows.
The extraordinary lightness, grace and delicate fragility of their
workmanship, rendered still more striking by contrast with the naked
solidity of the walls to which they cling, gave me a new idea of the
skill and fancy of the Saracenic architects. The wood seems rather woven
in the loom, than cut with the saw and chisel. Through these lattices of
fine net-work, with borders worked in lace-like patterns, and sometimes
topped with slender turrets and pinnacles, the wives of the Cairene
merchants sit and watch the crowds passing softly to and fro in the
twilight of the bazaars, themselves unseen. It needed no effort of the
imagination to people the fairy watch-towers under which we rode daily,
with forms as beautiful as those which live in the voluptuous melodies of
Hafiz.

To see Cairo thoroughly, one must first accustom himself to the ways of
those long-eared cabs, without the use of which I would advise no one
to trust himself in the bazaars. Donkey-riding is universal, and no one
thinks of going beyond the Frank quarter on foot. If he does, he must
submit to be followed by not less than six donkeys with their drivers.
A friend of mine, who was attended by such a cavalcade for two hours,
was obliged to yield at last, and made no second attempt. When we first
appeared in the gateway of our hotel, equipped for an excursion, the
rush of men and animals was so great, that we were forced to retreat
until our servant and the porter whipped us a path through the yelling
and braying mob. After one or two trials, I found an intelligent Arab
boy, named Kish, who, for five piastres a day, furnished strong and
ambitious donkeys, which he kept ready at the door from morning till
night. The other drivers respected Kish’s privilege, and thenceforth I
had no trouble. The donkeys are so small that my feet nearly touched
the ground, but there is no end to their strength and endurance. Their
gait, whether a pace or a gallop, is so easy and light that fatigue is
impossible. The drivers take great pride in having high-cushioned red
saddles, and in hanging bits of jingling brass to the bridles. They
keep their donkeys close shorn, and frequently beautify them by painting
them various colors. The first animal I rode had legs barred like a
zebra’s, and my friend’s rejoiced in purple flanks and a yellow belly.
The drivers run behind them with a short stick, punching them from time
to time, or giving them a sharp pinch on the rump. Very few of them own
their donkeys, and I understood their pertinacity when I learned that
they frequently received a beating on returning home in the evening
empty-handed.

The passage of the bazaars seems at first quite as hazardous on
donkey-back as on foot, but it is the difference between knocking
somebody down and being knocked down yourself, and one naturally prefers
the former alternative. There is no use in attempting to guide the
donkey, for he won’t be guided. The driver shouts behind, and you are
dashed at full speed into a confusion of other donkeys, camels, horses,
carts, water-carriers and footmen. In vain you cry out: “_Bess!_”
(enough!) “_Piano!_” and other desperate adjurations; the driver’s
only reply is: “Let the bridle hang loose!” You dodge your head under
a camel-load of planks; your leg brushes the wheel of a dust-cart; you
strike a fat Turk plump in the back; you miraculously escape upsetting a
fruit-stand; you scatter a company of spectral, white-masked women, and
at last reach some more quiet street, with the sensation of a man who has
stormed a battery. At first this sort of riding made me very nervous,
but finally I let the donkey go his own way, and took a curious interest
in seeing how near a chance I ran of striking or being struck. Sometimes
there seemed no hope of avoiding a violent collision, but by a series of
the most remarkable dodges he generally carried me through in safety.
The cries of the driver, running behind, gave me no little amusement:
“The Howadji comes! Take care on the right hand! take care on the left
hand! O man, take care! O maiden, take care! O boy, get out of the way!
The Howadji comes!” Kish had strong lungs and his donkey would let
nothing pass him, and so, wherever we went, we contributed our full share
to the universal noise and confusion.

Cairo is the cleanest of all oriental cities. The regulations established
by Mohammed Ali are strictly carried out. Each man is obliged to sweep
before his own door, and the dirt is carried away in carts every morning.
Besides this, the streets are watered several times a day, and are
nearly always cool and free from dust. The constant evaporation of the
water, however, is said to be injurious to the eyes of the inhabitants,
though in other respects the city is healthy. The quantity of sore-eyed,
cross-eyed, one-eyed, and totally blind persons one meets every where,
is surprising. There are some beggars, mostly old or deformed, but by
no means so abundant or impertinent as in the Italian cities. A number
of shabby policemen, in blue frock-coats and white pantaloons, parade
the principal thoroughfares, but I never saw their services called into
requisition. The soldiers, who wear a European dress of white cotton,
are by far the most awkward and unpicturesque class. Even the Fellah,
whose single brown garment hangs loose from his shoulders to his knees,
has an air of dignity compared with these Frankish caricatures. The
genuine Egyptian costume, which bears considerable resemblance to the
Greek, and especially the Hydriote, is simple and graceful. The colors
are dark—principally brown, blue, green and violet—relieved by a heavy
silk sash of some gay pattern, and by the red slippers and tarboosh.
But, as in Turkey, the Pashas and Beys, and many of the minor officers
of the civil departments have adopted the Frank dress, retaining only
the tarboosh,—a change which is by no means becoming to them. I went
into an Egyptian barber-shop one day, to have my hair shorn, and enjoyed
the preparatory pipe and coffee in company with two individuals, whom I
supposed to be French or Italians of the vulgar order, until the barber
combed out the long locks on the top of their head, by which Mussulmen
expect to be lifted up into Paradise. When they had gone, the man
informed me that one was Khalim Pasha, one of the grandsons of Mohammed
Ali, and the other a Bey, of considerable notoriety. The Egyptians
certainly do not gain any thing by adopting a costume which, in this
climate, is neither so convenient nor so agreeable as their own.

Besides the animated life of the bazaars, which I had an opportunity of
seeing, in making my outfit for the winter’s journey, I rarely went out
without witnessing some incident or ceremony illustrative of Egyptian
character and customs. One morning I encountered a stately procession,
with music and banners, accompanying a venerable personage, with a green
turban on his head and a long white beard flowing over his breast. This,
as Kish assured me, was the Shereef of Mecca. He was attended by officers
in the richest Turkish and Egyptian costumes, mounted on splendid Arabian
steeds, who were almost hidden under their broad housings of green and
crimson velvet, embroidered with gold. The people on all sides, as
he passed, laid their hands on their breasts and bowed low, which he
answered by slowly lifting his hand. It was a simple motion, but nothing
could have been more calm and majestic.

On another occasion, I met a bridal procession in the streets of Boulak.
Three musicians, playing on piercing flutes, headed the march, followed
by the parents of the bride, who, surrounded by her maids, walked under
a crimson canopy. She was shrouded from head to foot in a red robe, over
which a gilded diadem was fastened around her head. A large crowd of
friends and relatives closed the procession, close behind which followed
another, of very different character. The chief actors were four boys,
of five or six years old, on their way to be circumcised. Each was
mounted on a handsome horse, and wore the gala garments of a full-grown
man, in which their little bodies were entirely lost. The proud parents
marched by their sides, supporting them, and occasionally holding to
their lips bottles of milk and sherbet. One was a jet black Nubian, who
seemed particularly delighted with his situation, and grinned on all
sides as he passed along. This procession was headed by a buffoon, who
carried a laugh with him which opened a ready passage through the crowd.
A man followed balancing on his chin a long pole crowned with a bunch
of flowers. He came to me for backsheesh. His success brought me two
swordsmen out of the procession, who cut at each other with scimitars and
caught the blows on their shields. The coolness, swiftness and skill with
which they parried the strokes was really admirable, and the concluding
flourish was a masterpiece. One of them, striking with the full sweep of
his arm, aimed directly at the face of the other, as if to divide his
head into two parts; but without making a pause, the glittering weapon
turned, and sliced the air within half an inch of his eyes. The man
neither winked nor moved a muscle of his face, but after the scimitar
had passed, dashed it up with his shield, which he then reversed, and
dropping on one knee, held to me for backsheesh. After these came a
camel, with a tuft of ostrich feathers on his head and a boy on his
back, who pounded vigorously on two wooden drums with one hand, while
he stretched the other down to me for backsheesh. Luckily the little
candidates for circumcision were too busily engaged with their milk
bottles and sugar-plums, to join in the universal cry.

I had little time to devote to the sights of Cairo, and was obliged
to omit the excursions to the Petrified Forest, to Heliopolis and Old
Cairo, until my return. Besides the city itself, which was always full
of interest, I saw little else except the Citadel and the Island of
Rhoda. We took the early morning for our ride to the former place, and
were fortunate enough to find our view of the Nile-plain unobscured by
the mists customary at this season. The morning light is most favorable
to the landscape, which lies wholly to the westward. The shadows of the
Citadel and the crests of the Mokattam Hills then lie broad and cool over
the city, but do not touch its minarets, which glitter in the air like
shafts of white and rosy flame. The populace is up and stirring, and
you can hear the cries of the donkeymen and water-carriers from under
the sycamores and acacias that shade the road to Boulak. Over the rich
palm-gardens, the blue streak of the river and the plain beyond, you
see the phantoms of two pyramids in the haze which still curtains the
Libyan Desert. Northward, beyond the parks and palaces of Shoobra, the
Nile stretches his two great arms toward the sea, dotted, far into the
distance, with sails that flash in the sun. From no other point, and at
no other time, is Cairo so grand and beautiful.

Within the walls of the Citadel is the _Bir Youssef_—Joseph’s Well—as
it is called by the Arabs, not from the virtuous Hebrew, but from Sultan
Saladin, who dug it out and put it in operation. The well itself dates
from the old Egyptian time, but was filled with sand and entirely lost
for many centuries. It consists of an upper and lower shaft, cut through
the solid rock, to the depth of two hundred and sixty feet. A winding
gallery, lighted from the shaft, extends to the bottom of the first
division, where, in a chamber cut in the rock, a mule turns the large
wheel which brings up a continual string of buckets from the fountain
below. The water is poured into a spacious basin, and carried thence
to the top by another string of buckets set in motion at the surface.
Attended by two Arabs with torches, we made the descent of the first
shaft and took a drink of the fresh, cool fluid. This well, and the spot
where the Mameluke Emin Bey jumped his horse over the wall and escaped
the massacre of his comrades, are the only interesting historical points
about the Citadel; and the new mosque of Mohammed Ali, which overlooks
the city from the most projecting platform of the fortifications, is
the only part which has any claim to architectural beauty. Although
it has been in process of erection for many years, this mosque is not
nearly completed internally. The exterior is finished, and its large,
white, depressed dome, flanked by minarets so tall and reed-like that
they seem ready to bend with every breeze, is the first signal of Cairo
to travellers coming up or down the Nile. The interior walls are lined
throughout with oriental alabaster, stained with the orange flush of
Egyptian sunsets, and the three domes blaze with elaborate arabesques
of green, blue, crimson and gold. In a temporary chamber, fitted up in
one corner, rests the coffin of Mohammed Ali, covered with a heavy
velvet pall, and under the marble arches before it, a company of priests,
squatted on the green carpet covering the floor, bow their heads
continually and recite prayers or fragments of the Koran.

Before descending into the city, I rode a little way into the Desert to
the tombs of the Caliphs, on the road to Suez. They consist mostly of
stone canopies raised on pillars, with mosques or oratories attached
to them, exhibiting considerable variety in their design, but are more
curious than impressive. The track in the sand made by the pilgrims to
Mecca and the overland passengers to Suez, had far more real interest in
my eyes. The pilgrims are fewer, and the passengers more numerous, with
each successive year. English-built omnibuses, whirled along by galloping
post-horses, scatter the sand, and in the midst of the herbless Desert,
the travellers regale themselves with beef-steak and ale, and growl if
the accustomed Cheshire is found wanting. At this rate, how long will
it be before there is a telegraph-station in Mecca, and the operator
explodes with his wire a cannon on the Citadel of Cairo, to announce that
the prayers on Mount Arafat have commenced?

The Island of Rhoda, which I visited on a soft, golden afternoon, is but
a reminiscence of what it was a few years ago. Since Ibrahim Pasha’s
death it has been wholly neglected, and though we found a few gardeners
at work, digging up the sodden flower-beds and clipping the rank myrtle
hedges, they only served to make the neglect more palpable. During the
recent inundation, the Nile had risen to within a few inches of covering
the whole island, and the soil was still soft and clammy. Nearly all the
growths of the tropics are nurtured here; the coffee, the Indian fig,
the mango, and other trees alternate with the palm, orange, acacia, and
the yellow mimosa, whose blossoms make the isle fragrant. I gathered a
bunch of roses and jasmine-flowers from the unpruned vines. In the centre
of the garden is an artificial grotto lined with shells, many of which
have been broken off and carried away by ridiculous tourists. There is
no limit to human silliness, as I have wisely concluded, after seeing
Pompey’s Pillar disfigured by “Isaac Jones” (or some equally classic
name), in capitals of black paint, a yard long, and finding “Jenny Lind”
equally prominent on the topmost stone of the great Pyramid (Of course,
the enthusiastic artist chiselled his own name beside hers.) A mallet
and chisel are often to be found in the outfits of English and American
travellers, and to judge from the frequency of certain names, and the
pains bestowed upon their inscription, the owners must have spent the
most of their time in Upper Egypt, in leaving records of their vulgar
vanity.

CHAPTER IV.

PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY INTO CENTRAL AFRICA.

Necessity of Leaving Immediately—Engaging a Boat—The
Dragomen—Achmet el Saïdi—Funds—Information—Procuring an
Outfit—Preparing for the Desert—The Lucky Day—Exertions to
Leave—Off!

I devoted but little time to seeing Cairo, for the travelling season had
arrived, and a speedy departure from Cairo was absolutely necessary.
The trip to Khartoum occupies at least two months and it is not safe to
remain there later than the first of March, on account of the heat and
the rainy season, which is very unhealthy for strangers. Dr. Knoblecher,
the Catholic Apostolic Vicar for Central Africa, had left about a
month previous, on his expedition to the sources of the White Nile. I
therefore went zealously to work, and in five days my preparations were
nearly completed. I prevailed upon the European of our triad, who had
intended proceeding no further than Cairo, to join me for the voyage
to Assouan, on the Nubian frontier, and our first care was to engage
a good _dahabiyeh_, or Nile-boat. This arrangement gave me great joy,
for nowhere is a congenial comrade so desirable as on the Nile. My
friend appreciated the river, and without the prospect of seeing Thebes,
Ombos and Philæ, would have cheerfully borne all the inconveniences and
delays of the journey, for the Nile’s sake alone. Commend me to such
a man, for of the hundreds of tourists who visit the East, there are
few such! On my arrival, I had found that the rumors I had heard on
the road respecting the number of travellers and the rise in the price
of boats, were partially true. Not more than a dozen boats had left
for Upper Egypt, but the price had been raised in anticipation. The
ship carpenters and painters were busily employed all along the shore
at Boulak, in renovating the old barks or building new ones, and the
Beys and Pashas who owned the craft were anticipating a good harvest.
Some travellers paid forty-five pounds a month for their vessels, but I
found little difficulty in getting a large and convenient boat, for two
persons, at twenty pounds a month. This price, it should be understood,
includes the services of ten men, who find their own provisions, and
only receive a gratuity in case of good behavior. The American Consul,
Mr. Kahil, had kindly obtained for me the promise of a bark from Ismaïl
Pasha, before our arrival—a superb vessel, furnished with beds, tables,
chairs and divans, in a very handsome style—which was offered at thirty
pounds a month, but it was much larger than we needed. In the course of
my inspection of the fleet of barks at Boulak, I found several which
might be had at fifteen, and seventeen pounds a month, but they were old,
inconvenient, and full of vermin. Our boat, which I named the Cleopatra,
had been newly cleansed and painted, and contained, besides a spacious
cabin, with beds and divans, a sort of portico on the outside, with
cushioned seats, where we proposed to sit during the balmy twilights, and
smoke our shebooks.

Without a tolerable knowledge of Arabic, a dragoman is indispensable.
The few phrases I had picked up, on the way from Alexandria, availed me
little, and would have been useless in Nubia, where either the Berberi
language, or a different Arabic dialect is spoken; and I therefore
engaged a dragoman for the journey. This class of persons always swarm
in Cairo, and I had not been there a day before I was visited by half a
dozen, who were anxious to make the trip to Khartoum. How they knew I
was going there, I cannot imagine; but I found that they knew the plans
of every traveller in Cairo as well. I endeavored to find one who had
already made the journey, but of all who presented themselves, only two
had been farther than the second Cataract. One of these was a Nubian,
who had made a trip with the Sennaar merchants, as far as Shendy, in
Ethiopia; but he had a sinister, treacherous face, and I refused him
at once. The other was an old man, named Suleyman Ali, who had been
for three years a servant of Champollion, whose certificate of his
faithfulness and honesty he produced.

He had been three years in Sennaar, and in addition to Italian, (the
only Frank tongue he knew), spoke several Ethiopian dialects. He was a
fine, venerable figure, with an honest face, and I had almost decided
to take him, when I learned that he was in feeble health and would
scarcely be able to endure the hardships of the journey. I finally made
choice of a dark Egyptian, born in the valley of Thebes. He was called
Achmet el Saïdi, or Achmet of Upper Egypt, and when a boy had been for
several years a servant in the house of the English Consul at Alexandria.
He spoke English fluently, as well as a little Italian and Turkish. I
was first attracted to him by his bold, manly face, and finding that
his recommendations were excellent, and that he had sufficient spirit,
courage and address to serve us both in case of peril, I engaged him,
notwithstanding he had never travelled beyond Wadi Halfa (the Second
Cataract). I judged, however, that I was quite as familiar with the
geography of Central Africa as any dragoman I could procure, and that, in
any case, I should find it best to form my own plans and choose my own
paths. How far I was justified in my choice, will appear in the course of
the narrative.

The next step was to procure a double outfit—for the Nile and the
Desert—and herein Achmet, who had twice made the journey to Mount Sinai
and Petra, rendered me good service. I had some general knowledge of what
was necessary, but without the advantage of his practical experience,
should have been very imperfectly prepared. As it was, many things were
forgotten in the haste of departure, the need of which I felt when it
was too late to procure them. I had been prudent enough, when in Vienna,
to provide myself with Berghaus’s great map of Arabia and the Valley of
the Nile, which, with a stray volume of Russegger, were my only guides.
In Khartoum, afterwards, I stumbled upon a copy of Hoskins’s Ethiopia.
The greater part of my funds I changed into Egyptian silver _medjids_,
_colonnati_, or Spanish pillar-dollars, and the Austrian dollar of Maria
Theresa, all of which are current as far as Sennaar and Abyssinia. I
also procured five hundred piastres in copper pieces of five paràs
(about half a cent) each, which were contained in a large palm-basket,
and made nearly an ass’s load. In addition to these supplies, I obtained
from an Armenian merchant a letter of credit on his brother in Khartoum,
for two thousand piastres, on which, he gave me to understand. I should
be obliged to pay a discount of twenty per cent. I endeavored, but in
vain, to procure some information relative to the cost of travelling in
Nubia and the countries beyond. The Frank merchants knew nothing, except
that the expenses were vast, and predicted that the sum I took would
prove insufficient and that I should certainly become involved in great
difficulties and embarrassments. The native merchants who had made the
journey were all jealous of a foreign traveller attempting to penetrate
into their peculiar domain, and gave me no satisfactory information,
while to the imagination of the Cairenes, Sennaar is the utmost verge of
the world, and he who has been there and returned in safety, enjoys the
special protection of Allah. Even Achmet, although he showed no signs
of fear, and did not hesitate to accompany me, informed his family and
friends that we were going no further than Wadi Halfa, for he said they
would certainly detain him by force, should they learn the truth.

I did not think it necessary to obtain a firman from Abbas Pasha, which
might readily have been procured. The American, English and Austrian
Consuls kindly gave me letters to the principal Consular agents and
merchants in Khartoum, besides which, Achmet professed to have some
acquaintance with Lattif Pasha, who was then Pasha of Soudân. To the Hon.
Mr. Murray, the English Consul-General, and Mr. Constantine Kahil, the
American Vice-Consul at Cairo, I was especially indebted for favors. The
former intrusted me with despatches for Khartoum and Obeid, in Kordofan,
and the latter furnished me with letters to the Governors of Thebes,
Assouan and Korosko, asking the latter to insure my safety on the journey
through the Nubian Desert. Thus prepared, I anticipated no further
trouble on the road than from hard-trotting camels, sand, brackish water,
and the like privations, which are easily borne.

The furnishing of a Nile-boat requires considerable knowledge of
housekeeping. The number of small articles required for this floating
speck of civilization in a country of barbarians, is amazing to a
bachelor. I had no idea that the art of cooking needed such a variety
of tools and appliances, and for the first time in my life, conceived
some respect for the fame of Ude and Soyer. There are frying-pans and
stew-pans; coffee-pots and tea-pots; knives, forks, spoons, towels, cups,
ladles and boxes; butter, lard, flour, rice, macaroni, oil, vinegar,
mustard and pepper; and no end to the groceries. We must have a table
and chairs, quilts and pillows, mats, carpets and napkins, and many
other articles which I should never have thought of without the help of
Achmet and of M. Pini, who keeps a general dépôt of supplies. His printed
lists, in four languages, lighten the traveller’s labor very greatly. His
experience in regard to the quantity required, is also of much service;
otherwise an inexperienced person would not know whether to take twelve
or fifty pounds of rice, nor how much sugar belonged to so much coffee.
The expense of our outfit, including bread, fowls, mutton, charcoal, and
every other requisite, was about two thousand piastres—a little more than
one hundred dollars. The calculation was made for one month’s provisions
for two persons.

For my further journey after leaving the Nile, I was recommended to take
a large supply, on account of the scarcity and expense of many articles
in Upper Nubia and Sennaar. I therefore purchased sufficient tea, coffee,
flour, rice, biscuits, sugar, macaroni and dried fruit to last me two
months, beside a complete _canteen_, or supply of articles necessary for
life in the desert. I took an extra quantity of gunpowder, tobacco and
coffee, for presents to the Arab shekhs. The entire cost of this outfit
was about nine hundred piastres. In addition, I procured a good Turkish
tent for two hundred and fifty piastres, to which I added a supply of
tent-pins, lantern-poles, water-skins, and leathern water-flasks, all
these articles being procured to better advantage in Cairo. I did not
propose adopting the Egyptian costume until I had made some progress in
the language, and therefore contented myself with purchasing a _bornous_
of camel’s hair, a sabre, a broad shawl of Tripoli silk, for the waist,
and shoes of white leather, which are very cool and comfortable. I also
followed the custom of the European residents, in having my hair shorn
close to the head, and wearing a white cotton skull-cap. Over this was
drawn the red tarboosh, or fez, and as a protection against the sun,
I bound a large white shawl around it, which was my first lesson in
turban-making.

Achmet, influenced by a superstition which is not peculiar to the East,
begged me to hasten our preparations, in order that we might leave Boulak
on Monday, which day, he averred, was the luckiest in the week, and
would render our journey prosperous from beginning to end. Knowing from
experience that half the success of the journey is in the start, and
believing that it is better to have superstition with you than against
you, I determined to gratify him. He was as zealous as I could wish,
and we rested not from morning to night, until at last, from the spirit
with which we labored, it seemed almost a matter of life and death, that
the boat should leave on Monday. I had a clause inserted in our written
contract with the captain, that he should forfeit a day’s rent, in case
he was not ready at the appointed hour; but, in spite of this precaution
Achmet, who well knew the indifference of the Arab nature, was constantly
on his track. Two or three times a day he galloped to Boulak, to hasten
the enlistment of the men, the baking of bread for the voyage, the
furbishing of the cabin, and the overhauling of the sails, oars and
rigging. My European friends in Cairo smiled at our display of activity,
saying that such a thing had never been known, as a boat sailing at the
appointed time, and that I was fatiguing myself to no purpose.

Monday (Nov. 17th) came, and the Egyptian cook, Salame, whom we had
engaged for the Nile voyage, was despatched to the markets to lay in a
supply of fowls, eggs, butter and vegetables. My letters home—the last I
expected to send, for months to come—were committed to the Post Office,
and after an early dinner, we saw our baggage and stores laden upon
carts and started for Boulak, under Achmet’s guidance. We took leave of
the few friends we had made in Cairo, and followed. The _Cleopatra_ was
still lying in the midst of a crowd of _dahabiyehs_, but the American
flag, hoisted at the peak of her little mizzenmast, was our “cornet,”
proclaiming departure. We found Achmet unjacketed and unturbaned, stowing
away the stores, with one eye on the raïs, and another (as it seemed to
me) on each of the tardy sailors. There was still charcoal to be bought,
and _bois gras_ for kindling fires, and clubs for the men, to prevent
invasions from the shore, with many more of those wants which are never
remembered until the last moment. The afternoon wore away; the shadows of
the feathery date-trees on the island of Rhoda stretched long and cool
across the Nile; but before the sun had touched the tops of the Pyramids,
we had squeezed out from the shipping of Boulak, and were slowly
working up the Nile before a light wind, while our boatmen thumped the
_tarabooka_, and sang their wild Arab songs of departure. The raïs came
up to know whether he had not fulfilled his contract, and Achmet with a
cheerful face, turned to me and said: “Praised be Allah, master! we shall
have a lucky journey.”

[Illustration: Achmet.]

CHAPTER V.

THE PYRAMIDS AND MEMPHIS.

Howling Dervishes—A Chicken Factory—Ride to the
Pyramids—Quarrel with the Arabs—The Ascent—View from
the Summit—Backsheesh—Effect of Pyramid climbing—The
Sphinx—Playing the Cadi—We obtain Justice—Visit to Sakkara
and the Mummy Pits—The Exhumation of Memphis—Interview with
M. Mariette—Account of his Discoveries—Statue of Rameses
II.—Return to the Nile.

“And Morning opes in haste her lids,
To gaze upon the Pyramids.”—EMERSON.

We went no further than the village of Gizeh, three or four miles above
Cairo, on the first evening, having engaged our donkeys and their drivers
to meet us there and convey us to the Pyramids on the following morning.
About dusk, the raïs moored our boat to the bank, beside a College of
dervishes, whose unearthly chants, choruses and clapping of hands, were
prolonged far into the night. Their wild cries, and deep, monotonous
bass howlings so filled our ears that we could not choose but listen,
and, in spite of our fatigue sleep was impossible. After performing for
several hours, they gradually ceased, through sheer exhaustion, though
there was one tough old dervish, who continued to gasp out, “_Allah!
Allah!_” with such a spasmodic energy, that I suspected it was produced
by the involuntary action of his larynx, and that he could not have
stopped, even had he been so minded.

When we threw open the latticed blinds of our cabin, before sunrise, the
next morning, the extraordinary purity of the air gave rise to an amusing
optical delusion on the part of my friend. “See that wall!” said he,
pointing to a space between two white houses; “what a brilliant color
it is painted, and how those palms and these white houses are relieved
against it!” He was obliged to look twice before he perceived that what
he had taken for a wall close at hand, was really the sky, and rested
upon a far-off horizon. Our donkeys were in readiness on the bank, and
I bestrode the same faithful little gray who had for three days carried
me through the bazaars of Cairo. We left orders for the raïs to go on
to Bedracheyn, a village near the supposed site of Memphis, and taking
Achmet with us, rode off gayly among the mud hovels and under the
date-trees of Gizeh, on our way to the Pyramids. Near the extremity of
the village, we entered one of the large chicken-hatching establishments
for which the place is famed, but found it empty. We disturbed a numerous
family of Fellahs, couched together on the clay floor, crept on our hands
and knees through two small holes and inspected sundry ovens covered
with a layer of chaff, and redolent of a mild, moist heat and a feathery
smell. The owner informed us that for the first four or five days the
eggs were exposed to smoke as well as heat, and that when the birds began
to pick the shell, which generally took place in fifteen days, they were
placed in another oven and carefully accouched.

The rising sun shone redly on the Pyramids, as we rode out on the broad
harvest land of the Nile. The black, unctuous loam was still too moist
from the inundation to be ploughed, except in spots, here and there,
but even where the water had scarce evaporated, millions of germs were
pushing their slender blades up to the sunshine. In that prolific soil,
the growth of grain is visible from day to day. The Fellahs were at
work on all sides, preparing for planting, and the ungainly buffaloes
drew their long ploughs slowly through the soil. Where freshly turned,
the earth had a rich, soft lustre, like dark-brown velvet, beside which
the fields of young wheat, beans and lentils, glittered with the most
brilliant green. The larks sang in the air and flocks of white pigeons
clustered like blossoms on the tops of the sycamores. There, in November,
it was the freshest and most animating picture of Spring. The direct road
to the Pyramids was impassable, on account of the water, and we rode
along the top of a dyke, intersected by canals, to the edge of the Libyan
Desert—a distance of nearly ten miles. The ruptures in the dyke obliged
us occasionally to dismount, and at the last canal, which cuts off the
advancing sands from the bounteous plain on the other side, our donkeys
were made to swim, while we were carried across on the shoulders of two
naked Arabs. They had run out in advance to meet us, hailing us with many
English and French phrases, while half a dozen boys, with earthen bottles
which they had just filled from the slimy canal, crowded after them,
insisting, in very good English, that we should drink at once, and take
them with us to the Pyramids.

Our donkeys’ hoofs now sank deep in the Libyan sands, and we looked up to
the great stone-piles of Cheops, Cephrenes and Mycerinus, not more than
half a mile distant. Our sunrise view of the Pyramids on leaving Gizeh,
was sufficient, had I gone no further, and I approached them, without
the violent emotion which sentimental travellers experience, but with a
quiet feeling of the most perfect satisfaction. The form of the pyramid
is so simple and complete, that nothing is left to the imagination. Those
vast, yellowish-gray masses, whose feet are wrapped in the silent sand,
and whose tops lean against the serene blue heaven, enter the mind and
remain in the memory with no shock of surprise, no stir of unexpected
admiration. The impression they give and leave, is calm, grand and
enduring as themselves.

The sun glared hot on the sand as we toiled up the ascent to the base of
Cheops, whose sharp corners were now broken into zigzags by the layers
of stone. As we dismounted in his shadow, at the foot of the path which
leads up to the entrance, on the northern side, a dozen Arabs beset us.
They belonged to the regular herd who have the Pyramids in charge, and
are so renowned for their impudence that it is customary to employ the
janissary of some Consulate in Cairo, as a protection. Before leaving
Gizeh I gave Achmet my sabre, which I thought would be a sufficient show
to secure us from their importunities. However, when we had mounted to
the entrance and were preparing to climb to the summit, they demanded a
dollar from each for their company on the way. This was just four times
the usual fee, and we flatly refused the demand. My friend had in the
mean time become so giddy from the few steps he had mounted, that he
decided to return, and I ordered Achmet, who knew the way, to go on
with me and leave the Arabs to their howlings. Their leader instantly
sprang before him, and attempted to force him back. This was too much
for Achmet, who thrust the man aside, whereupon he was instantly beset
by three or four, and received several hard blows. The struggle took
place just on the verge of the stones, and he was prudent enough to drag
his assailants into the open space before the entrance of the Pyramid.
My friend sprang towards the group with his cane, and I called to the
donkey-driver to bring up my sabre, but by this time Achmet had released
himself, with the loss of his turban.

The Arabs, who had threatened to treat us in the same manner, then
reduced their demand to the regular fee of five piastres for each. I took
three of them and commenced the ascent, leaving Achmet and my friend
below. Two boys followed us, with bottles of water. At first, the way
seemed hazardous, for the stones were covered with sand and fragments
which had fallen from above, but after we had mounted twenty courses,
the hard, smooth blocks of granite formed broader and more secure steps.
Two Arabs went before, one holding each of my hands, while the third
shoved me up from the rear. The assistance thus rendered was not slight,
for few of the stones are less than four feet in height. The water-boys
scampered up beside us with the agility of cats. We stopped a moment to
take breath, at a sort of resting-place half-way up—an opening in the
Pyramid, communicating with the uppermost of the interior chambers. I
had no sooner sat down on the nearest stone, than the Arabs stretched
themselves at my feet and entertained me with most absurd mixture of
flattery and menace. One, patting the calves of my legs, cried out;
“Oh, what fine, strong legs! how fast they came up: nobody ever went up
the Pyramid so fast!” while the others added: “Here you must give us
backsheesh: every body gives us a dollar here.” My only answer was, to
get up and begin climbing, and they did not cease pulling and pushing
till they left me breathless on the summit. The whole ascent did not
occupy more than ten minutes.

The view from Cheops has been often described. I cannot say that it
increased my impression of the majesty and grandeur of the Pyramid, for
that was already complete. My eyes wandered off from the courses of
granite, broadening away below my feet, to contemplate the glorious green
of the Nile-plain, barred with palm-trees and divided by the gleaming
flood of the ancient river; the minarets of Cairo; the purple walls of
the far Arabian mountains; the Pyramid groups of Sakkara and Dashoor,
overlooking disinterred Memphis in the South; and the arid yellow waves
of the Libyan Desert, which rolled unbroken to the western sky. The
clear, open heaven above, which seemed to radiate light from its entire
concave, clasped in its embrace and harmonized the different features of
this wonderful landscape. There was too much warmth and brilliance for
desolation. Every thing was alive and real; the Pyramids were not ruins,
and the dead Pharaohs, the worshippers of Athor and Apis, did not once
enter my mind.

My wild attendants did not long allow me to enjoy the view quietly.
To escape from their importunities for backsheesh, I gave them two
piastres in copper coin, which instantly turned their flatteries into the
most bitter complaints. It was insulting to give so little, and they
preferred having none; if I would not give a dollar, I might take the
money back. I took it without more ado, and put it into my pocket. This
rather surprised them, and first one, and then another came to me and
begged to have it again, on his own private account. I threw the coins
high into the air, and as they clattered down on the stones, there ensued
such a scramble as would have sent any but Arabs over the edge of the
Pyramid. We then commenced the descent, two seizing my hands as before,
and dragging me headlong after them. We went straight down the side,
sliding and leaping from stone to stone without stopping to take breath,
and reached the base in five or six minutes. I was so excited from
the previous aggression of the Arabs, that I neither felt fatigue nor
giddiness on the way up and down, and was not aware how violent had been
my exertions. But when I touched the level sand, all my strength vanished
in an instant. A black mist came over my eyes, and I sank down helpless
and nearly insensible. I was scarcely able to speak, and it was an hour
before I could sit upright on my donkey. I felt the Pyramid in all my
bones, and for two or three days afterwards moved my joints with as much
difficulty as a rheumatic patient.

The Arabs, who at first had threatened to kill Achmet, now came forward
and kissed his hands, humbly entreating pardon. But his pride had been
too severely touched by the blows he had received, and he repulsed
them, spitting upon the ground, as the strongest mark of contempt. We
considered it due to him, to ourselves, and to other travellers after
us, to represent the matter to the Shekh of the Pyramids, who lives in a
village called Kinnayseh, a mile distant, and ordered Achmet to conduct
us thither. We first rode along the base of the Pyramid of Cephrenes,
and down the sand drifts to the majestic head of the Sphinx. I shall not
attempt to describe this enormous relic of Egyptian art. There is nothing
like it in the world. Those travellers who pronounce its features to be
negro in their character, are certainly very hasty in their conclusions.
That it is an Egyptian head is plainly evident, notwithstanding its
mutilation. The type, however, is rather fuller and broader than is usual
in Egyptian statues.

On reaching the village we found that the shekh was absent in Cairo,
but were received by his son, who, after spelling out a few words of my
Arabic passport and hearing Achmet’s relation of the affair, courteously
invited us to his house. We rode between the mud huts to a small
court-yard, where we dismounted. A carpet was spread on the ground,
under a canopy of palm-leaves, and the place of honor was given to us,
the young shekh seating himself on the edge, while our donkey-drivers,
water-boys and a number of villagers, stood respectfully around. A
messenger was instantly despatched to the Pyramids, and in the mean time
we lighted the pipe of peace. The shekh promised to judge the guilty
parties and punish them in our presence. Coffee was ordered, but as
the unlucky youth returned and indiscreetly cried out, “_Ma feesh!_”
(there is none!) the shekh took him by the neck, and run him out of
the court-yard, threatening him with all manner of penalties unless he
brought it.

We found ourselves considered in the light of judges, and I thought
involuntarily of the children playing Cadi, in the Arabian tale. But to
play our Cadi with the necessary gravity of countenance was a difficult
matter. It was rather embarrassing to sit cross-legged so long, and
to look so severe. My face was of the color of a boiled lobster, from
the sun, and in order to protect my eyes, I had taken off my cravat
and bound it around the red tarboosh. My friend had swathed his felt
hat in like manner, and when the shekh looked at us from time to time,
while Achmet spoke of our friendship with all the Consuls in Cairo, it
was almost too much to enjoy quietly. However, the shekh, who wore a
red cap and a single cotton garment, treated us with much respect. His
serene, impartial demeanor, as he heard the testimony of the various
witnesses who were called up, was most admirable. After half an hour’s
delay, the messenger returned, and the guilty parties were brought into
court, looking somewhat alarmed and very submissive. We identified the
two ringleaders, and after considering the matter thoroughly, the shekh
ordered that they should be instantly bastinadoed. We decided between
ourselves to let the punishment commence, lest the matter should not be
considered sufficiently serious, and then to show our mercy by pardoning
the culprits.

One of the men was then thrown on the ground and held by the head and
feet, while the shekh took a stout rod and began administering the blows.
The victim had prepared himself by giving his bornous a double turn
over his back, and as the end of the rod struck the ground each time,
there was much sound with the veriest farce of punishment. After half a
dozen strokes, he cried out, “_ya salaam!_” whereupon the crowd laughed
heartily, and my friend ordered the shekh to stop. The latter cast the
rod at our feet, and asked us to continue the infliction ourselves,
until we were satisfied. We told him and the company in general, through
Achmet, that we were convinced of his readiness to punish imposition;
that we wished to show the Arabs that they must in future treat
travellers with respect; that we should send word of the affair to Cairo,
and they might rest assured that a second assault would be more severely
dealt with. Since this had been demonstrated, we were willing that the
punishment should now cease, and in conclusion returned our thanks to the
shekh, for his readiness to do us justice. This decision was received
with great favor; the two culprits came forward and kissed our hands and
those of Achmet, and the villagers pronounced a unanimous sentence of
“_taïb!_” (good!) The indiscreet youth again appeared, and this time with
coffee, of which we partook with much relish, for this playing the Cadi
was rather fatiguing. The shekh raised our hands to his forehead, and
accompanied us to the end of the village, where we gave the coffee-bearer
a backsheesh, dismissed our water-boys, and turned our donkeys’ heads
toward Abousir.

Achmet’s dark skin was pale from his wounded pride, and I was faint from
pyramid-climbing, but a cold fowl, eaten as we sat in the sun, on the
border of the glowing Desert, comforted us. The dominion of the sand has
here as distinct a bound as that of the sea; there is not thirty yards
from the black, pregnant loam, to the fiery plain, where no spear of
grass grows. Our path lay sometimes on one side of this border, sometimes
on the other, for more than an hour and a half, till we reached the
ruined pyramids of Abousir, where it turned southward into the Desert.
After seeing Cheops and Cephrenes, these pyramids are only interesting on
account of their dilapidated state and the peculiarity of their forms,
some of their sides taking a more obtuse angle at half their height.
They are buried deep in the sand, which has so drifted toward the plain,
that from the broad hollow lying between them and the group of Sakkara,
more than a mile distant, every sign of vegetation is shut out. Vast,
sloping causeways of masonry lead up to two of them, and a large mound,
occupying the space between, suggests the idea that a temple formerly
stood there. The whole of the desert promontory, which seemed to have
been gradually blown out on the plain, from the hills in the rear,
exhibits traces here and there of ruins beneath the surface. My friend
and I, as we walked over the hot sand, before our panting donkeys, came
instinctively to the same conclusion—that a large city must have once
occupied the space between, and to the southward of, the two groups of
pyramids. It is not often that amateur antiquarians find such sudden and
triumphant confirmation of their conjectures, as we did.

On the way, Achmet had told us of a Frenchman who had been all summer
digging in the sand, near Sakkara. After we had crawled into the
subterranean dépôt of mummied ibises, and nearly choked ourselves with
dust in trying to find a pot not broken open; and after one of our
donkeymen went into a human mummy pit and brought out the feet and legs
of some withered old Egyptian, we saw before us the residence of this
Frenchman; a mud hut on a high sand-bank. It was an unfortunate building,
for nearly all the front wall had tumbled down, revealing the contents
of his kitchen. One or two Arabs loitered about, but a large number were
employed at the end of a long trench which extended to the hills.

Before reaching the house a number of deep pits barred our path, and the
loose sand, stirred by our feet, slid back into the bottom, as if eager
to hide the wonders they disclosed. Pavements, fresh as when first laid;
basement-walls of white marble, steps, doorways, pedestals and fragments
of pillars glittered in the sun, which, after the lapse of more than two
thousand years, beheld them again. I slid down the side of the pit and
walked in the streets of Memphis. The pavement of bitumen, which once
covered the stone blocks, apparently to protect them and deaden the noise
of horses and chariots, was entire in many places. Here a marble sphinx
sat at the base of a temple, and stared abstractedly before her; there a
sculptured cornice, with heavy mouldings, leaned against the walls of the
chamber into which it had fallen, and over all were scattered fragments
of glazed and painted tiles and sculptured alabaster. The principal
street was narrow, and was apparently occupied by private dwellings, but
at its extremity were the basement-walls of a spacious edifice. All the
pits opened on pavements and walls, so fresh and cleanly cut, that they
seemed rather the foundations of a new city, laid yesterday, than the
remains of one of the oldest capitals of the world.

We approached the workmen, where we met the discoverer of Memphis, Mr.
Auguste Mariette. On finding we were not Englishmen (of whose visits he
appeared to be rather shy), he became very courteous and communicative.
He apologized for the little he had to show us, since on account of the
Vandalism of the Arabs, he was obliged to cover up all his discoveries,
after making his drawings and measurements. The Egyptian authorities
are worse than apathetic, for they would not hesitate to burn the
sphinxes for lime, and build barracks for filthy soldiers with the marble
blocks. Besides this, the French influence at Cairo was then entirely
overshadowed by that of England, and although M. Mariette was supported
in his labors by the French Academy, and a subscription headed by Louis
Napoleon’s name, he was forced to be content with the simple permission
to dig out these remarkable ruins and describe them. He could neither
protect them nor remove the portable sculptures and inscriptions, and
therefore preferred giving them again into the safe keeping of the sand.
Here they will be secure from injury, until some more fortunate period,
when, possibly, the lost Memphis may be entirely given to the world, as
fresh as Pompeii, and far more grand and imposing.

I asked M. Mariette what first induced him to dig for Memphis in that
spot, since antiquarians had fixed upon the mounds near Mitrahenny (a
village in the plain below, and about four miles distant), as the former
site of the city. He said that the tenor of an inscription which he
found on one of the blocks quarried out of these mounds, induced him
to believe that the principal part of the city lay to the westward,
and therefore he commenced excavating in the nearest sand-hill in that
direction. After sinking pits in various places he struck on an avenue
of sphinxes, the clue to all his after discoveries. Following this, he
came upon the remains of a temple (probably the _Serapeum_, or Temple of
Serapis, mentioned by Strabo), and afterward upon streets, colonnades,
public and private edifices, and all other signs of a great city. The
number of sphinxes alone, buried under these high sand-drifts, amounted
to two thousand, and he had frequently uncovered twenty or thirty in a
day. He estimated the entire number of statues, inscriptions and reliefs,
at between four and five thousand. The most remarkable discovery was that
of eight colossal statues, which were evidently the product of Grecian
art. During thirteen months of assiduous labor, with but one assistant,
he had made drawings of all these objects and forwarded them to Paris. In
order to be near at hand, he had built an Arab house of unburnt bricks,
the walls of which had just tumbled down for the third time. His workmen
were then engaged in clearing away the sand from the dwelling of some old
Memphian, and he intended spreading his roof over the massive walls, and
making his residence in the exhumed city.

The man’s appearance showed what he had undergone, and gave me an idea
of the extraordinary zeal and patience required to make a successful
antiquarian. His face was as brown as an Arab’s, his eyes severely
inflamed, and his hands as rough as a bricklayer’s. His manner with the
native workmen was admirable, and they labored with a hearty good-will
which almost supplied the want of the needful implements. All they had
were straw baskets, which they filled with a sort of rude shovel, and
then handed up to be carried off on the heads of others. One of the
principal workmen was deaf and dumb, but the funniest Arab I ever saw.
He was constantly playing off his jokes on those who were too slow or
too negligent. An unlucky girl, stooping down at the wrong time to lift
a basket of sand, received the contents of another on her head, and her
indignant outcry was hailed by the rest with screams of laughter. I saw
the same man pick out of the sand a glazed tile containing hieroglyphic
characters. The gravity with which he held it before him, feigning to
peruse it, occasionally nodding his head, as if to say, “Well done for
old Pharaoh!” could not have been excelled by Burton himself.

Strabo states that Memphis had a circumference of seventeen miles, and
therefore both M. Mariette and the antiquarians are right. The mounds
of Mitrahenny probably mark the eastern portion of the city, while its
western limit extended beyond the Pyramids of Sakkara, and included
in its suburbs those of Abousir and Dashoor. The space explored by M.
Mariette is about a mile and a half in length, and somewhat more than
half a mile in breadth. He was then continuing his excavations westward,
and had almost reached the first ridge of the Libyan Hills, without
finding the termination of the ruins. The magnitude of his discovery will
be best known when his drawings and descriptions are given to the world.
A few months after my visit, his labors were further rewarded by finding
thirteen colossal sarcophagi of black marble, and he has recently added
to his renown by discovering an entrance to the Sphinx. Yet at that time,
the exhumation of the lost Memphis—second only in importance to that of
Nineveh—was unknown in Europe, except to a few _savans_ in Paris, and the
first intimation which some of my friends in Cairo and Alexandria had
of it, was my own account of my visit, in the newspapers they received
from America. But M. Mariette is a young man, and will yet see his name
inscribed beside those of Burckhardt, Belzoni and Layard.

We had still a long ride before us, and I took leave of Memphis and its
discoverer, promising to revisit him on my return from Khartoum. As we
passed the brick Pyramid of Sakkara, which is built in four terraces of
equal height, the dark, grateful green of the palms and harvest-fields
of the Nile appeared between two sand-hills—a genuine balm to our heated
eyes. We rode through groves of the fragrant mimosa to a broad dike, the
windings of which we were obliged to follow across the plain, as the
soil was still wet and adhesive. It was too late to visit the beautiful
Pyramids of Dashoor, the first of which is more than three hundred feet
in height, and from a distance has almost as grand an effect as those
of Gizeh. Our tired donkeys lagged slowly along to the palm-groves of
Mitrahenny, where we saw mounds of earth, a few blocks of red granite
and a colossal statue of Remeses II. (Sesostris)—which until now were
supposed to be the only remains of Memphis. The statue lies on its
face in a hole filled with water. The countenance is said to be very
beautiful, but I could only see the top of Sesostris’s back, which bore a
faint resemblance to a crocodile.

Through fields of cotton in pod and beans in blossom, we rode to the
Nile, dismissed our donkeys and their attendants, and lay down on some
bundles of corn-stalks to wait the arrival of our boat. But there had
been a south wind all day, and we had ridden much faster than our men
could tow. We sat till long after sunset before the stars and stripes,
floating from the mizzen of the _Cleopatra_, turned the corner below
Bedrasheyn. When, at last, we sat at our cabin-table, weary and hungry,
we were ready to confess that the works of art produced by our cook,
Salame, were more marvellous and interesting than Memphis and the
Pyramids.

CHAPTER VI.

FROM MEMPHIS TO SIOUT.

“It flows through old hushed Egypt and its sands,
Like some grave, mighty thought threading a dream.”

LEIGH HUNT’S SONNET TO THE NILE.

The extent of my journey into Africa led me to reverse the usual plan
pursued by travellers on the Nile, who sail to Assouan or Wadi-Halfa
without pause, and visit the antiquities on their return. I have never
been able to discern the philosophy of this plan. The voyage up is
always longer, and more tedious (to those heathens who call the Nile
tedious), than the return; besides which, two visits, though brief, with
an interval between, leave a more complete and enduring image, than a
single one. The mind has time to analyze and contrast, and can afterwards
confirm or correct the first impressions. How any one can sail from
Cairo to Siout, a voyage of two hundred and sixty miles, with but one or
two points of interest, without taking the Pyramids with him in memory,
I cannot imagine. Were it not for that recollection, I should have
pronounced Modern Egypt more interesting than the Egypt of the Pharaohs
and the Ptolemies. I omitted seeing none of the important remains on my
upward journey, so that I might be left free to choose another route
homeward, if possible. It seemed like slighting Fortune to pass Dendera,
and Karnak and Ombos, without notice. Opportunity is rare, and a wise
man will never let it go by him. I knew not what dangers I might have
to encounter, but I knew that it would be a satisfaction to me, even if
speared by the Bedouins of the Lybian Desert, to think: “You rascals, you
have killed me, but I have seen Thebes!”

The Pyramids of Dashoor followed us all the next day after leaving
Memphis. Our sailors tugged us slowly along shore, against a mild south
wind, but could not bring us out of the horizon of those red sandstone
piles. Our patience was tried, that day and the next, by our slow and
toilsome progress, hindered still more by running aground on sand-banks,
but we were pledged to patience, and had our reward. On the morning of
the fourth day, as we descried before us the minarets of Benisouef,
the first large town after leaving Cairo, a timid breeze came rustling
over the dourra-fields to the north, and puffed out the Cleopatra’s
languid sails. The tow-rope was hauled in, our Arabs jumped on board and
produced the drum and tambourine, singing lustily as we moved out into
the middle of the stream. The wind increased; the flag lifted itself
from the mast and streamed toward Thebes, and Benisouef went by, almost
before we had counted its minarets. I tried in vain to distinguish the
Pyramid of Illahoon, which stands inland, at the base of the Libyan Hills
and the entrance of the pass leading to the Lake of Fyoom, the ancient
Mœris. Near the Pyramid are the foundations of the famous Labyrinth,
lately excavated by Dr. Lepsius. The Province of Fyoom, surrounding the
lake, is, with the exception of the Oases in the Libyan Desert, the only
productive land west of the mountains bordering the Nile.

All afternoon, with both sails full and our vessel leaning against the
current, we flew before the wind. At dusk, the town of Feshn appeared on
our left; at midnight, we passed Abou-Girgeh and the Mounds of Behnesa,
the ancient Oxyrinchus; and when the wind left us, at sunrise, we were
seventy miles from Benisouef. The Arabian Mountains here approach the
river, and at two points terminate in abrupt precipices of yellow
calcareous rock. The bare cliffs of Djebel el Tayr (the Mountain of
Birds), are crowned with the “Convent of the Pulley,” so called from
its inaccessible situation, and the fact that visitors are frequently
drawn to the summit by a rope and windlass. While passing this convent,
a cry came up from the muddy waters of the river: “We are Christians, O
Howadji!” and presently two naked Coptic monks wriggled over the gunwale,
and sat down, panting and dripping, on the deck. We gave them backsheesh,
which they instantly clapped into their mouths, but their souls likewise
devoutly yearned for brandy, which they did not get. They were large,
lusty fellows, and whatever perfection of spirit they might have
attained, their flesh certainly had never been unnecessarily mortified.
After a breathing spell, they jumped into the river again, and we soon
saw them straddling from point to point, as they crawled up the almost
perpendicular cliff. At Djebel el Tayr, the birds of Egypt (according to
an Arabic legend) assemble annually and choose one of their number to
remain there for a year. My friend complained that the wild geese and
ducks were not represented, and out of revenge fired at a company of
huge pelicans, who were seated on a sand-bank.

The drum and tambourine kept lively time to the voices of our sailors, as
we approached Minyeh, the second large town on the river, and the capital
of a Province. But the song this time had a peculiar significance.
After the long-drawn sound, something between a howl and a groan, which
terminated it, we were waited upon by a deputation, who formally welcomed
us to the city. We responded by a backsheesh of twenty-five piastres,
and the drum rang louder than ever. We stayed in Minyeh long enough to
buy a leg of mutton, and then sailed for the tombs of Beni-Hassan. The
wind left us as we reached a superb palm-grove, which for several miles
skirts the foot of Djebel Shekh Timay. The inhabitants are in bad odor,
and in addition to our own guard, we were obliged to take two men from
the village, who came armed with long sticks and built a fire on the
bank, beside our vessel. This is a regulation of the Government, to which
travellers usually conform, but I never saw much reason for it. We rose
at dawn and wandered for hours through the palms, to the verge of the
Desert. When within two or three miles of the mountain of Beni-Hassan, we
provided ourselves with candles, water-flasks and weapons, and set off
in advance of our boat. The Desert here reached the Nile, terminating
in a bluff thirty to forty feet in height, which is composed of layers
of pebbles and shelly sand, apparently the deposit of many successive
floods. I should have attributed this to the action of the river, cutting
a deeper channel from year to year, but I believe it is now acknowledged
that the bed of the Nile is gradually rising, and that the yearly
inundation covers a much wider space than in the time of the Pharaohs.
It is difficult to reconcile this fact with the very perceptible
encroachments which the sand is making on the Libyan shore; but we may
at least be satisfied that the glorious harvest-valley through which the
river wanders can never be wholly effaced thereby.

We climbed to the glaring level of the Desert, carrying with us the
plumes of a beautiful gray heron which my friend brought down. A solitary
Arab horseman was slowly moving along the base of the arid hills, and we
descried in the distance a light-footed gazelle, which leisurely kept
aloof and mocked our efforts to surround it. At the foot of the mountain
we passed two ruined villages, destroyed several years ago by Ibrahim
Pasha, on account of the marauding propensities of the inhabitants. It
has a cruel sound, when you are told that the people were driven away,
and their dwellings razed to the ground, but the reality is a trifling
matter. The Arabs take their water-skins and pottery, jump into the Nile,
swim across to a safer place, and in three or four days their palaces
of mud are drying in the sun. We came upon them the next morning, as
thievishly inclined as ever, and this was the only place where I found
the people otherwise than friendly.

A steep path, up a slope covered with rounded boulders of hard black
rock, leads to the grottoes of Beni-Hassan. They are among the oldest
in Egypt, dating from the reign of Osirtasen I, about 1750 years before
the Christian Era, and are interesting from their encaustic paintings,
representing Egyptian life and customs at that early date. The rock
chambers extend for nearly half a mile along the side of the mountain.
The most of them are plain and without particular interest, and they have
all suffered from the great spoilers of Egypt—the Persian, the Copt
and the Saracen. Four only retain their hieroglyphics and paintings,
and are adorned with columns hewn from the solid rock. The first we
entered contained four plain, fluted columns, one of which had been
shivered in the centre, leaving the architrave and capital suspended
from the ceiling. The walls were covered with paintings, greatly faded
and defaced, representing the culture and manufacture of flax, the
sowing and reaping of grain, and the making of bread, besides a number
of spirited hunting and fishing scenes. The occupant of the tomb appears
to have been a severe master, for his servants are shown in many places,
undergoing the punishment of the bastinado, which is even inflicted upon
women. He was also wealthy, for we still see his stewards presenting him
with tablets showing the revenues of his property. He was a great man in
Joseph’s day, but the pit in which he lay is now empty, and the Arabs
have long since burned his mummy to boil their rice.

The second tomb is interesting, from a painting representing thirty
men, of a foreign nation, who are brought before the deceased occupant.
Some antiquarians suppose them to be the brethren of Joseph, but the
tomb is that of a person named Nehophth, and the number of men does not
correspond with the Bible account. Two of the southern tombs, which are
supported by pillars formed of four budding locust-stalks bound together,
are covered with paintings representing different trades and professions.
The rear walls are entirely devoted to illustrations of gymnastic
exercises, and the figures are drawn with remarkable freedom and skill.
There are never more than two persons in a group, one being painted red
and the other black, in order the better to show the position of each.
In at least five hundred different groupings the same exercise is not
repeated, showing a wonderful fertility of invention, either on the part
of the artist or the wrestlers. The execution of these figures fully
reached my ideas of Egyptian pictorial art, but the colors were much less
vivid than some travellers represent. The tombs are not large, though
numerous, and what is rather singular, there is not the least trace of a
city in the neighborhood, to which they could have belonged.

The next day at noon we passed between the mounds of Antinoë and
Hermopolis Magna, lying on opposite banks of the Nile. Antinoë, built
by the Emperor Adrian in honor of his favorite, the glorious Antinous,
who was here drowned in the river, has entirely disappeared, with the
exception of its foundations. Twenty-five years ago, many interesting
monuments were still standing, but as they were, unfortunately, of the
white calcareous stone of the Arabian Hills, they have been long since
burnt for lime. Before reaching Antinoë we had just come on board, after
a long walk on the western bank, and the light wind which bore us toward
the mountain of Shekh Abaddeh was too pleasant to be slighted; so we saw
nothing of Adrian’s city except some heaps of dirt. The splendid evening,
however, which bathed the naked cliffs of the mountain in rosy flame, was
worth more to us than any amount of marble blocks.

The guide book says, “hereabouts appears the doum palm, and crocodiles
begin to be more frequently seen.” The next morning we found one of the
trees, but day after day we vainly sought a crocodile. My friend recalled
a song of Geibel’s, concerning a German musician who played his violin by
the Nile till the crocodiles came out and danced around the Pyramids and
in his despair would also have purchased a violin, if any could have been
found in Siout. I had seen alligators on the Mississippi, and took the
disappointment more complacently. The doum palm differs from the columnar
date-palm in the form of its leaves, which are fan-like, and in having
a branching trunk. The main stem divides a few feet from the root, each
of the branches again forming two, and each of these two more, till the
tree receives a broad, rounded top. The fruit hangs below in clusters,
resembling small cocoa-nuts, and has a sort of gingerbread flavor, which
is not disagreeable. When fully dry and hard, it takes a polish like
ivory, and is manufactured by the Arabs into beads, pipe bowls and other
small articles.

We approached the mountain of Aboufayda with a strong and favorable
wind. Here the Nile, for upward of ten miles, washes the foot of
lofty precipices, whose many deep fissures and sharp angles give them
the appearance of mountains in ruin. The afternoon sun shone full on
the yellow rocks, and their jagged pinnacles were cut with wonderful
distinctness against the perfect blue of the sky. This mountain is
considered the most dangerous point on the Nile for boats, and the
sailors always approach it with fear. Owing to its deep side-gorges, the
wind sometimes shifts about without a moment’s warning, and if the large
lateen sail is caught aback, the vessel is instantly overturned. During
the passage of this and other similar straits, two sailors sit on deck,
holding the sail-rope, ready to let it fly in the wind on the slightest
appearance of danger. The shifting of the sail is a delicate business, at
such times, but I found it better to trust to our men, awkward as they
were, than to confuse by attempting to direct them. At Djebel Shekh Saïd,
the sailors have a custom of throwing two or three loaves of bread on
the water, believing that it will be taken up by two large white birds
and deposited on the tomb of the Shekh. The wind favored us in passing
Aboufayda; the Cleopatra dashed the foam from the rough waves, and in two
or three hours the southern corner of the mountain lay behind us, leaning
away from the Nile like the shattered pylon of a temple.

Before sunset we passed the city of Manfalout, whose houses year by year
topple into the mining flood. The side next the river shows only halves
of buildings, the rest of which have been washed away. In a few years the
tall and airy minarets will follow, and unless the inhabitants continue
to shift their dwellings to the inland side, the city will entirely
disappear. From this point, the plain of Siout, the garden of Upper
Egypt, opened wide and far before us. The spur of the Libyan hills, at
the foot of which the city is built, shot out in advance, not more than
ten or twelve miles distant, but the Nile, loth to leave these beautiful
fields and groves, winds hither and thither in such a devious, lingering
track, that you must sail twenty-five miles to reach El Hamra, the port
of Siout. The landscape, broader and more majestic than those of Lower
Egypt, is even richer and more blooming. The Desert is kept within its
proper bounds; it is no longer visible from the river, and the hills,
whose long, level lines frame the view on either side, enhance by their
terrible sterility the luxury of vegetation which covers the plain. It
is a bounteous land, visited only by healthy airs, and free from the
pestilence which sometimes scourges Cairo.

The wind fell at midnight, but came to us again the next morning at
sunrise, and brought us to El Hamra before noon. Our men were in high
spirits at having a day of rest before them, the contracts for boats
always stipulating for a halt of twenty-four hours at Siout and Esneh, in
order that they may procure their supplies of provisions. They buy wheat
and dourra, have it ground in one of the rude mills worked by buffaloes,
and bake a sufficient quantity of loaves to last two or three weeks.
Our men had also the inspiration of backsheesh in their song, and their
dolorous love-melodies rang from shore to shore. The correctness with
which these people sing is absolutely surprising. Wild and harsh as are
their songs, their choruses are in perfect accord, and even when at the
same time exerting all their strength at the poles and oars, they never
fail in a note. The melodies are simple, but not without expression, and
all are pervaded with a mournful monotony which seems to have been caught
from the Desert. There is generally an improvisatore in each boat’s
crew, who supplies an endless number of lines to the regular chorus of
“_hay-haylee sah!_” So far as I could understand our poet, there was not
the least meaning or connection in his poetry, but he never failed in the
rhythm. He sang, for instance: “O Alexandrian!”—then followed the chorus:
“Hasten, three of you!”—chorus again: “Hail, Sidi Ibrahim!” and so on,
for an hour at a time. On particular occasions, he added pantomime, and
the scene on our forward deck resembled a war-dance of the Blackfeet.
The favorite pantomime is that of a man running into a hornet’s nest.
He stamps and cries, improvising all the while, the chorus seeking to
drown his voice. He then throws off his mantle, cap, and sometimes his
last garment, slapping his body to drive off the hornets, and howling
with pain. The song winds up with a prolonged cry which only ceases when
every lung is emptied. Even when most mirthfully inclined, and roaring
in ecstasy over some silly joke, our men always laughed in accord. So
sound and hearty were their cachinnatory choruses, that we involuntarily
laughed with them.

A crowd of donkeys, ready saddled, awaited us on the bank, and the boys
began to fight before our boat was moored. We chose three unpainted
animals, so large that our feet were at least three inches from the
ground, and set off on a gallop for Siout, which is about a mile and a
half from the river. Its fifteen tall, white minarets rose before us,
against the background of the mountain, and the handsome front of the
palace of Ismaïl Pasha shone through the dark green of its embosoming
acacias. The road follows the course of a dam, built to retain the waters
of the inundation, and is shaded with palms, sycamores and mimosas. On
either side we looked down upon fields of clover, so green, juicy and
June-like that I was tempted to jump from my donkey and take a roll
therein. Where the ground was still damp the Arabs were ploughing with
camels, and sowing wheat on the moist, fat loam. We crossed a bridge and
entered the court of justice, one of the most charmingly clean and shady
spots in Egypt. The town, which is built of sun-dried bricks, whose muddy
hue is somewhat relieved by the whitewashed mosques and minarets, is
astonishingly clean in every part. The people themselves appeared to be
orderly, intelligent and amiable.

The tombs of the City of Wolves, the ancient Lycopolis, are in the
eastern front of the mountain overhanging the city. We rode to the
_Stabl Antar_, the principal one, and then climbed to the summit. The
tombs are much larger than those of Beni-Hassan, but have been almost
ruined by the modern Egyptians. The enormous square pillars which filled
their halls have been shattered down for lime, and only fragments of the
capitals still hang from the ceilings of solid rock. The sculptures and
hieroglyphics, which are here not painted but sculptured in intaglio,
are also greatly defaced. The second tomb called by the Arabs _Stabl
Hamam_ (Pigeon Stable), retains its grand doorway, which has on each side
the colossal figure of an ancient king. The sand around its mouth is
filled with fragments of mummied wolves, and on our way up the mountain
we scared one of their descendants from his lair in a solitary tomb.
The _Stabl Hamam_ is about sixty feet square by forty in height, and in
its rough and ruined aspect is more impressive than the more chaste and
elegant chambers of Beni-Hassan. The view of the plain of Siout, seen
through its entrance, has a truly magical effect. From the gray twilight
of the hall in which you stand, the green of the fields, the purple of
the distant mountains, and the blue of the sky, dazzle your eye as if
tinged with the broken rays of a prism.

From the summit of the mountain, which we reached by scaling a crevice
in its white cliffs, we overlooked a more beautiful landscape than that
seen from the Pyramid. In the north, beyond the spires of Manfalout and
the crags of Aboufayda, we counted the long palm-groves, receding behind
one another to the yellow shore of the Desert; in front, the winding Nile
and the Arabian Mountains; southward, a sea of wheat and clover here
deepening into dark emerald, there paling into gold, according to the
degree of moisture in the soil, and ceasing only because the eye refused
to follow; while behind us, over the desert hills, wound the track of
the yearly caravan from Dar-Fūr and Kordofan. Our Arab guide pointed out
a sandy plain, behind the cemetery of the Mamelukes, which lay at our
feet, as the camping-ground of the caravan, and tried to tell us how many
thousand camels were assembled there. As we looked upon the superb plain,
teeming with its glory of vegetable life and enlivened by the songs of
the Arab ploughmen, a funeral procession came from the city and passed
slowly to the burying-ground, accompanied by the dismal howling of a band
of women. We went below and rode between the whitewashed domes covering
the graves of the Mamelukes. The place was bright, clean and cheerful,
in comparison with the other Arab burying-grounds we had seen. The grove
which shades its northern wall stretches for more than a mile along the
edge of the Desert—a picturesque avenue of palms, sycamores, fragrant
acacias, mimosas and acanthus. The air around Siout is pregnant with the
rich odor of the yellow mimosa-flowers, and one becomes exhilarated by
breathing it.

The city has handsome bazaars and a large bath, built by Mohammed Bey
Defterdar, the savage son-in-law of Mohammed Ali. The halls are spacious,
supported by granite columns, and paved with marble. Little threads of
water, scarcely visible in the dim, steamy atmosphere, shoot upward from
the stone tanks, around which a dozen brown figures lie stretched in the
lazy beatitude of the bath. I was given over to two Arabs, who scrubbed
me to desperation, plunged me twice over head and ears in a tank of
scalding water, and then placed me under a cold _douche_. When the whole
process, which occupied more than half an hour, was over, a cup of coffee
and a pipe were brought to me as I lay stretched out on the divan,
while another attendant commenced a course of dislocation, twisting and
cracking all my joints and pressing violently with both hands on my
breast. Singularly enough, this removed the languor occasioned by so much
hot water, and gave a wonderful elasticity to the frame. I walked out
as if shod with the wings of Mercury, and as I rode back to our boat,
congratulated my donkey on the airy lightness of his load.

[Illustration: The Cleopatra.]

CHAPTER VII.

LIFE ON THE NILE.

Independence of Nile Life—The Dahabiyeh—Our Servants—Our
Residence—Our Manner of Living—The Climate—The
Natives—Costume—Our Sunset Repose—My Friend—A Sensuous Life
Defended.

——“The life thou seek’st
Thou’lt find beside the Eternal Nile.”—MOORE’S ALCIPHRON.

We hear much said by tourists who have visited Egypt, concerning the
comparative pains and pleasures of life on the Nile, and their decisions
are as various as their individual characters. Four out of every five
complain of the monotony and tedium of the voyage, and pour forth
touching lamentations over the annoyance of rats and cockroaches, the
impossibility of procuring beef-steak, or the difficulty of shooting
crocodiles. Some of them are wholly impermeable to the influences of the
climate, scenery and ruins of Egypt, and carry to the Nubian frontier
the airs of Broadway or Bond-street. I have heard such a one say: “This
seeing the Nile is a nice thing _to have gotten over_, but it is a great
bore while you are about it.” Such is the spirit of those travelling
snobs (of all nations), by some of whom sacred Egypt is profaned every
winter. They are unworthy to behold the glories of the Nile, and if I had
the management of Society, they never should. A palm-tree is to them a
good post to shoot a pigeon from, Dendera is a “rum old concern,” and a
crocodile is better than Karnak.

There are a few, however, who will acknowledge the truth of the picture
which follows, and which was written in the cabin of the Cleopatra,
immediately after our arrival in Upper Egypt. As it is a faithful
transcript of my Nilotic life, I have deviated from the regular course of
my narrative, in order to give it without change:—

The Nile is the Paradise of Travel. I thought I had already fathomed
all the depths of enjoyment which the traveller’s restless life could
reach—enjoyment more varied and exciting, but far less serene and
enduring than that of a quiet home—but here I have reached a fountain
too pure and powerful to be exhausted. I never before experienced such
a thorough deliverance from all the petty annoyances of travel in other
lands, such perfect contentment of spirit, such entire abandonment to the
best influences of nature. Every day opens with a _jubilate_, and closes
with a thanksgiving. If such a balm and blessing as this life has been to
me, thus far, can be felt twice in one’s existence, there must be another
Nile somewhere in the world.

Other travellers undoubtedly make other experiences and take away other
impressions. I can even conceive circumstances which would almost
destroy the pleasure of the journey. The same exquisitely sensitive
temperament which in our case has not been disturbed by a single untoward
incident, might easily be kept in a state of constant derangement by an
unsympathetic companion, a cheating dragoman, or a fractious crew. There
are also many trifling _desagrémens_, inseparable from life in Egypt,
which some would consider a source of annoyance; but as we find fewer
than we were prepared to meet, we are not troubled thereby. Our enjoyment
springs from causes so few and simple, that I scarcely know how to make
them suffice for the effect, to those who have never visited the Nile.
It may be interesting to such to be made acquainted with our manner of
living, in detail.

In the first place, we are as independent of all organized Governments as
a ship on the open sea. (The Arabs call the Nile _El bahr_, “the sea.”)
We are on board our own chartered vessel, which must go where we list,
the captain and sailors being strictly bound to obey us. We sail under
national colors, make our own laws for the time being, are ourselves the
only censors over our speech and conduct, and shall have no communication
with the authorities on shore, unless our subjects rebel. Of this we have
no fear, for we commenced by maintaining strict discipline, and as we
make no unreasonable demands, are always cheerfully obeyed. Indeed, the
most complete harmony exists between the rulers and the ruled, and though
our government is the purest form of despotism, we flatter ourselves that
it is better managed than that of the Model Republic.

Our territory, to be sure, is not very extensive. The _Cleopatra_ is a
_dahabiyeh_, seventy feet long by ten broad. She has two short masts in
the bow and stern, the first upholding the _trinkeet_, a lateen sail
nearly seventy feet in length. The latter carries the _belikôn_, a small
sail, and the American colors. The narrow space around the foremast
belongs to the crew, who cook their meals in a small brick furnace, and
sit on the gunwale, beating a drum and tambourine and singing for hours
in interminable choruses, when the wind blows fair. If there is no wind,
half of them are on shore, tugging us slowly along the banks with a long
tow-rope, and singing all day long: “_Ayà hamàm—ayà hamàm!_” If we strike
on a sand-bank, they jump into the river and put their shoulders against
the hull, ringing: “_hay-haylee sah!_” If the current is slow, they ship
the oars and pull us up stream, singing so complicated a refrain that
it is impossible to write it with other than Arabic characters. There
are eight men and a boy, besides our stately raïs, Hassan Abd el-Sadek,
and the swarthy pilot, who greets us every morning with a whole round of
Arabic salutations.

Against an upright pole which occupies the place of a main-mast, stands
our kitchen, a high wooden box, with three furnaces. Here our cook,
Salame, may be seen at all times, with the cowl of a blue capote drawn
over his turban, preparing the marvellous dishes, wherein his delight is
not less than ours. Salame, like a skilful artist, as he is, husbands his
resources, and each day astonishes us with new preparations, so that, out
of few materials, he has attained the grand climax of all art—variety
in unity. Achmet, my faithful dragoman, has his station here, and keeps
one eye on the vessel and one on the kitchen, while between the two he
does not relax his protecting care for us. The approach to the cabin is
flanked by our provision chests, which will also serve as a breastwork
in case of foreign aggression. A huge filter-jar of porous earthenware
stands against the back of the kitchen. We keep our fresh butter and
vegetables in a box under it, where the sweet Nile-water drips cool
and clear into an earthen basin. Our bread and vegetables, in an open
basket of palm-blades, are suspended beside it, and the roof of the cabin
supports our poultry-yard and pigeon-house. Sometimes (but not often) a
leg of mutton may be seen hanging from the ridge-pole, which extends over
the deck as a support to the awning.

The cabin, or Mansion of the Executive Powers, is about twenty-five feet
long. Its floor is two feet below the deck, and its ceiling five feet
above, so that we are not cramped or crowded in any particular. Before
the entrance is a sort of portico, with a broad, cushioned seat on each
side, and side-awnings to shut out the sun. This place is devoted to
pipes and meditation. We throw up the awnings, let the light pour in
on all sides, and look out on the desert mountains while we inhale the
incense of the East. Our own main cabin is about ten feet long, and newly
painted of a brilliant blue color. A broad divan, with cushions, extends
along each side, serving as a sofa by day, and a bed by night. There are
windows, blinds, and a canvas cover at the sides, so that we can regulate
our light and air as we choose. In the middle of the cabin is our table
and two camp stools, while shawls, capotes, pistols, sabre and gun are
suspended from the walls. A little door at the further end opens into
a wash-room, beyond which is a smaller cabin with beds, which we have
alloted to Achmet’s use. Our cook sleeps on deck, with his head against
the provision chest. The raïs and pilot sleep on the roof of our cabin,
where the latter sits all day, holding the long arm of the rudder, which
projects forward over the cabin from the high end of the stern.

Our manner of life is simple, and might even be called monotonous, but
we have never found the greatest variety of landscape and incident so
thoroughly enjoyable. The scenery of the Nile, thus far, scarcely changes
from day to day, in its forms and colors, but only in their disposition
with regard to each other. The shores are either palm-groves, fields of
cane and dourra, young wheat, or patches of bare sand, blown out from
the desert. The villages are all the same agglomerations of mud-walls,
the tombs of the Moslem saints are the same white ovens, and every
individual camel and buffalo resembles its neighbor in picturesque
ugliness. The Arabian and Libyan Mountains, now sweeping so far into
the foreground that their yellow cliffs overhang the Nile, now receding
into the violet haze of the horizon, exhibit little difference of
height, hue, or geological formation. Every new scene is the turn of a
kaleidoscope, in which the same objects are grouped in other relations,
yet always characterized by the most perfect harmony. These slight, yet
ever-renewing changes, are to us a source of endless delight. Either from
the pure atmosphere, the healthy life we lead, or the accordant tone of
our spirits, we find ourselves unusually sensitive to all the slightest
touches, the most minute rays of that grace and harmony which bathes
every landscape in cloudless sunshine. The various groupings of the
palms, the shifting of the blue evening shadows on the rose-hued mountain
walls, the green of the wheat and sugar-cane, the windings of the great
river, the alternations of wind and calm—each of these is enough to
content us, and to give every day a different charm from that which went
before. We meet contrary winds, calms and sand-banks without losing our
patience, and even our excitement in the swiftness and grace with which
our vessel scuds before the north-wind is mingled with a regret that our
journey is drawing so much the more swiftly to its close. A portion of
the old Egyptian repose seems to be infused into our natures, and lately,
when I saw my face in a mirror, I thought I perceived in its features
something of the patience and resignation of the Sphinx.

Although, in order to enjoy this life as much as possible, we subject
ourselves to no arbitrary rules, there is sufficient regularity in our
manner of living. We rise before the sun, and after breathing the cool
morning air half an hour, drink a cup of coffee and go ashore for a
walk, unless the wind is very strong in our favor. My friend, who is an
enthusiastic sportsman and an admirable shot, takes his fowling-piece,
and I my sketch-book and pistols. We wander inland among the fields of
wheat and dourra, course among the palms and acacias for game, or visit
the villages of the Fellahs. The temperature, which is about 60° in the
morning, rarely rises above 75°, so that we have every day three or four
hours exercise in the mild and pure air. My friend always brings back
from one to two dozen pigeons, while I, who practise with my pistol on
such ignoble game as hawks and vultures, which are here hardly shy enough
to shoot, can at the best but furnish a few wing feathers to clean our
pipes.

It is advisable to go armed on these excursions, though there is
no danger of open hostility on the part of the people. Certain
neighborhoods, as that of Beni Hassan, are in bad repute, but the
depredations of the inhabitants, who have been disarmed by the
Government, are principally confined to thieving and other petty
offences. On one occasion I fell in with a company of these people, who
demanded my tarboosh, shoes and shawl, and would have taken them had I
not been armed. In general, we have found the Fellahs very friendly and
well disposed. They greet us on our morning walks with “_Salamàt!_” and
“_Sàbah el Kheyr!_” and frequently accompany us for miles. My friend’s
fowling-piece often brings around him all the men and boys of a village,
who follow him as long as a pigeon is to be found on the palm-trees.
The certainty of his shot excites their wonder. “Wallah!” they cry;
“every time the Howadji fires, the bird drops.” The fact of my wearing a
tarboosh and white turban brings upon me much Arabic conversation, which
is somewhat embarrassing, with my imperfect knowledge of the language;
but a few words go a great way. The first day I adopted this head-dress
(which is convenient and agreeable in every respect), the people saluted
me with “good morning, O Sidi!” (Sir, or Lord) instead of the usual
“good morning, O Howadji!” (_i. e._ merchant, as the Franks are rather
contemptuously designated by the Arabs).

For this climate and this way of life, the Egyptian costume is
undoubtedly much better than the European. It is light, cool, and does
not impede the motion of the limbs. The turban thoroughly protects the
head against the sun, and shades the eyes, while it obstructs the vision
much less than a hat-brim. The broad silk shawl which holds up the baggy
trowsers, shields the abdomen against changes of temperature and tends
to prevent diarrhœa, which, besides ophthalmia, is the only ailment
the traveller need fear. The latter disease may be avoided by bathing
the face in cold water after walking or any exercise which induces
perspiration. I have followed this plan, and though my eyes are exposed
daily to the full blaze of the sun, find them growing stronger and
clearer. In fact, since leaving the invigorating camp-life of California,
I have not felt the sensation of health so purely as now. The other day,
to the great delight of our sailors and the inexhaustible merriment of
my friend, I donned one of Achmet’s dresses. Though the short Theban’s
flowing trowsers and embroidered jacket gave me the appearance of a
strapping Turk, who had grown too fast for his garments, they were so
easy and convenient in every respect, that I have decided to un-Frank
myself for the remainder of the journey.

But our day is not yet at an end. We come on board about eleven o’clock,
and find our breakfast ready for the table. The dishes are few, but well
cooked, and just what a hungry man would desire—fowls, pigeons, eggs,
rice, vegetables, fruit, the coarse but nourishing bread of the country,
and the sweet water of the Nile, brought to a blush by an infusion of
claret. After breakfast we seat ourselves on the airy divans in front
of the cabin, and quietly indulge in the luxury of a shebook, filled by
Achmet’s experienced hand, and a _finjan_ of Turkish coffee. Then comes
an hour’s exercise in Arabic, after which we read guide-books, consult
our maps, write letters, and occupy ourselves with various mysteries of
our household, till the noonday heat is over. Dinner, which is served
between four and five o’clock, is of the same materials as our breakfast,
but differently arranged, and with the addition of soup. My friend avers
that he no longer wonders why Esau sold his birthright, now that he has
tasted our pottage of Egyptian lentils. Coffee and pipes follow dinner,
which is over with the first flush of sunset and the first premonition of
the coolness and quiet of evening.

We seat ourselves on deck, and drink to its fulness the balm of this
indescribable repose. The sun goes down behind the Libyan Desert in a
broad glory of purple and rosy lights; the Nile is calm and unruffled,
the palms stand as if sculptured in jasper and malachite, and the torn
and ragged sides of the Arabian Mountains, pouring through a hundred
fissures the sand of the plains above, burn with a deep crimson lustre,
as if smouldering from some inward fire. The splendor soon passes off
and they stand for some minutes in dead, ashy paleness. The sunset has
now deepened into orange, in the midst of which a large planet shines
whiter than the moon. A second glow falls upon the mountains, and this
time of a pale, but intense yellow hue, which gives them the effect
of a transparent painting. The palm-groves are dark below and the sky
dark behind them; they alone, the symbols of perpetual desolation, are
transfigured by the magical illumination. Scarcely a sound disturbs
the solemn magnificence of the hour. Even our full-throated Arabs are
silent, and if a wave gurgles against the prow, it slides softly back
into the river, as if rebuked for the venture. We speak but little, and
then mostly in echoes of each other’s thoughts. “This is more than mere
enjoyment of Nature,” said my friend, on such an evening: “it is worship.”

Speaking of my friend, it is no more than just that I should confess
how much of the luck of this Nile voyage is owing to him, and therein
may be the secret of my complete satisfaction and the secret of the
disappointment of others. It is more easy and yet more difficult for
persons to harmonize while travelling, than when at home. By this I
mean, that men of kindred natures and aims find each other more readily
and confide in each other more freely, while the least jarring element
rapidly drives others further and further apart. No confessional so
completely reveals the whole man as the companionship of travel. It is
not possible to wear the conventional masks of Society, and one repulsive
feature is often enough to neutralize many really good qualities. On
the other hand, a congeniality of soul and temperament speedily ripens
into the firmest friendship and doubles every pleasure which is mutually
enjoyed. My companion widely differs from me in age, in station, and in
his experiences of life; but to one of those open, honest and loving
natures which are often found in his native Saxony, he unites a most warm
and thorough appreciation of Beauty in Nature or Art. We harmonize to a
miracle, and the parting with him at Assouan will be the sorest pang of
my journey.

My friend, the Howadji, in whose “Nile-Notes” the Egyptian atmosphere is
so perfectly reproduced, says that “Conscience falls asleep on the Nile.”
If by this he means that artificial quality which bigots and sectarians
call Conscience, I quite agree with him, and do not blame the Nile for
its soporific powers. But that simple faculty of the soul, native to all
men, which acts best when it acts unconsciously, and leads our passions
and desires into right paths without seeming to lead them, is vastly
strengthened by this quiet and healthy life. There is a cathedral-like
solemnity in the air of Egypt; one feels the presence of the altar, and
is a better man without his will. To those rendered misanthropic by
disappointed ambition—mistrustful by betrayed confidence—despairing by
unassuageable sorrow—let me repeat the motto which heads this chapter.

I have endeavored to picture our mode of life as faithfully and minutely
as possible, because it bears no resemblance to travel in any other part
of the world. Into the heart of a barbarous continent and a barbarous
land, we carry with us every desirable comfort and luxury. In no part
of Europe or America could we be so thoroughly independent, without
undergoing considerable privations, and wholly losing that sense of rest
which is the greatest enjoyment of this journey. We are cut off from
all communication with the great world of politics, merchandise and
usury, and remember it only through the heart, not through the brain.
We go ashore in the delicious mornings, breathe the elastic air, and
wander through the palm-groves, as happy and care-free as two Adams in a
Paradise without Eves. It is an episode which will flow forward in the
under-currents of our natures through the rest of our lives, soothing
and refreshing us whenever it rises to the surface. I do not reproach
myself for this passive and sensuous existence. I give myself up to it
unreservedly, and if some angular-souled utilitarian should come along
and recommend me to shake off my laziness, and learn the conjugations of
Coptic verbs or the hieroglyphs of Kneph and Thoth, I should not take
the pipe from my mouth to answer him. My friend sometimes laughingly
addresses me with two lines of Hebel’s quaint Allemanic poetry:

“Ei solch a Leben, junges Bluat,
Desh ish wohl für a Thierle guat.”

(such a life, young blood, best befits an animal), but I tell him that
the wisdom of the Black Forest won’t answer for the Nile. If any one
persists in forcing the application, I prefer being called an animal to
changing my present habits. An entire life so spent would be wretchedly
aimless, but a few months are in truth “sore labor’s bath” to every wrung
heart and overworked brain.

I could say much more, but it requires no little effort to write three
hours in a cabin, when the palms are rustling their tops outside, the
larks singing in the meadows, and the odor of mimosa flowers breathing
through the windows. To travel and write, is like inhaling and exhaling
one’s breath at the same moment. You take in impressions at every pore of
the mind, and the process is so pleasant, that you sweat them out again
most reluctantly. Lest I should overtake the remedy with the disease, and
make to-day Labor, which should be Rest, I shall throw down the pen, and
mount yonder donkey which stands patiently on the bank, waiting to carry
me to Siout once more, before starting for Thebes.

CHAPTER VIII.

UPPER EGYPT.

Our men were ready at the appointed time, and precisely twenty-four
hours after reaching the port of Siout we spread our sails for Kenneh,
and exchanged a parting salute with the boat of a New York physician,
which arrived some hours after us. The north wind, which had been blowing
freshly during the whole of our stay, failed us almost within sight of
the port, and was followed by three days of breathless calm, during which
time we made about twelve miles a day, by towing. My friend and I spent
half the time on shore, wandering inland through the fields and making
acquaintances in the villages. We found such tours highly interesting
and refreshing, but nevertheless always returned to our floating Castle
of Indolence, doubly delighted with its home-like cabin and lazy divans.
Many of the villages in this region are built among the mounds of ancient
cities, the names whereof are faithfully enumerated in the guide-book,
but as the cities themselves have wholly disappeared, we were spared the
necessity of seeking for their ruins.

On the third night after leaving Siout, we passed the village of Gow
el-Kebir, the ancient Antæopolis, whose beautiful temple has been
entirely destroyed during the last twenty-five years, partly washed
away by the Nile and partly pulled down to furnish materials for the
Pasha’s palace at Siout. Near this the famous battle between Hercules
and Antæus is reported to have taken place. The fable of Antæus drawing
strength from the earth appears quite natural, after one has seen the
fatness of the soil of Upper Egypt. We ran the gauntlet of Djebel Shekh
Hereedee, a mountain similar to Aboufayda in form, but much more lofty
and imposing. It has also its legend: A miraculous serpent, say the
Arabs, has lived for centuries in its caverns, and possesses the power
of healing diseases. All these mountains, on the eastern bank of the
Nile, are pierced with tombs, and the openings are sometimes so frequent
and so near to each other as to resemble a colonnade along the rocky
crests. They rarely contain inscriptions, and many of them were inhabited
by hermits and holy men, during the early ages of Christianity. At the
most accessible points the Egyptians have commenced limestone quarries,
and as they are more concerned in preserving piastres than tombs, their
venerable ancestors are dislodged without scruple. Whoever is interested
in Egyptian antiquities, should not postpone his visit longer. Not only
Turks, but Europeans are engaged in the work of demolition, and the very
antiquarians who profess the greatest enthusiasm for these monuments, are
ruthless Vandals towards them when they have the power.

We dashed past the mountain of Shekh Hereedee in gallant style, and the
same night, after dusk, reached Ekhmin, the ancient Panopolis. This
was one of the oldest cities in Egypt, and dedicated to the Phallic
worship, whose first symbol, the obelisk, has now a purely monumental
significance. A few remnants of this singular ancient faith appear to be
retained among the modern inhabitants of Ekhmin, but only in the grossest
superstitions, and without reference to the abstract creative principle
typified by the Phallic emblems. The early Egyptians surrounded with
mystery and honored with all religious solemnity what they regarded as
the highest human miracle wrought by the power of their gods, and in a
philosophical point of view, there is no branch of their complex faith
more interesting than this.

As we sat on the bank in the moonlight, quietly smoking our pipes, the
howling of a company of dervishes sounded from the town, whose walls are
a few hundred paces distant from the river. We inquired of the guard
whether a Frank dare visit them. He could not tell, but offered to
accompany me and try to procure an entrance. I took Achmet and two of our
sailors, donned a Bedouin capote, and set out in search of the dervishes.
The principal gate of the town was closed, and my men battered it vainly
with their clubs, to rouse the guard. We wandered for some time among the
mounds of Panopolis, stumbling over blocks of marble and granite, under
palms eighty feet high, standing clear and silvery in the moonlight. At
last, the clamor of the wolfish dogs we waked up on the road, brought
us one of the watchers outside of the walls, whom we requested to
admit us into the city. He replied that this could not be done. “But,”
said Achmet, “here is on Effendi who has just arrived, and must visit
the mollahs to-night; admit him and fear nothing.” The men thereupon
conducted us to another gate and threw a few pebbles against the window
above it. A woman’s voice replied, and presently the bolts were undrawn
and we entered. By this time the dervishes had ceased their howlings, and
every thing was as still as death. We walked for half an hour through the
deserted streets, visited the mosques and public buildings, and heard
no sound but our own steps. It was a strangely interesting promenade.
The Arabs, armed with clubs, carried a paper lantern, which flickered
redly on the arches and courts we passed through. My trusty Theban
walked by my side, and took all possible trouble to find the retreat of
the dervishes—but in vain. We passed out through the gate, which was
instantly locked behind us, and had barely reached our vessel, when the
unearthly song of the Moslem priests, louder and wilder than ever, came
to our ears.

The prejudice of the Mohammedans against the Christians is wearing
away with their familiarity with the Frank dress and their adoption of
Frankish vices. The Prophet’s injunction against wine is heeded by few
of his followers, or avoided by drinking _arakee_, a liquor distilled
from dates and often flavored with hemp. Their conscience is generally
satisfied with a pilgrimage to Mecca and the daily performance of the
prescribed prayers, though the latter is often neglected. All of my
sailors were very punctual in this respect, spreading their carpets
on the forward deck, and occupying an hour or two every day with
genuflexions, prostrations, and salutations toward Mecca, the direction
of which they never lost, notwithstanding the windings of the Nile. In
the cathedrals of Christian Europe I have often seen pantomimes quite as
unnecessary, performed with less apparent reverence. The people of Egypt
are fully as honest and well-disposed as the greater part of the Italian
peasantry. They sometimes deceive in small things, and are inclined to
take trifling advantages, but that is the natural result of living under
a government whose only rule is force, and which does not even hesitate
to use fraud. Their good humor is inexhaustible. A single friendly
word wins them, and even a little severity awakes no lasting feeling
of revenge. I should much rather trust myself alone among the Egyptian
Fellahs, than among the peasants of the Campagna, or the boors of
Carinthia. Notwithstanding our men had daily opportunities of plundering
us, we never missed a single article. We frequently went ashore with
our dragoman, leaving every thing in the cabin exposed, and especially
such articles as tobacco, shot, dates, &c., which would most tempt an
Arab, yet our confidence was never betrayed. We often heard complaints
from travellers in other boats, but I am satisfied that any one who will
enforce obedience at the start, and thereafter give none but just and
reasonable commands, need have no difficulty with his crew.

The next morning, the wind being light, we walked forward to El
Menschieh, a town about nine miles distant from Ekhmin. It was
market-day, and the bazaar was crowded with the countrymen, who had
brought their stock of grain, sugar-cane and vegetables. The men were
taller and more muscular than in Lower Egypt, and were evidently
descended from a more intelligent and energetic stock. They looked at us
curiously, but with a sort of friendly interest, and courteously made
way for us as we passed through the narrow bazaar. In the afternoon the
wind increased to a small gale, and bore us rapidly past Gebel Tookh to
the city of Girgeh, so named in Coptic times from the Christian saint,
George. Like Manfalout, it has been half washed away by the Nile, and two
lofty minarets were hanging on the brink of the slippery bank, awaiting
their turn to fall. About twelve miles from Girgeh, in the Libyan Desert,
are the ruins of Abydus, now covered by the sand, except the top of the
portico and roof of the temple-palace of Sesostris, and part of the
temple of Osiris. We held a council whether we should waste the favorable
wind or miss Abydus, and the testimony of Achmet, who had visited the
ruins, having been taken, we chose the latter alternative. By this time
Girgeh was nearly out of sight, and we comforted ourselves with the hope
of soon seeing Dendera.

The pilgrims to Mecca, by the Kenneh and Kosseir route, were on their
return, and we met a number of boats, crowded with them, on their way
to Cairo from the former place. Most of the boats carried the red flag,
with the star and crescent. On the morning after leaving Girgeh, we took
a long stroll through the fields of Farshoot, which is, after Siout,
the richest agricultural district of Upper Egypt. An excellent system
of irrigation, by means of canals, is kept up, and the result shows
what might be made of Egypt, were its great natural resources rightly
employed. The Nile offers a perpetual fountain of plenty and prosperity,
and its long valley, from Nubia to the sea, would become, in other hands,
the garden of the world. So rich and pregnant a soil I have never seen.
Here, side by side, flourish wheat, maize, cotton, sugar-cane, indigo,
hemp, rice, dourra, tobacco, olives, dates, oranges, and the vegetables
and fruits of nearly every climate. The wheat, which, in November, we
found young and green, would in March be ripe for the sickle, and the
people were cutting and threshing fields of dourra, which they had
planted towards the end of summer. Except where the broad meadows are
first reclaimed from the rank, tufted grass which has taken possession
of them, the wheat is sowed upon the ground, and then ploughed in by a
sort of crooked wooden beam, shod with iron, and drawn by two camels or
buffaloes. I saw no instance in which the soil was manured. The yearly
deposit made by the bountiful river seems to be sufficient. The natives,
it is true, possess immense numbers of pigeons, and every village is
adorned with towers, rising above the mud huts like the pylons of
temples, and inhabited by these birds. The manure collected from them is
said to be used, but probably only in the culture of melons, cucumbers,
and other like vegetables with which the gardens are stocked.

The fields of sugar-cane about Farshoot were the richest I saw in Egypt.
Near the village, which is three miles from the Nile, there is a steam
sugar-refinery, established by Ibrahim Pasha, who seems to have devoted
much attention to the culture of cane, with a view to his own profit.
There are several of these manufactories along the Nile, and the most of
them were in full operation, as we passed. At Radamoon, between Minyeh
and Siout, there is a large manufactory, where the common coarse sugar
made in the Fellah villages is refined and sent to Cairo. We made use of
this sugar in our household, and found it to be of excellent quality,
though coarser than that of the American manufactories. The culture of
cotton has not been so successful. The large and handsome manufactory
built at Kenneh, is no longer in operation, and the fields which we saw
there, had a forlorn, neglected appearance. The plants grow luxuriantly,
and the cotton is of fine quality, but the pods are small and not very
abundant. About Siout, and in Middle and Lower Egypt, we saw many fields
of indigo, which is said to thrive well. Peas, beans and lentils are
cultivated to a great extent, and form an important item of the food of
the inhabitants. The only vegetables we could procure for our kitchen,
were onions, radishes, lettuce and spinage. The Arabs are very fond of
the tops of radishes, and eat them with as much relish as their donkeys.

One of the principal staples of Egypt is the dourra (_holcus sorghum_),
which resembles the _zea_ (maize) in many respects. In appearance, it
is very like broom-corn, but instead of the long, loose panicle of red
seeds, is topped by a compact cone of grains, smaller than those of
maize, but resembling them in form and taste. The stalks are from ten to
fifteen feet high, and the heads frequently contain as much substance as
two ears of maize. It is planted in close rows, and when ripe is cut by
the hand with a short sickle, after which the heads are taken off and
threshed separately. The grain is fed to horses, donkeys and fowls, and
in Upper Egypt is used almost universally for bread. It is of course
very imperfectly ground, and unbolted, and the bread is coarse and dark,
though nourishing. In the Middle and Southern States of America this
grain would thrive well and might be introduced with advantage.

The plains of coarse, wiry grass (_halfeh_), which in many points on the
Nile show plainly the neglect of the inhabitants, who by a year’s labor
might convert them into blooming fields, are devoted to the pasturage
of large herds of sheep, and goats, and sometimes droves of buffaloes.
The sheep are all black or dark-brown, and their bushy heads remind one
of terriers. The wool is rather coarse, and when roughly spun and woven
by the Arabs, in its natural color, forms the mantle, something like
a Spanish _poncho_, which is usually the Fellah’s only garment. The
mutton, almost the only meat to be found, is generally lean, and brings
a high price, considering the abundance of sheep. The flesh of buffaloes
is eaten by the Arabs, but is too tough, and has too rank a flavor,
for Christian stomachs. The goats are beautiful animals, with heads as
slender and delicate as those of gazelles. They have short, black horns,
curving downward—long, silky ears, and a peculiarly mild and friendly
expression of countenance. We had no difficulty in procuring milk in the
villages, and sometimes fresh butter, which was more agreeable to the
taste than the sight. The mode of churning is not calculated to excite
one’s appetite. The milk is tied up in a goat’s skin, and suspended by
a rope to the branch of a tree. One of the Arab housewives (who are all
astonishingly ugly and filthy) then stations herself on one side, and
propels it backward and forward till the process is completed. The cheese
of the country resembles a mixture of sand and slacked lime, and has an
abominable flavor.

Leaving Farshoot, we swept rapidly past Haou, the ancient _Diospolis
parva_, or Little Thebes, of which nothing is left but some heaps of
dirt, sculptured fragments, and the tomb of a certain Dionysius, son of
a certain Ptolemy. The course of the mountains, which follow the Nile,
is here nearly east and west, as the river makes a long curve to the
eastward on approaching Kenneh. The valley is inclosed within narrower
bounds, and the Arabian Mountains on the north, shooting out into bold
promontories from the main chain, sometimes rise from the water’s edge
in bluffs many hundred feet in height. The good wind, which had so
befriended us for three days, followed us all night, and when we awoke
on the morning of December 4th, our vessel lay at anchor in the port of
Kenneh, having beaten by four hours the boat of our American friend,
which was reputed to be one of the swiftest on the river.

Kenneh, which lies about a mile east of the river, is celebrated for the
manufacture of porous water-jars, and is an inferior mart of trade with
Persia and India, by means of Kosseir, on the Red Sea, one hundred and
twenty miles distant. The town is large, but mean in aspect, and does
not offer a single object of interest. It lies in the centre of a broad
plain. We rode through the bazaars, which were tolerably well stocked and
crowded with _hadji_, or pilgrims of Mecca. My friend, who wished to make
a flag of the Saxe-Coburg colors, for his return voyage, tried in vain
to procure a piece of green cotton cloth. Every other color was to be
had but green, which, as the sacred hue, worn only by the descendants of
Mohammed, was nowhere to be found. He was finally obliged to buy a piece
of white stuff and have it specially dyed. It came back the same evening,
precisely the color of the Shereef of Mecca’s turban.

On the western bank of the Nile, opposite Kenneh, is the site of the city
of Tentyra, famed for its temple of Athor. It is now called Dendera,
from the modern Arab village. After breakfast, we shipped ourselves and
our donkeys across the Nile, and rode off in high excitement, to make
our first acquaintance with Egyptian temples. The path led through a
palm grove, which in richness and beauty rivalled those of the Mexican
_tierra caliente_. The lofty shafts of the date and the vaulted foliage
of the doum-palm, blended in the most picturesque groupage, contrasted
with the lace-like texture of the flowering mimosa, and the cloudy
boughs of a kind of gray cypress. The turf under the trees was soft and
green, and between the slim trunks we looked over the plain, to the
Libyan Mountains—a long train of rosy lights and violet shadows. Out of
this lovely wood we passed between magnificent fields of dourra and the
castor-oil bean, fifteen feet in height, to a dyke which crossed the
meadows to Dendera. The leagues of rank grass on our right rolled away to
the Desert in shining billows, and the fresh west-wind wrapped us in a
bath of intoxicating odors. In the midst of this green and peaceful plain
rose the earthy mounds of Tentyra, and the portico of the temple, almost
buried beneath them, stood like a beacon, marking the boundary of the
Desert.

We galloped our little animals along the dyke, over heaps of dirt and
broken bricks, among which a number of Arabs were burrowing for nitrous
earth, and dismounted at a small pylon, which stands two or three hundred
paces in front of the temple. The huge jambs of sandstone, covered
with sharply cut hieroglyphics and figures of the Egyptian gods, and
surmounted by a single block, bearing the mysterious winged globe and
serpent, detained us but a moment, and we hurried down what was once
the dromos of the temple, now represented by a double wall of unburnt
bricks. The portico, more than a hundred feet in length, and supported by
six columns, united by screens of masonry, no stone of which, or of the
columns themselves, is unsculptured, is massive and imposing, but struck
me as being too depressed to produce a very grand effect. What was my
astonishment, on arriving at the entrance, to find that I had approached
the temple on a level with half its height, and that the pavement of the
portico was as far below as the scrolls of its cornice were above me.
The six columns I had seen covered three other rows, of six each, all
adorned with the most elaborate sculpture and exhibiting traces of the
brilliant coloring which they once possessed. The entire temple, which
is in an excellent state of preservation, except where the hand of the
Coptic Christian has defaced its sculptures, was cleaned out by order of
Mohammed Ali, and as all its chambers, as well as the roof of enormous
sandstone blocks, are entire, it is considered one of the most complete
relics of Egyptian art.

I find my pen at fault, when I attempt to describe the impression
produced by the splendid portico. The twenty-four columns, each of
which is sixty feet in height, and eight feet in diameter, crowded
upon a surface of one hundred feet by seventy, are oppressive in their
grandeur. The dim light, admitted through the half closed front, which
faces the north, spreads a mysterious gloom around these mighty shafts,
crowned with the fourfold visage of Athor, still rebuking the impious
hands that have marred her solemn beauty. On the walls, between columns
of hieroglyphics, and the cartouches of the Cæsars and the Ptolemies,
appear the principal Egyptian deities—the rigid Osiris, the stately Isis
and the hawk-headed Orus. Around the bases of the columns spring the
leaves of the sacred lotus, and the dark-blue ceiling is spangled with
stars, between the wings of the divine emblem. The sculptures are all
in raised relief, and there is no stone in the temple without them. I
cannot explain to myself the unusual emotion I felt while contemplating
this wonderful combination of a simple and sublime architectural style
with the utmost elaboration of ornament. My blood pulsed fast and warm on
my first view of the Roman Forum, but in Dendera I was so saddened and
oppressed, that I scarcely dared speak for fear of betraying an unmanly
weakness. My friend walked silently between the columns, with a face
as rigidly sad as if he had just looked on the coffin of his nearest
relative. Though such a mood was more painful than agreeable, it required
some effort to leave the place, and after a stay of two hours, we still
lingered in the portico and walked through the inner halls, under the
spell of a fascination which we had hardly power to break.

The portico opens into a hall, supported by six beautiful columns, of
smaller proportions, and lighted by a square aperture in the solid roof.
On either side are chambers connected with dim and lofty passages, and
beyond is the sanctuary and various other apartments, which receive no
light from without. We examined their sculptures by the aid of torches,
and our Arab attendants kindled large fires of dry corn stalks, which
cast a strong red light on the walls. The temple is devoted to Athor, the
Egyptian Venus, and her image is everywhere seen, receiving the homage
of her worshippers. Even the dark stair case, leading to the roof—up
which we climbed over heaps of sand and rubbish—is decorated throughout
with processions of symbolical figures. The drawing has little of that
grotesque stiffness which I expected to find in Egyptian sculptures,
and the execution is so admirable in its gradations of light and shade,
as to resemble, at a little distance, a monochromatic painting. The
antiquarians view these remains with little interest, as they date from
the comparatively recent era of the Ptolemies, at which time sculpture
and architecture were on the decline. We, who had seen nothing else of
the kind, were charmed with the grace and elegance of this sumptuous mode
of decoration. Part of the temple was built by Cleopatra, whose portrait,
with that of her son Cæsarion, may still be seen on the exterior wall.
The face of the colossal figure has been nearly destroyed, but there is a
smaller one, whose soft, voluptuous outline is still sufficient evidence
of the justness of her renown. The profile is exquisitely beautiful. The
forehead and nose approach the Greek standard, but the mouth is more
roundly and delicately curved, and the chin and cheek are fuller. Were
such an outline made plastic, were the blank face colored with a pale
olive hue, through which should blush a faint rosy tinge, lighted with
bold black eyes and irradiated with the lightning of a passionate nature,
it would even now “move the mighty hearts of captains and of kings.”

Around the temple and over the mounds of the ancient city are scattered
the ruins of an Arab village which the inhabitants suddenly deserted,
without any apparent reason, two or three years previous to our visit.
Behind it, stretches the yellow sand of the Desert. The silence and
aspect of desertion harmonize well with the spirit of the place, which
would be much disturbed were one beset, as is usual in the Arab towns,
by a gang of naked beggars and barking wolf-dogs. Besides the temple,
there are also the remains of a chapel of Isis, with a pylon, erected by
Augustus Cæsar, and a small temple, nearly whelmed in the sand, supposed
to be one of the _mammeisi_, or lying-in houses of the goddess Athor, who
was honored in this form, on account of having given birth to the third
member of the divine Triad.

At sunset, we rode back from Dendera and set sail for Thebes. In the
evening, as we were sweeping along by moonlight, with a full wind, a
large _dahabiyeh_ came floating down the stream. Achmet, who was on
the look-out, saw the American flag, and we hailed her. My delight was
unbounded, to hear in reply the voice of my friend, Mr. Degen, of New
York, who, with his lady and two American and English gentlemen, were
returning from a voyage to Assouan. Both boats instantly made for the
shore, and for the first time since leaving Germany I had the pleasure
of seeing familiar faces. For the space of three hours I forgot Thebes
and the north wind, but towards midnight we exchanged a parting salute of
four guns and shook out the broad sails of the Cleopatra, who leaned her
cheek to the waves and shot off like a sea-gull. I am sure she must have
looked beautiful to my friends, as they stood on deck in the moonlight.

CHAPTER IX.

THEBES—THE WESTERN BANK.

Arrival at Thebes—Ground-Plan of the Remains—We Cross
to the Western Bank—Guides—The Temple of Goorneh—Valley
of the Kings’ Tombs—Belzoni’s Tomb—The Races of
Men—Vandalism of Antiquarians—Bruce’s Tomb—Memnon—The
Grandfather of Sesostris—The Head of Amunoph—The Colossi
of the Plain—Memnonian Music—The Statue of Remeses—The
Memnonium—Beauty of Egyptian Art—More Scrambles among the
Tombs—The Bats of the Assasseef—Medeenet Abou—Sculptured
Histories—The Great Court of the Temple—We return to Luxor.

On the following evening, about nine o’clock, as my friend and I were
taking our customary evening pipe in the cabin, our vessel suddenly
stopped. The wind was still blowing, and I called to Achmet to know
what was the matter. “We have reached Luxor,” answered the Theban. We
dropped the shebooks, dashed out, up the bank, and saw, facing us in
the brilliant moonlight, the grand colonnade of the temple, the solid
wedges of the pylon, and the brother-obelisk of that which stands in the
Place de la Concorde, in Paris. The wide plain of Thebes stretched away
on either hand, and the beautiful outlines of the three mountain ranges
which inclose it, rose in the distance against the stars. We looked on
the landscape a few moments, in silence. “Come,” said my friend, at
length, “this is enough for to-night. Let us not be too hasty to exhaust
what is in store for us.” So we returned to our cabin, closed the blinds,
and arranged our plans for best seeing, and best enjoying the wonders of
the great Diospolis.

Before commencing my recital, let me attempt to give an outline of the
typography of Thebes. The course of the Nile is here nearly north,
dividing the site of the ancient city into two almost equal parts. On
approaching it from Kenneh, the mountain of Goorneh, which abuts on the
river, marks the commencement of the western division. This mountain,
a range of naked limestone crags, terminating in a pyramidal peak,
gradually recedes to the distance of three miles from the Nile, which
it again approaches further south. Nearly the whole of the curve, which
might be called the western wall of the city, is pierced with tombs,
among which are those of the queens, and the grand priestly vaults of
the Assasseef. The Valley of the Kings’ Tombs lies deep in the heart of
the range seven or eight miles from the river. After passing the corner
of the mountain, the first ruin on the western bank is that of the
temple-palace of Goorneh. More than a mile further, at the base of the
mountain, is the Memnonium, or temple of Remeses the Great, between which
and the Nile the two Memnonian colossi are seated on the plain. Nearly
two miles to the south of this is the great temple of Medeenet Abou, and
the fragments of other edifices are met with, still further beyond. On
the eastern bank, nearly opposite Goorneh, stands the temple of Karnak,
about half a mile from the river. Eight miles eastward, at the foot of
the Arabian Mountains, is the small temple of Medamot, which, however,
does not appear to have been included in the limits of Thebes. Luxor is
directly on the bank of the Nile, a mile and a half south of Karnak, and
the plain extends several miles beyond it, before Beaching the isolated
range, whose three conical peaks are the landmarks of Thebes to voyagers
on the river.

These distances convey an idea of the extent of the ancient city, but
fail to represent the grand proportions of the landscape, so well fitted,
in its simple and majestic outlines, to inclose the most wonderful
structures the world has ever seen. The green expanse of the plain; the
airy coloring of the mountains; the mild, solemn blue of the cloudless
Egyptian sky;—these are a part of Thebes, and inseparable from the
remembrance of its ruins.

At sunrise we crossed to the western bank and moored our boat opposite
Goorneh. It is advisable to commence with the Tombs, and close the
inspection of that side with Medeenet Abou, reserving Karnak, the
grandest of all, for the last. The most unimportant objects in Thebes are
full of interest when seen first, whereas Karnak, once seen, fills one’s
thoughts to the exclusion of every thing else. There are Arab guides for
each bank, who are quite familiar with all the principal points, and who
have a quiet and unobtrusive way of directing the traveller, which I
should be glad to see introduced into England and Italy. Our guide, old
Achmet Gourgàr, was a tall, lean gray-beard, who wore a white turban and
long brown robe, and was most conscientious in his endeavors to satisfy
us; We found several horses on the bank, ready saddled, and choosing two
of the most promising, set off on a stirring gallop for the temple of
Goorneh and the Valley of the Kings’ Tombs, leaving Achmet to follow with
our breakfast, and the Arab boys with their water bottles.

The temple of Goorneh was built for the worship of Amun, the Theban
Jupiter, by Osirei and his son, Remeses the Great, the supposed
Sesostris, nearly fourteen hundred years before the Christian era. It is
small, compared with the other ruins, but interesting from its rude and
massive style, a remnant of the early period of Egyptian architecture.
The two pylons in front of it are shattered down, and the dromos of
sphinxes has entirely disappeared. The portico is supported by a single
row of ten columns, which neither resemble each other, nor are separated
by equal spaces. What is most singular, is the fact that notwithstanding
this disproportion, which is also observable in the doorways, the general
effect is harmonious. We tried to fathom the secret of this, and found
no other explanation than in the lowness of the building, and the rough
granite blocks of which it is built. One seeks no proportion in a natural
temple of rock, or a cirque of Druid stones. All that the eye requires is
rude strength, with a certain approach to order. The effect produced by
this temple is of a similar character, barring its historical interest.
Its dimensions are too small to be imposing, and I found, after passing
it several times, that I valued it more as a feature in the landscape,
than for its own sake.

The sand and pebbles clattered under the hoofs of our horses, as we
galloped up the gorge of _Biban el Molook_, the “Gates of the Kings.”
The sides are perpendicular cliffs of yellow rock, which increased in
height, the further we advanced, and at last terminated in a sort of
basin, shut in by precipices several hundred feet in height and broken
into fantastic turrets, gables and pinnacles. The bottom is filled with
huge heaps of sand and broken stones, left from the excavation of the
tombs in the solid rock. There are twenty-one tombs in this valley, more
than half of which are of great extent and richly adorned with paintings
and sculptures. Some have been filled with sand or otherwise injured by
the occasional rains which visit this region, while a few are too small
and plain to need visiting. Sir Gardner Wilkinson has numbered them all
in red chalk at the entrances, which is very convenient to those who use
his work on Egypt as a guide. I visited ten of the principal tombs, to
the great delight of the old guide, who complained that travellers are
frequently satisfied with four or five. The general arrangement is the
same in all, but they differ greatly in extent and in the character of
their decoration.

The first we entered was the celebrated tomb of Remeses I., discovered
by Belzoni. From the narrow entrance, a precipitous staircase, the walls
of which are covered with columns of hieroglyphics, descends to a depth
of forty feet, where it strikes a horizontal passage leading to an
oblong chamber, in which was formerly a deep pit, which Belzoni filled.
This pit protected the entrance to the royal chamber, which was also
carefully walled up. In the grace and freedom of the drawings, and the
richness of their coloring, this tomb surpasses all others. The subjects
represented are the victories of the monarch, while in the sepulchral
chamber he is received into the presence of the gods. The limestone rock
is covered with a fine coating of plaster, on which the figures were
first drawn with red chalk, and afterwards carefully finished in colors.
The reds, yellows, greens and blues are very brilliant, but seem to have
been employed at random, the gods having faces sometimes of one color,
sometimes of another. In the furthest chamber, which was left unfinished,
the subjects are only sketched in red chalk. Some of them have the loose
and uncertain lines of a pupil’s hand, over which one sees the bold and
rapid corrections of the master. Many of the figures are remarkable
for their strength and freedom of outline. I was greatly interested in
a procession of men, representing the different nations of the earth.
The physical peculiarities of the Persian, the Jew and the Ethiopian
are therein as distinctly marked as at the present day. The blacks are
perfect counterparts of those I saw daily upon the Nile, and the noses
of the Jews seem newly painted from originals in New York. So little
diversity in the distinguishing features of the race, after the lapse of
more than three thousand years, is a strong argument in favor of the new
ethnological theory of the separate origin of different races. Whatever
objections may be urged against this theory, the fact that the races have
not materially changed since the earliest historic times, is established
by these Egyptian records, and we must either place the first appearance
of Man upon the earth many thousands of years in advance of Bishop
Usher’s chronology, or adopt the conclusion of Morton and Agassiz.

The burial-vault, where Belzoni found the alabaster sarcophagus of the
monarch, is a noble hall, thirty feet long by nearly twenty in breadth
and height, with four massive pillars forming a corridor on one side. In
addition to the light of our torches, the Arabs kindled a large bonfire
in the centre, which brought out in strong relief the sepulchral figures
on the ceiling, painted in white on a ground of dark indigo hue. The
pillars and walls of the vault glowed with the vivid variety of their
colors, and the general effect was unspeakably rich and gorgeous. This
tomb has already fallen a prey to worse plunderers than the Medes and
Persians. Belzoni carried off the sarcophagus, Champollion cut away the
splendid jambs and architrave of the entrance to the lower chambers, and
Lepsius has finished by splitting the pillars and appropriating their
beautiful paintings for the Museum at Berlin. At one spot, where the
latter has totally ruined a fine doorway, some indignant Frenchman has
written in red chalk: “_Meurtre commis par Lepsius_.” In all the tombs
of Thebes, wherever you see the most flagrant and shameless spoliations,
the guide says, “Lepsius.” Who can blame the Arabs for wantonly defacing
these precious monuments, when such an example is set them by the vanity
of European antiquarians?

Bruce’s Tomb, which extends for four hundred and twenty feet into the
rock, is larger than Belzoni’s, but not so fresh and brilliant. The
main entrance slopes with a very gradual descent, and has on each side
a number of small chambers and niches, apparently for mummies. The
illustrations in these chambers are somewhat defaced, but very curious,
on account of the light which they throw upon the domestic life of
the Ancient Egyptians. They represent the slaughtering of oxen, the
preparation of fowls for the table, the kneading and baking of bread
and cakes, as well as the implements and utensils of the kitchen. In
other places the field laborers are employed in leading the water of
the Nile into canals, cutting dourra, threshing and carrying the grain
into magazines. One room is filled with furniture, and the row of chairs
around the base of the walls would not be out of place in the most
elegant modern drawing-room. The Illustrated Catalogue of the London
Exhibition contains few richer and more graceful patterns. In a chamber
nearer the royal vault, two old, blind minstrels are seen, playing the
harp in the presence of the King, whence this is sometimes called the
Harper’s Tomb. The pillars of the grand hall, like those of all the
other tombs we visited, represent the monarch, after death, received
into the presence of the gods—stately figures, with a calm and serious
aspect, and lips, which, like those of the Sphinx, seemed closed upon
some awful mystery. The absurdity of the coloring does not destroy this
effect, and a blue-faced Isis, whose hard, black eyeball stares from a
brilliant white socket, is not less impressive than the same figure, cut
in sandstone or granite.

The delicacy and precision of the hieroglyphics, sculptured in intaglio,
filled me with astonishment. In the tomb of Amunoph III., which I
visited the next day, they resembled the ciphers engraved upon seals
in their exquisite sharpness and regularity. Only the principal tombs,
however, are thus beautified. In others the figures are either simply
painted, or apparently sunken in the plaster, while it was yet fresh, by
prepared patterns. The latter method accounts for the exact resemblance
of long processions of figures, which would otherwise require a most
marvellous skill on the part of the artist. In some unfinished chambers
I detected plainly the traces of these patterns, where the outlines of
the figures were blunt and the grain of the plaster bent, and not cut.
The family likeness in the faces of the monarchs is also too striking,
unfortunately, for us to accept them all as faithful portraits. They are
all apparently of the same age, and their attributes do not materially
differ. This was probably a flattery on the part of the artists, or the
effect of a royal vanity, which required to be portrayed in the freshness
of youth and the full vigor of body and mind. The first faces I learned
to recognize were those of Remeses II., the supposed Sesostris, and
Amunoph III.

The tomb of Memnon, as it was called by the Romans, is the most elegant
of all, in its proportions, and is as symmetrical as a Grecian temple. On
the walls of the entrance are several inscriptions of Greek tourists, who
visited it in the era of the Ptolemies, and spent their time in carving
their names, like Americans nowadays. The huge granite sarcophagus in
which the monarch’s mummy was deposited, is broken, as are those of the
other tombs, with a single exception. This is the tomb of Osirei I., the
grandfather of Sesostris, and the oldest in the valley. I visited it by
crawling through a hole barely large enough to admit my body, after which
I slid on my back down a passage nearly choked with sand, to another
hole, opening into the burial chamber. Here no impious hand had defaced
the walls, but the figures were as perfect and the coloring as brilliant
as when first executed. In the centre stood an immense sarcophagus, of a
single block of red granite, and the massive lid, which had been thrown
off, lay beside it. The dust in the bottom gave out that peculiar mummy
odor perceptible in all the tombs, and in fact long after one has left
them, for the clothes become saturated with it. The guide, delighted with
having dragged me into that chamber, buried deep in the dumb heart of
the mountain, said not a word, and from the awful stillness of the place
and the phantasmagoric gleam of the wonderful figures on the walls, I
could have imagined myself a neophyte, on the threshold of the Osirian
mysteries.

We rode to the Western Valley, a still deeper and wider glen, containing
tombs of the kings of the foreign dynasty of Atin-Re. We entered the two
principal ones, but found the paintings rude and insignificant. There
are many lateral passages and chambers and in some places deep pits,
along the edge of which we were obliged to crawl. In the last tomb a
very long and steep staircase descends into the rock. As we were groping
after the guide, I called to my friend to take care, as there was but a
single step, after making a slip. The words were scarcely out of my mouth
before I felt a tremendous thump, followed by a number of smaller ones,
and found myself sitting in a heap of sand, at the bottom, some twenty or
thirty feet below. Fortunately, I came off with but a few slight bruises.

Returning to the temple of Goorneh, we took a path over the plain,
through fields of wheat, lupins and lentils, to the two colossi, which
we had already seen from a distance. These immense sitting figures,
fifty-three feet above the plain, which has buried their pedestals,
overlook the site of vanished Thebes and assert the grandeur of which
they and Karnak are the most striking remains. They were erected by
Amunoph III., and though the faces are totally disfigured, the full,
round, beautiful proportions of the colossal arms, shoulders and thighs
do not belie the marvellous sweetness of the features which we still see
in his tomb. Except the head of Antinous, I know of no ancient portrait
so beautiful as Amunoph. The long and luxuriant hair, flowing in a
hundred ringlets, the soft grace of the forehead, the mild serenity of
the eye, the fine thin lines of the nostrils and the feminine tenderness
of the full lips, triumph over the cramped rigidity of Egyptian
sculpture, and charm you with the lightness and harmony of Greek art. In
looking on that head, I cannot help thinking that the subject overpowered
the artist, and led him to the threshold of a truer art. Amunoph, or
Memnon, was a poet in soul, and it was meet that his statue should salute
the rising sun with a sound like that of a harp-string.

Modern research has wholly annihilated this beautiful fable. Memnon now
sounds at all hours of the day, and at the command of all travellers who
pay an Arab five piastres to climb into his lap. We engaged a vender
of modern scarabei, who threw off his garments, hooked his fingers and
toes into the cracks of the polished granite, and soon hailed us with
“Salaam!” from the knee of the statue. There is a certain stone on
Memnon’s lap, which, when sharply struck, gives out a clear metallic
ring. Behind it is a small square aperture, invisible from below, where
one of the priests no doubt stationed himself to perform the daily
miracle. Our Arab rapped on the arms and body of the statue, which had
the usual dead sound of stone, and rendered the musical ring of the
sun-smitten block more striking. An avenue of sphinxes once led from
the colossi to a grand temple, the foundations of which we found about
a quarter of a mile distant. On the way are the fragments of two other
colossi, one of black granite. The enormous substructions of the temple
and the pedestals of its columns have been sufficiently excavated to show
what a superb edifice has been lost to the world. A crowd of troublesome
Arabs, thrusting upon our attention newly baken cinerary urns, newly
roasted antique wheat, and images of all kinds fresh from the maker’s
hand, disturbed our quiet examination of the ruins, and in order to
escape their importunities, we rode to the Memnonium.

This edifice, the temple-palace of Remeses the Great, is supposed to
be the Memnonium, described by Strabo. It is built on a gentle rise of
land at the foot of the mountain, and looks eastward to the Nile and
Luxor. The grand stone pylon which stands at the entrance of its former
avenue of sphinxes has been half levelled by the fury of the Persian
conquerors, and the colossal granite statue of Remeses, in the first
court of the temple, now lies in enormous fragments around its pedestal.
Mere dimensions give no idea of this immense mass, the weight of which,
when entire, was nearly nine hundred tons. How poor and trifling appear
the modern statues which we call colossal, when measured with this, one
of whose toes is a yard in length; and how futile the appliances of
modern art, when directed to its transportation for a distance of one
hundred and fifty miles! The architrave at each end of the court was
upheld by four caryatides, thirty feet in height. Though much defaced,
they are still standing, but are dwarfed by the mighty limbs of Remeses.
It is difficult to account for the means by which the colossus was
broken. There are no marks of any instruments which could have forced
such a mass asunder, and the only plausible conjecture I have heard is,
that the stone must have been subjected to an intense heat and afterwards
to the action of water. The statue, in its sitting position, must have
been nearly sixty feet in height, and is the largest in the world, though
not so high as the rock-hewn monoliths of Aboo-Simbel. The Turks and
Arabs have cut several mill-stones out of its head, without any apparent
diminution of its size.

The Memnonium differs from the other temples of Egypt in being almost
faultless in its symmetry, even when measured by the strictest rules of
art. I know of nothing so exquisite as the central colonnade of its grand
hall—a double row of pillars, forty-five feet in height and twenty-three
in circumference, crowned with capitals resembling the bell-shaped
blossoms of the lotus. One must see them to comprehend how this simple
form, whose expression is all sweetness and tenderness in the flower,
softens and beautifies the solid majesty of the shaft. In spite of their
colossal proportions, there is nothing massive or heavy in their aspect.
The cup of the capital curves gently outward from the abacus on which
the architrave rests, and seems the natural blossom of the columnar
stem. On either side of this perfect colonnade are four rows of Osiride
pillars, of smaller size, yet the variety of their form and proportions
only enhances the harmony of the whole. This is one of those enigmas in
architecture which puzzle one on his first acquaintance with Egyptian
temples, and which he is often forced blindly to accept as new laws of
art, because his feeling tells him they are true, and his reason cannot
satisfactorily demonstrate that they are false.

We waited till the yellow rays of sunset fell on the capitals of the
Memnonium, and they seemed, like the lotus flowers to exhale a vapory
light, before we rode home. All night we wandered in dreams through
kingly vaults, with starry ceilings and illuminated walls; but on looking
out of our windows at dawn, we saw the red saddle-cloths of our horses
against the dark background of the palm grove, as they came down to the
boat. No second nap was possible, after such a sight, and many minutes
had not elapsed before we were tasting the cool morning air in the
delight of a race up and down the shore. Our old guide, however, was on
his donkey betimes, and called us off to our duty. We passed Goorneh, and
ascended the eastern face of the mountain to the tombs of the priests and
private citizens of Thebes. For miles along the mountain side, one sees
nothing but heaps of sand and rubbish, with here and there an Arab hut,
built against the face of a tomb, whose chambers serve as pigeon-houses,
and stalls for asses. The earth is filled with fragments of mummies, and
the bandages in which they were wrapped; for even the sanctity of death
itself, is here neither respected by the Arabs nor the Europeans whom
they imitate. I cannot conceive the passion which some travellers have,
of carrying away withered hands and fleshless legs, and disfiguring the
abodes of the dead with their insignificant names. I should as soon think
of carving my initials on the back of a live Arab, as on these venerable
monuments.

The first tomb we entered almost cured us of the desire to visit another.
It was that called the Assasseef, built by a wealthy priest, and it is
the largest in Thebes. Its outer court measures one hundred and three by
seventy-six feet, and its passages extend between eight and nine hundred
feet into the mountain. We groped our way between walls as black as ink,
through long, labyrinthine suites of chambers, breathing a deathlike and
oppressive odor. The stairways seemed to lead into the bowels of the
earth, and on either hand yawned pits of uncertain depth. As we advanced,
the ghostly vaults rumbled with a sound like thunder, and hundreds of
noisome bats, scared by the light, dashed against the walls and dropped
at our feet. We endured this for a little while, but on reaching the
entrance to some darker and deeper mystery, were so surrounded by the
animals, who struck their filthy wings against our faces, that not for
ten kings’ tombs would we have gone a step further. My friend was on the
point of vowing never to set his foot in another tomb, but I persuaded
him to wait until we had seen that of Amunoph. I followed the guide,
who enticed me by flattering promises into a great many snake-like
holes, and when he was tired with crawling in the dust, sent one of our
water-carriers in advance, who dragged me in and out by the heels.

The temple of Medeenet Abou is almost concealed by the ruins of a Coptic
village, among which it stands, and by which it is partially buried.
The outer court, pylon and main hall of the smaller temple rise above
the mounds and overlook the plain of Thebes, but scarcely satisfy the
expectation of the traveller, as he approaches. You first enter an
inclosure surrounded by a low stone wall, and standing in advance of the
pylon. The rear wall, facing the entrance, contains two single pillars,
with bell-shaped capitals, which rise above it and stand like guards
before the doorway of the pylon. Here was another enigma for us. Who
among modern architects would dare to plant two single pillars before
a pyramidal gateway of solid masonry, and then inclose them in a plain
wall, rising to half their height? Yet here the symmetry of the shafts
is not injured by the wall in which they stand, nor oppressed by the
ponderous bulk of the pylon. On the contrary, the light columns and
spreading capitals, like a tuft of wild roses hanging from the crevice of
a rock, brighten the rude strength of the masses of stone with a gleam of
singular loveliness. What would otherwise only impress you by its size,
now endears itself to you by its beauty. Is this the effect of chance, or
the result of a finer art than that which flourishes in our day? I will
not pretend to determine, but I must confess that Egypt, in whose ruins I
had expected to find only a sort of barbaric grandeur, has given me a new
insight into that vital Beauty which is the soul of true Art.

We devoted little time to the ruined court and sanctuaries which follow
the pylon, and to the lodges of the main temple standing beside them
like watch-towers, three stories in height. The majestic pylon of the
great temple of Remeses III. rose behind them, out of heaps of pottery
and unburnt bricks, and the colossal figure of the monarch in his car,
borne by two horses into the midst of the routed enemy, attracted us from
a distance. We followed the exterior wall of the temple, for its whole
length of more than six hundred feet, reading the sculptured history of
his conquests. The entire outer wall of the temple presents a series of
gigantic cartoons, cut in the blocks of sandstone, of which it is built.
Remeses is always the central figure, distinguished from subjects and
foes no less by his superior stature than by the royal emblems which
accompany him. Here we see heralds sounding the trumpet in advance of
his car, while his troops pass in review before him; there, with a lion
walking by his side, he sets out on his work of conquest. His soldiers
storm a town, and we see them climbing the wall with ladders, while a
desperate hand-to-hand conflict is going on below. In another place, he
has alighted from his chariot and stands with his foot on the neck of a
slaughtered king. Again, his vessels attack a hostile navy on the sea.
One of the foreign craft becomes entangled and is capsized, yet while
his spearmen hurl their weapons among the dismayed enemy, the sailors
rescue those who are struggling in the flood. After we have passed
through these strange and stirring pictures, we find the monarch reposing
on his throne, while his soldiers deposit before him the hands of the
slaughtered, and his scribes present to him lists of their numbers, and
his generals lead to him long processions of fettered captives. Again, he
is represented as offering a group of subject kings to Amun, the Theban
Jupiter, who says to him: “Go, my cherished and chosen, make war on
foreign nations, besiege their forts and carry off their people to live
as captives.” On the front wall, he holds in his grasp the hands of a
dozen monarchs, while with the other hand he raises his sword to destroy
them. Their faces express the very extreme of grief and misery, but he is
cold and calm as Fate itself.

We slid down the piles of sand and entered by a side-door into the grand
hall of the temple. Here, as at Dendera, a surprise awaited us. We stood
on the pavement of a magnificent court, about one hundred and thirty feet
square, around which ran a colonnade of pillars, eight feet square and
forty feet high. On the western side is an inner row of circular columns,
twenty-four feet in circumference, with capitals representing the papyrus
blossom. The entire court, with its walls, pillars and doorways, is
covered with splendid sculptures and traces of paint, and the ceiling
is blue as the noonday sky, and studded with stars. Against each of the
square columns facing the court once stood a colossal caryatid, upholding
the architrave of another colonnade of granite shafts, nearly all of
which have been thrown from their bases and lie shivered on the pavement.
This court opens towards the pylon into another of similar dimensions,
but buried almost to the capitals of its columns in heaps of rubbish. The
character of the temple is totally different from that of every other
in Egypt. Its height is small in proportion to its great extent, and it
therefore loses the airy lightness of the Memnonium and the impressive
grandeur of Dendera. Its expression is that of a massive magnificence,
if I may use such a doubtful compound: no single epithet suffices to
describe it.

With Medeenet Abou finished our survey of the western division of
Thebes—two long days of such experience as the contemplation of a
lifetime cannot exhaust. At sunset we took advantage of the wind, parted
from our grooms and water-carriers, who wished to accompany me to
Khartoum, and crossed the Nile to Luxor.

CHAPTER X.

THE ALMEHS, LUXOR AND KARNAK.

The Dancing Girls of Egypt—A Night Scene in Luxor—The
Orange-Blossom and the Apple-Blossom—The Beautiful Bemba—The
Dance—Performance of the Apple Blossom—The Temple of Luxor—A
Mohammedan School—Gallop to Karnak—View of the Ruins—The Great
Hall of Pillars—Bedouin Diversions—A Night Ride—Karnak under
the Full Moon—Farewell to Thebes.

Two days in the tombs of the Kings and the temples of the Remesides and
the Osirei exhausted us more thoroughly than a week of hard labor. In
addition to the natural and exciting emotion, with which we contemplated
those remains, and which we would not have repressed, if we could,
we puzzled ourselves with the secrets of Egyptian architecture and
the mysteries of Egyptian faith. Those pregnant days were followed by
sleepless nights, and we reached Luxor at sunset with a certain dread
of the morrow. Our mental nerves were too tensely strung, and we felt
severely the want of some relaxation of an opposite character. The course
which we adopted to freshen our minds for Karnak may strike a novice as
singular, but it was most effectual, and can be explained on the truest
philosophical principles.

In the afternoon Achmet had informed us that two of the celebrated
Almehs, or dancing-women of the East, who had been banished to Esneh,
were in Luxor, and recommended us to witness their performance. This
was a welcome proposition, and the matter was soon arranged. Our raïs
procured a large room, had it cleared, engaged the performers and
musicians, and took the cushions of our cabin to make us a stately seat.
If one should engage Castle Garden, and hire a company of ballet-dancers
to perform for his special amusement, the fact would shake the pillars of
New-York society, and as it was, I can think of some very good friends
who will condemn our proceeding as indiscreet, and unworthy the serious
aims of travel. As I have no apology to make to myself, I need make none
to them, except to suggest that the first end of travel is instruction,
and that the traveller is fully justified in pursuing this end, so long
as he neither injures himself nor others.

About eight o’clock, accompanied by Achmet, our Theban guide, the raïs of
our vessel, and our favorite sailor, Ali, we set out for the rendezvous.
Ali was the most gentleman-like Fellah I ever saw. His appearance was
always neat and orderly, but on this particular evening his white turban
was sprucer than ever, and his blue mantle hung as gracefully on his
shoulders as the cloak of a Spanish grandee. He followed behind us,
rejoicingly bearing the shebooks, as we walked under the moonlit columns
of Luxor. We passed around the corner of the temple and ascended a
flight of stone steps, to one of the upper chambers. It was a room about
thirty feet long by fifteen wide, with a roof of palm-logs, covered with
thatch. The floor rested on the ceiling of the ancient sanctuary. Our
boat-lanterns of oiled paper were already suspended from the roof, and a
few candles, stuck in empty bottles, completed the illumination.

We were politely received and conducted to the divan, formed impromptu
of a large _cafass_, or hen-coop, covered with a carpet and cushions.
We seated ourselves upon it, with legs crossed Moslem-wise, while our
attendants ranged themselves on the floor on the left, and Ali stood
on the right, ready to replenish the pipes. Opposite to us sat the two
Almehs, with four attendant dancers, and three female singers, and beside
them the music, consisting of two drums, a tambourine, and a squeaking
Arab violin. Our crew, shining in white turbans, were ranged near the
door, with a number of invited guests, so that the whole company amounted
to upwards of forty persons. On our entrance the Almehs rose, came
forward and greeted us, touching our hands to the lips and forehead. They
then sat down, drank each a small glass of _arakee_, and while the drum
thumped and the violin drawled a monotonous prelude to the dance, we had
leisure to scrutinize their dress and features.

The two famed danseuses bore Arabic names, which were translated to us as
the Orange-Blossom and the Apple-Blossom. The first was of medium size,
with an olive complexion, and regular, though not handsome features. She
wore a white dress, fitting like a vest from the shoulders to the hips,
with short, flowing sleeves, under which a fine blue gauze, confined at
the wrist with bracelets, hung like a mist about her arms. Her head-dress
was a small red cap, with a coronet of gold coins, under which her black
hair escaped in two shining braids. The Apple-Blossom, who could not
have been more than fifteen years old, was small and slightly formed,
dark-skinned, and might have been called beautiful, but for a defect in
one of her eyes. Her dress was of dark crimson silk, with trowsers and
armlets of white gauze, and a red cap, so covered with coins that it
nearly resembled a helmet of golden scales, with a fringe falling on each
side of her face. Three of the other assistants were dressed in white,
with shawls of brilliant patterns bound around the waist. The fourth
was a Nubian slave, named Zakhfara, whose shining black face looked
wonderfully picturesque under the scarlet mantle which enveloped it like
a turban, and fell in long folds almost to her feet. Among the singers
was one named Bemba, who was almost the only really beautiful Egyptian
woman I ever saw. Her features were large, but perfectly regular; and
her long, thick, silky hair hung loose nearly to her shoulders before
its gleaming mass was gathered into braids. Her teeth were even, and
white as pearls, and the lids of her large black eyes were stained with
_kohl_, which gave them a languishing, melancholy expression. She was a
most consummate actress; for she no sooner saw that we noticed her face
than she assumed the most indifferent air in the world and did not look
at us again. But during the whole evening every movement was studied. The
shawl was disposed in more graceful folds about her head; the hair was
tossed back from her shoulders; the hand, tinged with henna, held the
jasmine tube of her pipe in a hundred different attitudes, and only on
leaving did she lift her eyes as if first aware of our presence and wish
us “_buona sera_”—the only Italian words she knew—with the most musical
accent of which an Arab voice is capable.

Meanwhile, the voices of the women mingled with the shrill, barbaric
tones of the violin, and the prelude passed into a measured song of long,
unvarying cadences, which the drums and tambourine accompanied with rapid
beats. The Orange-Blossom and one of her companions took the floor,
after drinking another glass of arakee and tightening the shawls around
their hips. The dance commenced with a slow movement, both hands being
lifted above the head, while the jingling bits of metal on their shawls
and two miniature cymbals of brass, fastened to the thumb and middle
finger, kept time to the music. As the dancers became animated, their
motions were more rapid and violent, and the measure was marked, not in
pirouettes and flying bounds, as on the boards of Frank theatres, but by
a most wonderful command over the muscles of the chest and limbs. Their
frames vibrated with the music like the strings of the violin, and as the
song grew wild and stormy towards its close, the movements, had they not
accorded with it, would have resembled those of a person seized with some
violent nervous spasm. After this had continued for an incredible length
of time, and I expected to see the Almehs fall exhausted to the earth,
the music ceased, and they stood before us calm and cold, with their
breathing not perceptibly hurried. The dance had a second part, of very
different character. Still with their lifted hands striking the little
cymbals, they marked a circle of springing bounds, in which their figures
occasionally reminded me of the dancing nymphs of Greek sculpture. The
instant before touching the floor, as they hung in the air with the head
bent forward, one foot thrown behind, and both arms extended above the
head, they were drawn on the background of the dark hall, like forms
taken from the frieze of a temple to Bacchus or Pan.

Eastern politeness did not require us to cry “brava!” or “encore!” so we
merely handed our pipes to Ali, to be filled a second time. Old Achmet
Gourgàr, our Theban guide, however, was so enraptured that he several
times ejaculated; “_taïb keteer!_” (very good indeed!) and Raïs Hassan’s
dark face beamed all over with delight. The circle of white turbaned
heads in the rear looked on complacently, and our guard, who stood in the
moonlight before the open door, almost forgot his duty in his enjoyment
of the spectacle. I shall never forget the wild, fantastic picture we saw
that night in the ruins of Luxor.

The Apple-Blossom, who followed in a dance with one named Bakhita,
pleased me far better. She added a thousand graceful embellishments to
the monotonous soul of the music; and her dance, if barbaric, was as
poetic as her native palm-tree. She was lithe as a serpent, and agile
as a young panther, and some of her movements were most extraordinary,
in the nerve and daring required to execute them, and to introduce them
without neglecting the rhythm of the dance. More than once she sank
slowly back, bending her knees forward, till her head and shoulders
touched the floor, and then, quick as a flash, shot flying into the air,
her foot alighting in exact time with the thump of the drum. She had
the power of moving her body from side to side, so that it curved like
a snake from the hips to the shoulders, and once I thought that, like
Lamia, she was about to resume her ancient shape, and slip out of sight
through some hole in the ruined walls. One of the dances was a sort of
pantomime, which she and Bakhita accompanied with their voices—clear,
shrill, ringing tones, which never faltered for a moment, or varied a
hair’s breadth from the melody, while every muscle was agitated with
the exertion of her movements. The song was pervaded with a strange,
passionate _tremolo_, unlike any thing I ever heard before. The burden
was: “I am alone; my family and my friends are all dead; the plague has
destroyed them. Come, then, to me, and be my beloved, for I have no other
to love me.” Her gestures exhibited a singular mixture of the abandonment
of grief, and the longing of love. While her body swayed to and fro with
the wild, sad rhythm of the words, she raised both arms before her till
the long sleeves fell back and covered her face: then opening them in
wistful entreaty, sang the last line of the chorus, and bringing her
hands to her forehead, relapsed into grief again. Apparently the prayer
is answered, for the concluding movement expressed a delirious joy.

We listened to the music and looked on the dances for more than two
hours, but at length the twanging of the violin and the never-ending
drum-thumps began to set our teeth on edge, and we unfolded our
cramped legs and got down from the divan. The lantern was unswung, the
candle-ends taken from the empty bottles, the Almehs received their
fees and went off rejoicing, and we left the chambers of Luxor to the
night-wind and the moon.

The guide of the Eastern bank, a wiry young Bedouin, was in attendance
next morning, and a crowd of horses and asses awaited us on the shore.
I chose a brown mare, with a small, slender head and keen eye, and soon
accustomed myself to the Turkish saddle and broad shovel-stirrups. The
temple of Luxor is imbedded in the modern village, and only the front
of the pylon, facing towards Karnak, and part of the grand central
colonnade, is free from its vile excrescences. For this reason its
effect is less agreeable than that of the Memnonium, although of much
grander proportions. Its plan is easily traced, nevertheless, and having
been built by only two monarchs, Remeses the Great and Amunoph III.—or,
to use their more familiar titles, Sesostris and Memnon—it is less
bewildering, in a historical point of view, to the unstudied tourist,
than most of the other temples of Egypt. The sanctuary, which stands
nearest the Nile, is still protected by the ancient stone quay, though
the river has made rapid advances, and threatens finally to undermine
Luxor as it has already undermined the temples of Antæopolis and Antinoë.
I rode into what were once the sacred chambers, but the pillars and
sculptures were covered with filth, and the Arabs had built in, around
and upon them, like the clay nests of the cliff-sparrow. The peristyle of
majestic Osiride pillars, in front of the portico, as well as the portico
itself, are buried to half their depth, and so surrounded by hovels,
that to get an idea of their arrangement you must make the tour of a
number of hen-houses and asses’ stalls. The pillars are now employed as
drying-posts for the buffalo dung which the Arabs use as fuel.

Proceeding towards the entrance, the next court, which is tolerably free
from incumbrances, contains a colonnade of two rows of lotus-crowned
columns, twenty-eight feet in circumference. They still uphold their
architraves of giant blocks of sandstone, and rising high above the
miserable dwellings of the village, are visible from every part of the
plain of Thebes. The English Vice-Consul, Mustapha Agha, occupies a house
between two of these pillars. We returned the visit he had paid us on our
arrival, and were regaled with the everlasting coffee and shebook, than
which there is no more grateful refreshment. He gave us the agreeable
news that Mr. Murray was endeavoring to persuade the Pasha to have
Karnak cleared of its rubbish and preserved from further spoliation. If
I possessed despotic power—and I then wished it for the first time—I
should certainly make despotic use of it, in tearing down some dozens
of villages and setting some thousands of Copts and Fellahs at work in
exhuming what their ancestors have mutilated and buried. The world cannot
spare these remains. Tear down Roman ruins if you will; level Cyclopean
walls; build bridges with the stones of Gothic abbeys and feudal
fortresses; but lay no hand on the glory and grandeur of Egypt.

In order to ascend the great pylon of the temple, we were obliged to pass
through a school, in which thirty or forty little Luxorians were conning
their scraps of the Koran. They immediately surrounded us, holding up
their tin slates, scribbled with Arabic characters, for our inspection,
and demanded backsheesh for their proficiency. The gray-bearded pedagogue
tried to quiet them, but could not prevent several from following us.
The victories of Remeses are sculptured on the face of the towers of the
pylon, but his colossi, solid figures of granite, which sit on either
side of the entrance, have been much defaced. The lonely obelisk, which
stands a little in advance, on the left hand, is more perfect than its
Parisian mate. From this stately entrance, an avenue of colossal sphinxes
once extended to the Ptolemaic pylon of Karnak, a distance of a mile and
a half. The sphinxes have disappeared, but the modern Arab road leads
over its site, through fields of waste grass.

And now we galloped forward, through a long procession of camels,
donkeys, and Desert Arabs armed with spears, towards Karnak, the greatest
ruin in the world, the crowning triumph of Egyptian power and Egyptian
art. Except a broken stone here and there protruding through the soil,
the plain is as desolate as if it had never been conscious of a human
dwelling, and only on reaching the vicinity of the mud hamlet of Karnak,
can the traveller realize that he is in Thebes. Here the camel-path drops
into a broad excavated avenue, lined with fragments of sphinxes and
shaded by starveling acacias. As you advance, the sphinxes are better
preserved and remain seated on their pedestals, but they have all been
decapitated. Though of colossal proportions, they are seated so close
to each other, that it must have required nearly two thousand to form
the double row to Luxor. The avenue finally reaches a single pylon, of
majestic proportions, built by one of the Ptolemies, and covered with
profuse hieroglyphics. Passing through this, the sphinxes lead you to
another pylon, followed by a pillared court and a temple built by the
later Remesides. This, I thought, while my friend was measuring the girth
of the pillars, is a good beginning for Karnak, but it is certainly much
less than I expect. “_Tāāl min hennee!_” (come this way!) called the
guide, as if reading my mind, and led me up the heaps of rubbish to the
roof and pointed to the north.

Ah, there was Karnak! Had I been blind up to this time, or had the earth
suddenly heaved out of her breast the remains of the glorious temple?
From all parts of the plain of Thebes I had seen it in the distance—a
huge propylon, a shattered portico, and an obelisk, rising above the
palms. Whence this wilderness of ruins, spreading so far as to seem a
city rather than a temple—pylon after pylon, tumbling into enormous
cubes of stone, long colonnades, supporting fragments of Titanic roofs,
obelisks of red granite, and endless walls and avenues, branching out to
isolated portals? Yet they stood as silently amid the accumulated rubbish
of nearly four thousand years, and the sunshine threw its yellow lustre
as serenely over the despoiled sanctuaries, as if it had never been
otherwise, since the world began. Figures are of no use, in describing
a place like this, but since I must use them, I may say that the length
of the ruins before us, from west to east, was twelve hundred feet, and
that the total circumference of Karnak, including its numerous pylæ, or
gateways, is a mile and a half.

We mounted and rode with fast-beating hearts to the western or main
entrance, facing the Nile. The two towers of the propylon—pyramidal
masses of solid stone—are three hundred and twenty-nine feet in length,
and the one which is least ruined, is nearly one hundred feet in height.
On each side of the sculptured portal connecting them, is a tablet left
by the French army, recording the geographical position of the principal
Egyptian temples. We passed through and entered an open court, more than
three hundred feet square, with a corridor of immense pillars on each
side, connecting it with the towers of a second pylon, nearly as gigantic
as the first. A colonnade of lofty shafts, leading through the centre of
the court, once united the two entrances, but they have all been hurled
down and lay as they fell, in long lines of disjointed blocks, except
one, which holds its solitary lotus-bell against the sky. Two mutilated
colossi of red granite still guard the doorway, whose lintel-stones are
forty feet in length. Climbing over the huge fragments which have fallen
from above and almost blocked up the passage, we looked down into the
grand hall of the temple.

I knew the dimensions of this hall, beforehand; I knew the number and
size of the pillars, but I was no more prepared for the reality than
those will be, who may read this account of it and afterwards visit
Karnak for themselves. It is the great good-luck of travel that many
things must be seen to be known. Nothing could have compensated for
the loss of that overwhelming confusion of awe, astonishment, and
delight, which came upon me like a flood. I looked down an avenue of
twelve pillars—six on each side—each of which was thirty-six feet
in circumference and nearly eighty feet in height. Crushing as were
these ponderous masses of sculptured stone, the spreading bell of the
lotus-blossoms which crowned them, clothed them with an atmosphere of
lightness and grace. In front, over the top of another pile of colossal
blocks, two obelisks rose sharp and clear, with every emblem legible on
their polished sides. On each side of the main aisle are seven other rows
of columns—_one hundred and twenty-two_, in all—each of which is about
fifty feet high and twenty-seven in circumference. They have the Osiride
form, without capitals, and do not range with the central shafts. In the
efforts of the conquerors to overthrow them, two have been hurled from
their places and thrown against the neighboring ones, where they still
lean, as if weary with holding up the roof of massive sandstone. I walked
alone through this hall, trying to bear the weight of its unutterable
majesty and beauty. That I had been so oppressed by Dendera, seemed a
weakness which I was resolved to conquer, and I finally succeeded in
looking on Karnak with a calmness more commensurate with its sublime
repose—but not by daylight.

My ride back to Luxor, towards evening, was the next best thing after
Karnak. The little animal I rode had become excited by jumping over
stones and sliding down sand-heaps; our guide began to show his Bedouin
blood by dashing at full gallop toward the pylons and reining in his
horse at a bound; and, to conclude, I became infected with a lawless
spirit that could not easily be laid. The guide’s eyes sparkled when
I proposed a race. We left my friend and the water-carriers, bounded
across the avenue of sphinxes, and took a smooth path leading toward the
Desert. My mare needed but a word and a jog of the iron stirrup. Away we
flew, our animals stretching themselves for a long heat, crashing the
dry dourra-stalks, clearing the water-ditches, and scattering on all
sides the Arab laborers we met. After a glorious gallop of two or three
miles my antagonist was fairly distanced; but one race would not content
him, so we had a second, and finally a third, on the beach of Luxor. The
horses belonged to him, and it was a matter of indifference which was the
swiftest; he raced merely for the delight of it, and so did I.

The same gallant mare was ready for me at night. It was precisely full
moon, and I had determined on visiting Karnak again before leaving. There
was no one but the guide and I, he armed with his long spear, and I with
my pistols in my belt. There was a wan haze in the air, and a pale halo
around the moon, on each side of which appeared two faint mock-moons.
It was a ghostly light, and the fresh north-wind, coming up the Nile,
rustled solemnly in the palm-trees. We trotted silently to Karnak, and
leaped our horses over the fragments until we reached the foot of the
first obelisk. Here we dismounted and entered the grand hall of pillars.
There was no sound in all the temple, and the guide, who seemed to
comprehend my wish, moved behind me as softly as a shadow, and spoke not
a word. It needs this illumination to comprehend Karnak. The unsightly
rubbish has disappeared: the rents in the roof are atoned for by the
moonlight they admit; the fragments shivered from the lips of the mighty
capitals are only the crumpled edges of the flower: a maze of shadows
hides the desolation of the courts, but every pillar and obelisk, pylon
and propylon is glorified by the moonlight. The soul of Karnak is soothed
and tranquillized. Its halls look upon you no longer with an aspect of
pain and humiliation. Every stone seems to say: “I am not fallen, for I
have defied the ages. I am a part of that grandeur which has never seen
its peer, and I shall endure for ever, for the world has need of me.”

I climbed to the roof, and sat looking down into the hushed and awful
colonnades, till I was thoroughly penetrated with their august and
sublime expression. I should probably have remained all night, an amateur
colossus, with my hands on my knees, had not the silence been disturbed
by two arrivals of romantic tourists—an Englishman and two Frenchmen. We
exchanged salutations, and I mounted the restless mare again, touched her
side with the stirrup, and sped back to Luxor. The guide galloped beside
me, occasionally hurling his spear into the air and catching it as it
fell, delighted with my readiness to indulge his desert whims. I found
the captain and sailors all ready and my friend smoking his pipe on deck.
In half an hour we had left Thebes.

CHAPTER XI.

FROM THEBES TO THE NUBIAN FRONTIER.

Our journey from Thebes to Assouan occupied six days, including a halt
of twenty-four hours at Esneh. We left Luxor on the night of December
8th, but the westward curve of the Nile brought us in opposition with the
wind, and the next day at noon we had only reached Erment, the ancient
Hermontis, in sight of the three peaks of the Theban hills. We left
our men to tug the boat along shore, and wandered off to the mounds of
the old city, still graced with a small temple, or lying-in house of
the goddess Reto, who is here represented as giving birth to the god
Hor-pire. The sculptures in the dark chambers, now used as stalls for
asses, were evidently intended only for the priesthood of the temple, and
are not repeated, as are those of other temples, in the halls open to
the public. Notwithstanding the great license which the Egyptian faith
assumed, its symbols are, in general, scrupulously guarded from all low
and unworthy forms of representation.

The group of pillars in the outer court charmed us by the richness
and variety of their designs. No two capitals are of similar pattern,
while in their combinations of the papyrus, the lotus and the palm-leaf,
they harmonize one with another and as a whole. The abacus, between the
capital and the architrave, is so high as almost to resemble a second
shaft. In Karnak and the Memnonium it is narrow, and lifts the ponderous
beam just enough to prevent its oppressing the lightness of the capital.
I was so delighted with the pillars of Hermontis that I scarcely knew
whether to call this peculiarity a grace or a defect. I have never seen
it employed in modern architecture, and judge therefore that it has
either been condemned by our rules or that our architects have not the
skill and daring of the Egyptians.

We reached Esneh the same night, but were obliged to remain all the next
day in order to allow our sailors to bake their bread. We employed the
time in visiting the temple, the only remnant of the ancient Latopolis,
and the palace of Abbas Pasha, on the bank of the Nile. The portico
of the temple, half buried in rubbish, like that of Dendera, which it
resembles in design, is exceedingly beautiful. Each of its twenty-four
columns is crowned with a different capital, so chaste and elegant in
their execution that it is impossible to give any one the preference.
The designs are mostly copied from the doum-palm, the date-palm, and
the lotus, but the cane, the vine, and various water-plants are also
introduced. The building dates from the time of the Ptolemies, and its
sculptures are uninteresting. We devoted all our time to the study of
the capitals, a labyrinth of beauty, in which we were soon entangled.
The Governor of Esneh, Ali Effendi, a most friendly and agreeable Arab,
accompanied us through the temple, and pointed out all the fishes,
birds and crocodiles he could find. To him they were evidently the most
interesting things in it. He asked me how old the building was, and by
whom it had been erected. On leaving, we accepted his invitation to
partake of coffee and pipes. The visit took place in due form, with many
grave salutations, which we conscientiously imitated. Achmet had returned
to our boat, and my small stock of Arabic was soon exhausted, but we
managed to exchange all the necessary common-places.

The day of leaving Esneh, we reached El Kab, the ancient Eleuthyas, whose
rock-tombs are among the most curious in Egypt. We landed at twilight,
provided with candles, and made our way through fields of wiry _halfeh_
grass, and through a breach in the brick wall of the ancient town, to the
Arabian Desert. It was already dark, but our guide, armed with his long
spear, stalked vigorously forward, and brought us safely up the mountain
path to the entrances of the sepulchres. There are a large number of
these, but only two are worth visiting, on account of the light which
they throw on the social life of the Egyptians. The owner of the tomb
and his wife—a red man and a yellow woman—are here seen, receiving the
delighted guests. Seats are given them, and each is presented with an
aromatic flower, while the servants in the kitchen hasten to prepare
savory dishes. In other compartments, all the most minute processes of
agriculture are represented with wonderful fidelity. So little change
has taken place in three thousand years, that they would answer, with
scarcely a correction, as illustrations of the Fellah agriculture of
Modern Egypt.

The next morning we walked ahead to the temple of Edfou, shooting a few
brace of fat partridges by the way, and scaring two large jackals from
their lairs in the thick grass. The superb pylon of the temple rose above
the earthy mounds of Apollinopolis like a double-truncated pyramid. It
is in an entire state of preservation, with all its internal chambers,
passages and stairways. The exterior is sculptured with colossal
figures of the gods, thirty feet in height, and from the base of the
portal to the scroll-like cornice of the pylon, is more than a hundred
feet. Through the door we entered a large open court, surrounded by a
colonnade. The grand portico of the temple, buried nearly to the tops of
its pillars, faced us, and we could only judge, from the designs of the
capitals and the girth of the shaft, the imposing effect which it must
have produced on those who entered the court. The interior is totally
filled with rubbish, and a whole village of Arab huts stands on the roof.

A strong wind carried us, before sunset, to the quarries of Djebel
Silsileh, the “Mountain of the Chain,” where the Nile is compressed
between two rugged sandstone hills. The river is not more than three
hundred yards broad, and the approach to this rocky gateway, after
so many weeks of level alluvial plain, is very striking. Here are
the sandstone quarries whence the huge blocks were cut, to build the
temples and shape the colossi of Thebes. They lie on the eastern bank,
close to the river, and the ways down which the stones were slid to the
vessels that received them, are still to be seen. The stone is of a pale
reddish-brown color, and a very fine and clear grain. It appears to
have been divided into squares of the proper size, and cut from above
downward. The shape of many of the enormous blocks may be easily traced.
In one place the rock has been roughly hewn into a sort of temple,
supported by pillars thirty feet square, and with an entrance as grand
and rude as a work of the Titans.

In the morning we awoke in the shadow of Ombos, which stands on a hill
overlooking the Nile, into which its temple to Isis has fallen. Little
now remains of the great temple to Savak, the crocodile-headed god, the
deity of Ombos, but its double portico, supported by thirteen pillars,
buried nearly waist-deep in the sands. The aspect of these remains,
seated on the lonely promontory commanding the course of the river
and the harvest-land of the opposite shore, while the stealthy Desert
approaches it from behind, and year by year heaps the sand higher against
the shattered sanctuary, is sadly touching. We lingered and lingered
around its columns, loth to leave the ruined grace which a very few years
will obliterate. Two such foes as the Nile and the Desert make rapid
progress, where no human hand is interposed to stay them. As we sailed
away, a large crocodile, perhaps Savak himself, lay motionless on a
sand-bank with his long snout raised in the air.

We were two days in sailing from Ombos to Assouan owing to a dead calm,
the first in two weeks. The nights were very cool, and the mid-day
temperature not too warm for comfort. One morning my thermometer stood
at 40°; the Arabs complained bitterly of the cold, and, wrapped in their
woolen mantles, crawled about the deck as languidly as benumbed flies.
At noon the mercury did not often rise above 75° in the shade. As we
approach Nubia, the scenery of the river undergoes a complete change.
The rugged hills of black sandstone and granite usurp the place of
the fields, and leave but a narrow strip of cultivable land on either
side. The Arabs are darker and show the blood of the desert tribes in
their features. They are, however, exceedingly friendly. The day before
reaching Assouan, we walked ahead of our boat and were obliged to wait
two or three hours. We had a retinue of boys, who pummelled one another
as to which should pick up the pigeons we shot. The successful one came
bounding back with a face sparkling with delight, and kissed the bird
and touched it to his forehead as he gave it to us. As we were resting
under the palm-trees, my friend regretted that we had not brought our
shebooks along with us. One of the Arabs, guessing his wish from the
word “shebook,” instantly ran off and scoured the dourra-fields until
he found a laborer who owned a pipe. He brought the man back, with the
sickle in his hand and a corn-stalk pipe of very indifferent tobacco,
which he gravely presented to my friend. Before returning on board we saw
a wonderful mirage. Two small lakes of blue water, glittering in the sun,
lay spread in the yellow sands, apparently not more than a mile distant.
There was not the least sign of vapor in the air, and as we were quite
unacquainted with the appearance of the mirage, we decided that the lakes
were Nile-water, left from the inundation. I pointed to them and asked
the Arabs: “Is that water?” “No, no!” they all exclaimed: “that is no
water—that is a _bahr Shaytan_!” (a river of the Devil).

The white tomb of a Moslem saint, sparkling in the noon day sun, on the
summit of a hill overlooking the Nile, finally announced our arrival at
the Nubian frontier. We now beheld the palms of Assouan and the granite
cliffs beyond—which we had been so impatient to reach, a few hours
before—with regret, almost with dread. This was our point of separation.
My pathway was through those desolate hills, into the heart of Nubia,
into the Desert, and the strange countries beyond, where so few had
been before me. The vestibule was passed: Egypt lay behind me. The long
landscape of the Nile was but the dromos to that temple of African life,
whose adytum was still far in advance, deep in the fiery tropical silence
of Ethiopia. While my blood thrilled at the prospect, and the thirst of
adventure and discovery inspired me as the wind of the Desert inspires
the Arab charger, I could not part with indifference from the man who
had shared with me the first august impression, the sublime fascination
of Egypt. Nor was the prospect of a solitary voyage back to Cairo at
all cheering to him. Achmet would of course accompany me, and the cook,
Salame, who knew barely twenty words of French and Italian, must perforce
act as dragoman. My friend was therefore completely at the mercy of the
captain and crew, and saw nothing but annoyance and embarrassment before
him. I had much trust in Raïs Hassan’s honesty and good faith, and was
glad to learn, several months afterwards, that his conduct had confirmed
it.

CHAPTER XII.

PHILÆ AND THE CATARACT.

“Where Nile reflects the endless length
Of dark-red colonnades.”—MACAULAY.

We had scarcely moored our vessel to the beach at Assouan, before a
messenger of the Governor arrived to ask if there was an American on
board. He received the information, and we were occupied in preparing
ourselves for an excursion to the island of Elephantine, when Achmet
called to us: “The Governor is coming.” We had no time to arrange our
cabin for his reception; he was already at the door, with two attendants,
and the most I could do was to clear sufficient space for a seat on my
divan. His Excellency was a short, stout, broad-faced man, with large
eyes, a gray beard and a flat nose. He wore a semi-European dress of
brown cloth, and was blunt though cordial in his manners. His attendants,
one of whom was the Captain of the Cataract, wore the Egyptian dress,
with black turbans. They saluted us by touching their hands to the
lips and forehead, and we responded in similar manner, after which the
Governor inquired after our health and we inquired after his. I delivered
my letter, and while he was occupied in reading it, Achmet prepared the
coffee and pipes. Luckily, we had three shebooks, the best of which,
having an amber mouth-piece, was presented to the Governor. I waited
for the coffee with some trepidation, for I knew we had but two Turkish
_finjans_, and a Frank cup was out of the question. However, Achmet was
a skilful servant. He presented the cups at such intervals that one was
sure to be empty while the other was full, and artfully drew away the
attention of our guests by his ceremonious presentations; so that not
only they but both of us partook twice of coffee, without the least
embarrassment, and I believe, had there been ten persons instead of five,
he would have given the two cups the effect of ten.

After the Governor had expressed his pleasure in flowing Oriental
phrases, and promised to engage me a boat for Korosko, he took his
leave and we crossed in a ferry barge to Elephantine. This is a small
but fertile island, whose granite foundations are fast anchored in the
Nile. It once was covered with extensive ruins, but they have all been
destroyed except a single gateway and an altar to Amun, both of red
granite, and a sitting statue of marble. The southern part is entirely
covered with the ruins of a village of unburnt brick, from the topmost
piles of which we enjoyed a fine view of the picturesque environs of
Assouan. The bed of the Nile, to the south, was broken with isles of
dark-red granite rock, the same formation which appears in the jagged
crests of the mountains beyond the city. Scattered over them were the
tombs of holy men, dating from the times of the Saracens. A thin
palm-grove somewhat concealed the barren aspect of the city, but our
glances passed it, to rest on the distant hills, kindling in the setting
sun.

The island is inhabited by Nubians, and some twenty or thirty
children, of from six to ten years of age—the boys entirely naked,
the girls wearing the _ràhad_, a narrow leathern girdle, around the
loins—surrounded us, crying “_backsheesh!_” and offering for sale bits
of agate, coins, and fragments of pottery. Some of them had cunning
but none of them intelligent faces; and their large black eyes had an
astonishingly precocious expression of sensuality. We bought a few
trifles and tried to dismiss them, but their numbers increased, so that
by the time we had made the tour of the island we had a retinue of fifty
followers. I took the branches of henna they offered me and switched the
most impudent of them, but they seemed then to consider that they had a
rightful claim to the backsheesh, and were more importunate than ever. As
we left, they gathered on the shore and sang us a farewell chorus, but
a few five para pieces, thrown among them, changed the harmony into a
scramble and a fight, in which occupation these lovely children of Nature
were engaged until we lost sight of them.

The next day we visited Philæ. We took donkeys and a guide and threaded
the dismal valley of Saracenic tombs south of the town, into a pass
leading through the granite hills. The landscape was wintry in its
bleakness and ruggedness. The path over which we rode was hard sand
and gravel, and on both sides the dark rocks were piled in a thousand
wonderful combinations. On the surface there is no appearance of regular
strata, but rather of some terrible convulsion, which has broken the
immense masses and thrown them confusedly together. Russegger noticed
that the structure of the primitive strata of Assouan was exactly
similar to that of Northern Lapland. The varieties of landscape, in
different climates, depend therefore upon the difference of vegetation
and of atmospheric effect, rather than that of geological forms, which
always preserve their identity. Dr. Kane also found in the bleak hills
of Greenland the same structure which he had observed in the Ghauts of
tropical India.

After three or four miles of this travel the pass opened upon the Nile,
just above the Cataract. At the termination of the portage is a Nubian
village, whose plantations of doum and date-palms and acacias are
dazzling in their greenness, from contrast with the bleak pyramids of
rock and the tawny drifts of the Lybian sands on the western bank. We
rode down to the port, where a dozen trading vessels lay at anchor, and
took a large boat for Philæ. The Governor of Assouan was there, and His
Excellency showed me the vessel he had engaged for me—a small and rather
old _dahabiyeh_, but the best to be had. The price was one hundred and
fifty piastres for the trip—about one hundred and twenty miles—besides
something for the men. Achmet attributed this moderate demand to the
effect of a timely present, which had been delicately conveyed into the
Governor’s hands the night before. There was a tall gentleman, in the
official Egyptian costume, in company with the Governor. Achmet said he
was a French engineer in the service of Abbas Pasha, and I afterwards
learned that he was none other than M. Linant, or Linant Bey whose
name is so well known through his connection with the exploration of
Petra, and of the antiquities in Ethiopia. He was accompanied by his
wife, a French lady, who greeted us courteously, and two daughters of
semi-Abyssinian origin. The latter were dressed in Oriental costume, but
unveiled. M. Linant is a tall, grave person, about fifty years of age. He
wore a crescent of diamonds on his breast, and his features expressed all
the dignity and repose of one who had become thoroughly naturalized in
the East.

As the wind carried us out into the stream, we saw the towers of the
temple of Isis, on Philæ, through a savage gorge of the river. The
enormous masses of dark granite were piled on either side to a height of
several hundred feet, taking in some places the forms of monoliths and
sitting colossi, one of which appeared so lightly balanced on the loose
summit that a strong gale might topple it down the steep. The current
in the narrow channel was so violent that we could make no headway,
but a Nubian boy, swimming on a palm-log, carried a rope to the shore,
and we were at length towed with much labor into the more tranquil
basin girdling Philæ. The four lofty towers of the two pylons, the side
corridors of pillars and the exterior walls of the temple seem perfectly
preserved, on approaching the island, the green turf of whose banks
and the grouping of its palms quite conceal the ruins of a miserable
mud village which surrounds the structures. Philæ is the jewel of the
Nile, but these ruins are an unsightly blotch, which takes away half its
lustre. The setting is nevertheless perfect. The basin of black, jagged
mountains, folding on all sides, yet half-disclosing the avenues to Egypt
and Nubia; the hem of emerald turf at their feet, sprinkled with clusters
of palm, and here and there the pillar or wall of a temple; the ring of
the bright river, no longer turbid as in Lower Egypt: of these it is the
centre, as it was once the radiant focus of their beauty.

The temple, which belongs to the era of the Ptolemies, and is little
more than two thousand years old, was built by various monarchs, and is
very irregular in its plan. Instead of preserving a fixed direction, it
follows the curve of the island, and its various corridors and pylons
have been added to each other with so little regard to proportion,
that the building is much more agreeable when viewed as a collection
of detached parts, than as a whole. From its locality, it has suffered
comparatively little from the ravages of man, and might be restored to
almost its original condition. The mud which Coptic Christians plastered
over the walls of its sanctuaries has concealed, but not defaced, their
richly-colored sculptures, and the palm-leaf and lotus capitals of its
portico retain the first brilliancy of their green and blue tints. The
double corridor of thirty-six columns, in front of the temple, reaching
to the southern end of the island, has never been finished, some of the
capitals last erected being unsculptured, and others exhibiting various
stages of completion. In Egypt one so accustoms himself to looking back
four thousand years, that Philæ seems but of yesterday. The Gothic
Cathedrals of the Middle Ages are like antediluvian remains, compared
with its apparent newness and freshness.

We examined the interior chambers with the aid of a torch, and I also
explored several secret passages, inclosed in the thickness of the
walls. The sculptures are raised on the face of the stone, and painted
in light and brilliant colors. They represent Isis and Osiris, with
their offspring, the god Horus, which three constituted the Trinity
worshipped in Philæ. In one place Isis is seen giving suck to the infant
god—a group which bore a singular resemblance to some painting I have
seen of the Virgin and Child. The gods are here painted of fair, Greek
complexion, and not, as in the oldest tombs and temples, of a light red.
Their profiles are symmetrical and even beautiful, and the emblems by
which they are surrounded, are drawn and colored in admirable taste.
Those friends of the African Race, who point to Egypt as a proof of what
that race has accomplished, are wholly mistaken. The only negro features
represented in Egyptian sculpture are those of slaves and captives
taken in the Ethiopian wars of the Pharaohs. The temples and pyramids
throughout Nubia, as far as the frontiers of Dar-Fūr and Abyssinia, all
bear the hieroglyphs of these monarchs, and there is no evidence in all
the valley of the Nile that the Negro Race ever attained a higher degree
of civilization than is at present exhibited in Congo and Ashantee.

East of the great temple is a square, open building, whose four sides
are rows of columns, supporting an architrave, and united, at about half
their height, by screens of stone. The capitals are all of different
design, yet exhibit the same exquisite harmony which charmed us in
Hermontis and Esneh. The screens and pillars were evidently intended to
have been covered with sculpture, and a roof of sandstone blocks was to
have been added, which would have made the structure as perfect as it
is unique. The square block, or abacus, interposed between the capital
and architrave, is even higher than in the pillars of Hermontis, and I
was equally puzzled whether to call it a grace or a defect. There was
one thing, however, which certainly did give a grace to the building,
and that was our breakfast, which we ate on a block large enough to
have made an altar for the Theban Jupiter, surrounded by a crowd of
silent Arabs. They contemplated the ruins of our cold fowls with no less
interest than did we those of the temples of Philæ.

Before returning, we crossed to the island of Biggeh, where two pillars
of a temple to Athor stand sentry before the door of a mud hut, and a red
granite colossus is lucky in having no head, since it is spared the sight
of such desecration. The children of Biggeh fairly drove us away with the
cries of “_backsheesh!_” The hideous word had been rung in our ears since
leaving Assouan, and when we were again saluted with it, on landing at
the head of the Cataract, patience ceased to be a virtue. My friend took
his cane and I the stick of my donkey-driver, and since the naked pests
dared not approach near enough to get the backsheesh, they finally ceased
to demand it. The word is in every Nubian mouth, and the very boatmen
and camel-drivers as they passed us said “_backsheesh_” instead of “good
morning.” As it was impossible to avoid hearing it, I used the word in
the same way, and cordially returned the greeting. A few days previous,
as we were walking on shore near Esneh, a company of laborers in a
dourra-field began the cry. I responded, holding out my hand, whereupon
one of the men pulled off his white cotton cap (his only garment), and
offered it to me, saying: “If you are poor, take it.”

We walked down to the edge of the Cataract and climbed a rock, which
commanded a view of the principal rapid. There is nothing like a fall,
and the passage up and down is attended with little peril. The bed of the
Nile is filled with granite masses, around which the swift current roars
and foams, and I can imagine that the descent must be very exciting,
though perhaps less so than that of the Rapids of the St. Lawrence.
Boats are towed up, under the superintendence of one of the raïs, or
captains of the Cataract. There are four of these officers, with a
body of about two hundred men. The fee varies from two to four hundred
piastres, according to the size of the boat. One third of the money is
divided among the captains, and the remainder falls to the portion of the
men. This also includes the descent, and travellers going to the Second
Cataract and back, pay half the fee on returning.

On the following morning we visited the ancient granite quarries of
Assouan. They lie in the hills, south of the town, and more than a mile
from the river. I never saw a more magnificent bed of rock. Its color is
a light red, flecked with green, and its grain is very fine and nearly
as solid as porphyry. An obelisk, one hundred feet long and twelve feet
square at the base, still lies in the quarry, having been abandoned on
account of a slight fissure near its summit. Grooves were afterward
cut, for the purpose of separating it into blocks, but for some reason
or other the design was not carried out. In many parts of the quarry
the method employed by the Egyptians to detach the enormous masses, is
plainly to be Been. A shallow groove was first sunk along the line of
fracture, after which mortices about three inches wide and four deep,
were cut at short intervals, for the purpose of receiving wooden wedges.
These having been driven firmly into their sockets, were saturated with
water, and by their expansion forced the solid grain asunder.

We rode back to the _Cleopatra_ with heavy hearts. Every thing had been
prepared for our departure, my friend for Cairo and Germany, and I for
the Nubian Desert and White Nile. The Governor of Assouan had despatched
a letter to the Governor of Korosko, asking him to have camels ready for
the Desert, on my arrival, my own letters to my friends were finished,
my equipage had been transferred to the shore, and camels had arrived to
transport it around the Cataract to the Nubian village, where my boat was
in readiness. Our handsome sailor, Ali, begged so hard to be allowed to
accompany me, that I finally agreed to take him as a servant, and he was
already on duty. Achmet was nearly as cheerful as he, notwithstanding
he had just written to his family to say that he was going to Soudân,
and had given up, as he afterwards informed me, all hopes of ever
seeing Egypt again. The American flag was run down, and the Saxe-Coburg
colors—green and white—hoisted in its stead. We had a parting visit from
the Governor, who gave me another letter to Korosko, and we then sat down
to a breakfast for which we had no appetite. The camels were loaded and
sent off in advance, under Ali’s charge, but I waited until every man was
on board the good old vessel and ready to push off for Cairo. The large
main-sail was unshipped and laid over the cabin, and the stern-sail, only
to be used when the south-wind blows, hoisted in its place. The tow-rope
was wound up and stowed away, and the large oars hung in the rowlocks.
Finally, every sailor was at his post; the moment came, and we parted,
as two men seldom part, who were strangers six weeks before. I goaded my
donkey desperately over the sands, hastened the loading of my effects,
and was speedily afloat and alone on the Nubian Nile.

[Illustration: Ali.]

CHAPTER XIII.

THE NUBIAN NILE.

We passed to the west of the island of Biggeh, where the current is
less rapid, and a gentle north wind soon carried us away from Philæ.
Dark mountains of porphyry rock inclosed the river, and the solitude of
the shores, broken only by the creaking of an occasional _sakia_, or
irrigating wheel, made me feel keenly the loneliness of my situation.
Achmet, who now became cook as well as dragoman, served me up three
fowls, cooked in different styles, for dinner—partly as an earnest of
his skill, and partly to dispel my want of spirits. But the fragrant pipe
which followed dinner was the true promoter of patience, and “Patience,”
says the Arab poet, “is the key of Content.” My boat was a small, slow
craft, and Raïs Hereedee, the captain, the most indolent of Nubians. His
weak, feminine face showed a lack of character, which Achmet soon turned
to advantage, by taking the command into his own hands. The wind was
barely strong enough to obviate the necessity of towing, and my three
sailors sat on the bow all day, singing: “_andèrbuddee! andèrbuddee!_” as
we lazily ascended the river.

Those who do not go beyond Thebes are only half acquainted with the Nile.
Above Esneh, it is no longer a broad, lazy current, watering endless
fields of wheat and groves of palm, bounded in the distance by level
lines of yellow mountain walls. It is narrower, clearer and more rapid,
and its valley, after the first scanty field of wheat or dourra, strikes
the foot of broken and rocky ranges, through the gaps in which the
winds of the Desert have spilled its sands. There is not the same pale,
beautiful monotony of color, but the landscapes are full of striking
contrasts, and strongly accented lights and shadows. Here, in Nubia,
these characteristics are increased, and the Nile becomes a river of
the North under a Southern sun. The mountains rise on either hand from
the water’s edge; piles of dark sandstone or porphyry rock, sometimes a
thousand feet in height, where a blade of grass never grew, every notch
and jag on their crests, every fissure on their sides, revealed in an
atmosphere so pure and crystalline, that nothing but one of our cloudless
mid-winter days can equal it. Their hue near at hand is a glowing
brown; in the distance an intense violet. On the western bank they are
lower; and the sand of that vast Desert, which stretches unbroken to
the Atlantic, has heaped itself over their shoulders and poured long
drifts and rills even to the water. In color it is a tawny gold, almost
approaching a salmon tint, and its glow at sunrise equals that of the
snow-fields of the Alps.

The arable land is a mere hem, a few yards in breadth on either side
of the river. It supports a few scattering date-palms, which are the
principal dependence of the Nubians. They are taxed at the rate of a
piastre and a half each, annually, the trees being counted every five
years by a Government officer appointed for that purpose. If half of
them should die in the mean time, the tax remains the same until the
next count. The trees are seven years in coming to maturity, after which
they produce dates for seven years, and then gradually decay. They are
male and female, and are generally planted so that the pollen may be
blown from the male to the female flowers. In some parts of Egypt this
impregnation is artificially produced. The banks are planted with wheat,
beans and a species of lupin, from which bread is made, and wherever
a little shelf of soil is found along the base of the mountains, the
creaking sakias turn day and night to give life to patches of dourra
and cotton. In a rough shed, protected from the sun by palm-mats, a cow
or buffalo walks a weary round, raising the water, which is conveyed
in small channels, built of clay, to all the numerous beds into which
the field is divided. These are filled, in regular succession to the
depth of two inches, and then left to stand until dried by the sun. The
process is continued until the grain is nearly ripe. The sakias pay a
tax of three hundred piastres a year, levied in lieu of a ground tax,
which the Egyptians pay. With all their labor, the inhabitants scarcely
produce enough to support themselves, and the children are sent to Cairo
at an early age, where they become house-servants, and like the Swiss
and Savoyards, send home a portion of their earnings. This part of Nubia
is inhabited by the Kenoos tribe, who speak a language of their own.
They and their language are designated by the general name of _Baràbra_
(nearly equivalent to “barbarians”) by the Arabs. They are more stupid
than the Egyptian Fellahs, but their character for truth and honesty is
superior. In my walks on shore, I found them very friendly, and much less
impudent than the Nubians about Assouan.

The northern part of Nubia is rich in Egyptian remains, but I hastened on
without visiting them, passing the temples of Dabôd, Kalabshee, Dakkeh,
Dendoor and Sebooa, which looked at me invitingly from the western bank.
Near Dendoor I crossed the Tropic of Cancer, and on the fourth afternoon
after leaving Assouan, Raïs Hereedee pointed out in the distance the
mountain of Korosko, the goal of the voyage. I was charmed with the near
prospect of desert life, but I fancied Achmet was rather grave, since
all beyond was an unknown region to him. The sharp peak of the mountain
gradually drew nearer, and at dusk my boat was moored to a palm-tree, in
front of the village of Korosko.

In less than half an hour, I received a visit from the Governor, Moussa
Effendi, who brought me good news. A caravan had just arrived from
Sennaar, and camels were in readiness for the journey to Berber, in
Ethiopia. This was very lucky, for merchants are frequently detained at
Korosko twenty or thirty days, and I had anticipated a delay of at least
a week. I also learned that Dr. Knoblecher, the Apostolic Vicar of the
Catholic Missions in Central Africa, had left for Khartoum about twenty
days previous. The Governor was profuse in his offers of assistance,
stating that as Shekh Abou-Mohammed, a chief of the Ababdeh tribe,
through whose territories my road lay, was then in Korosko, he would be
enabled to make every arrangement for my safety and convenience.

Early the next morning my equipage was taken ashore and my tent pitched
for the first time, under a clump of palm trees, overlooking the Nile.
Leaving Ali to act as guard, I took Achmet and walked up to the village
of Korosko, which is about a quarter of a mile from the shore, at the
foot of the lofty Djebel Korosko. The Governor’s mansion was a mud hut,
differing from the other huts in size only. His Excellency received
me cordially, and immediately sent for Shekh Abou-Mohammed, with whom
the contract for camels must be made. The Shekh was a tall, imposing
personage, with a dark-brown complexion, but perfectly straight and
regular features. He was accompanied by a superb attendant—an Ababdeh,
six feet two inches in height, with sharp, symmetrical features, and a
fine, fierce eye. His hair was raised perpendicularly from his forehead,
but on each side hung down in a great number of little twists, smeared
with mutton-fat and castor-oil. His long cotton mantle was wrapped around
him like a Greek chlamys, and his bearing was as manly and majestic as
that of an Ajax or a Diomed. There was some controversy about the number
of camels; Achmet and I had decided that we should not require more than
five, and the Shekh insisted that we should take more, but finally agreed
to furnish us with six, including one for the guide, at the price paid
by officers of the Government—ninety piastres (four dollars and fifty
cents) each, to El Mekheyref, the capital of Dar Berber, a journey of
fourteen days. This included the services of camel-drivers, and all
other expenses, except the hire of the guide, whose fee was that of a
camel—ninety piastres. Merchants who travel this route, pay according to
the weight of their loads, and frequently from one hundred and twenty to
one hundred and fifty piastres.

Soon after returning to my tent, I was again visited by the Governor,
who found my choice Latakieh very acceptable to his taste. I therefore
presented him with two or three pounds of it, and some gunpowder, which
he received in a way that made me sure of his good offices. Shekh
Abou-Mohammed also came down, inspected my baggage, and was satisfied
that the camels would not be overloaded. He declared, however, that the
four _geerbehs_, or water-skins, which I had brought from Cairo, would
not be sufficient, and as none were to be purchased in Korosko, loaned me
four more for the journey, on my agreeing to pay him half their value. I
also paid him for the camels, he giving a formal receipt therefor, which
was intrusted to the guide, to be delivered to the Governor of Berber,
on our arrival there. Three short, black Arabs of the Bishàree tribe,
with immense bushy heads of twisted and greased hair, were presented to
me as the camel-drivers. After receiving their share of the money (for
the camels belonged to them), they squatted down together and occupied
an hour or two in counting and dividing it. One of them then took a long
palm-rope, and went into the desert to catch the animals, while the
others remained to assist in arranging the baggage into separate loads.

The caravan from Sennaar brought twelve giraffes, which had been captured
in the forests of the Blue Nile, as a present from Lattif Pasha, Governor
of Soudân, to Abbas Pasha. They were in good condition, notwithstanding
the toilsome march across the Nubian Desert. The officer who had them in
charge informed me that they made frequent efforts to escape, and one of
them, which broke from its keeper’s hold, was only recaptured after a
chase of several hours. Four large trading-boats were in readiness, to
convey them to Assouan, and the graceful creatures stood on the bank,
with their heads almost touching the crowns of the date-trees, looking
with wonder on the busy scene below. For a long time they refused to
enter the unsteady barges, but at last, trembling with fear, they were
forced on board and floated away, their slim necks towering like masts in
the distance.

There was a small tent on the bank, pitched not far from mine. Its
occupant, a one-eyed, olive-faced young man, in Egyptian costume, came to
pay me a visit, and I found that he was a son of M. Linant, by a former
Abyssinian wife. He was then making his second trip to Soudân, as a
merchant, on a capital of twenty-five thousand piastres, which his father
had given him. Although he only required twelve camels, he had been eight
days in Korosko waiting for them, and was still waiting when I left. He
was accompanied by a young Frenchman, who was one of the grandest liars
I ever met. He told me with a grave face, that he had travelled from
Algiers to Egypt through the Great Sahara, and had on one occasion gone
eight days without water, and the thermometer one hundred and twenty-five
degrees in the shade! The son of the former Mek (king) of Shendy—the same
fierce old savage who burned to death Ismaïl Pasha and his soldiers—was
also in Korosko, and visited me during the day. He held some office under
Government, which made him responsible for the security of travellers
and merchandise in the Desert, and his presence probably facilitated
my arrangements. He was a strikingly handsome man, and wore a superb
Cashmere shawl twisted around his head as a turban.

The water-skins were soaked in the Nile all day, to prepare them for
use. Achmet, backed by the Governor’s authority, ransacked the village
for further supplies of provisions, but the place was miserably poor,
and he only succeeded in procuring two pounds of butter, a few fowls,
and some bread. There were pigeons in abundance, however, and he cooked
a sufficient number to last us two or three days. The fowls were placed
in a light _cafass_, or coop, to be carried on the top of the baggage.
Ali, proud of his new station, worked faithfully, and before night all
our preparations were completed. I then sent for a barber, had my hair
shorn close to the skin, and assumed the complete Egyptian costume. I
was already accustomed to the turban, and shawl around the waist, and
the addition of a light silk _sidree_, or shirt, and trowsers which
contained eighteen yards of muslin, completed the dress, which in its
grace, convenience, and adaptation to the climate and habits of the
East, is immeasurably superior to the Frank costume. It allows complete
freedom of the limbs, while the most sensitive parts of the body are
thoroughly protected from changes of temperature. The legs, especially,
are even less fettered by the wide Turkish trowsers than by a Highland
kilt, and they fold themselves under you naturally and comfortably in the
characteristic attitude of the Orientals. The turban which appears so
hot and cumbrous, is in reality cool, and impervious to the fiercest sun
that ever blazed.

After dinner, I seated myself at the tent door, wrapped in my capote,
and gave myself up to the pipe of meditation. It was a splendid starlit
evening. Not a blade of the palm-leaves was stirring, and the only sounds
I heard were the melancholy drone of _sakias_ along the river, and the
cry of the jackal among the hills. The Nile had already become my home,
endeared to me not more by the grand associations of its eldest human
history than by the rest and the patience which I had breathed in its
calm atmosphere. Now I was to leave it for the untried Desert, and the
strange regions beyond, where I should find its aspect changed. Would it
still give me the same health of body, the same peace and contentment
of soul? “Achmet,” said I to the Theban, who was sitting not far off,
silently smoking, “we are going into strange countries—have you no fear?”
“You remember, master,” he answered, “that we left Cairo on a lucky day,
and why should I fear, since all things are in the hands of Allah?”

[Illustration: Eyoub, the Ababdah Guide.]

CHAPTER XIV.

THE GREAT NUBIAN DESERT.

“He sees the snake-like caravan crawl
O’er the edge of the Desert, black and small,
And nearer and nearer, till, one by one.
He can count its camels in the sun.”—LOWELL.

A glance at the map will explain the necessity of my Desert journey. The
Nile, at Korosko (which is in lat. 22° 38′), makes a sharp bend to the
west, and in ascending his current, one travels in a south-westerly
direction nearly to Dongola, thence south to Edabbe, in lat. 18°, after
which his course is north-east as far as lat. 19° 30′, where he again
resumes the general southern direction. The termini of this immense
curve, called by the ancients the “elbows” of the Nile, are Korosko and
Abou-Hammed, in southern Nubia. About ninety miles above the former
place, at Wadi Haifa, is the second cataract of the Nile, the Southern
Thule of Egyptian tourists. The river, between that point and Dongola, is
so broken by rapids, that vessels can only pass during the inundation,
and then with great difficulty and danger. The exigencies of trade
have established, no doubt since the earliest times, the shorter route
through the Desert. The distance between Korosko and Abou-Hammed, by
the river, is more than six hundred miles, while by the Desert, it is,
according to my reckoning, only two hundred and forty-seven miles. The
former caravan route led directly from Assouan to Berber and Shendy, and
lay some distance to the eastward of that from Korosko. It is the same
travelled by Bruce and Burckhardt, but is now almost entirely abandoned,
since the countries of Soudân have been made tributary to Egypt. It
lies through a chain of valleys, inhabited by the Ababdeh Arabs, and
according to Burckhardt, there are trees and water, at short intervals,
for the greater part of the way. The same traveller thus describes the
route from Korosko: “On that road the traveller finds only a single well,
which is situated midway, four long days distant from Berber and as many
from Sebooa [near Korosko]. A great inconvenience on that road is that
neither trees nor shrubs are anywhere found, whence the camels are much
distressed for food, and passengers are obliged to carry wood with them
to dress their meals.”

On the morning of the 21st of December, the water-skins were filled
from the Nile, the baggage carefully divided into separate loads, the
unwilling camels received their burdens, and I mounted a dromedary for
the first time. My little caravan consisted of six camels, including
that of the guide. As it was put in motion, the Governor and Shekh
Abou-Mohammed wished me a safe journey and the protection of Allah.
We passed the miserable hamlet of Korosko, turned a corner of the
mountain-chain into a narrow stony valley, and in a few minutes lost
sight of the Nile and his belt of palms. Thenceforth, for many days,
the only green thing to be seen in all the wilderness was myself. After
two or three hours’ travel, we passed an encampment of Arabs, where my
Bishàrees added another camel for their own supplies, and two Nubians,
mounted on donkeys, joined us for the march to Berber. The first day’s
journey lay among rugged hills, thrown together confusedly, with no
apparent system or direction. They were of jet black sandstone, and
resembled immense piles of coke and anthracite. The small glens and
basins inclosed in this chaos were filled with glowing yellow sand,
which in many places streamed down the crevices of the black rocks, like
rivulets of fire. The path was strewn with hollow globes of hard, black
stones, precisely resembling cannon-balls. The guide gave me one of the
size of a rifle-bullet, with a seam around the centre, as if cast in a
mould. The thermometer showed a temperature of eighty degrees at two P.
M., but the heat was tempered by a pure, fresh breeze. After eight hours’
travel, I made my first camp at sunset, in a little hollow inclosed by
mountains, where a gray jackal, after being twice shot at, came and
looked into the door of the tent.

I found dromedary-riding not at all difficult. One sits on a very lofty
seat, with his feet crossed over the animal’s shoulders or resting on
his neck. The body is obliged to rock backward and forward, on account
of the long, swinging gait, and as there is no stay or fulcrum except a
blunt pommel, around which the legs are crossed, some little power of
equilibrium is necessary. My dromedary was a strong, stately beast, of a
light cream color, and so even a gait, that it would bear the Arab test:
that is, one might drink a cup of coffee, while going on a full trot,
without spilling a drop. I found a great advantage in the use of the
Oriental costume. My trowsers allowed the legs perfect freedom of motion,
and I soon learned so many different modes of crossing those members,
that no day was sufficient to exhaust them. The rising and kneeling of
the animal is hazardous at first, as his long legs double together like
a carpenter’s rule, and you are thrown backwards and then forwards, and
then backwards again, but the trick of it is soon learned. The soreness
and fatigue of which many travellers complain, I never felt, and I
attribute much of it to the Frank dress. I rode from eight to ten hours a
day, read and even dreamed in the saddle, and was at night as fresh and
unwearied as when I mounted in the morning.

My caravan was accompanied by four Arabs. The guide, Eyoub, was an old
Ababdeh, who knew all the Desert between the Red Sea and the Nile, as far
south as Abyssinia. The camel-drivers were of the great Bishàree tribe,
which extends from Shendy, in Ethiopia, through the eastern portion of
the Nubian Desert, to the frontiers of Egypt. They owned the burden
camels, which they urged along with the cry of “Yo-ho! Shekh Abd-el
Kader!” and a shrill barbaric song, the refrain of which was: “O Prophet
of God, help the camels and bring us safely to our journey’s end!”
They were very susceptible to cold, and a temperature of 50°, which we
frequently had in the morning, made them tremble like aspen leaves, and
they were sometimes so benumbed that they could scarcely load the camels.
They were proud of their enormous heads of hair, which they wore parted
on both temples, the middle portion being drawn into an upright mass,
six inches in height, while the side divisions hung over the ears in a
multitude of little twists. These love-locks they anointed every morning
with suet, and looked as if they had slept in a hard frost, until the
heat had melted the fat. I thought to flatter one of them as he performed
the operation, by exclaiming “Beautiful!”—but he answered coolly: “You
speak truth: it is very beautiful.” Through the central mass of hair a
wooden skewer was stuck, in order to scratch the head without disturbing
the arrangement. They wore long swords, carried in a leathern scabbard
over the left shoulder, and sometimes favored us with a war-dance, which
consisted merely in springing into the air with a brandished sword and
turning around once before coming down. Their names were El Emeem,
Hossayn and Ali. We called the latter Shekh Ali, on account of his hair.
He wore nothing but a ragged cotton clout, yet owned two camels, had a
tent in the Desert, and gave Achmet a bag of dollars to carry for him. I
gave to El Emeem, on account of his shrill voice, the nickname of _Wiz_
(wild goose), by which he was thenceforth called. They were all very
devout, retiring a short distance from the road to say their prayers,
at the usual hours and performing the prescribed ablutions with sand,
instead of water.

On the second morning we passed through a gorge in the black hills, and
entered a region called _El Biban_, or “The Grates.” Here the mountains,
though still grouped in the same disorder, were more open and gave room
to plains of sand several miles in length. The narrow openings, through
which the road passes from one plain to another, gave rise to the name.
The mountains are higher than on the Nile, and present the most wonderful
configurations—towers, fortresses, walls, pyramids, temples in ruin, of
an inky blackness near at hand, but tinged of a deep, glowing violet hue
in the distance. Towards noon I saw a mirage—a lake in which the broken
peaks were reflected with great distinctness. One of the Nubians who was
with us, pointed out a spot where he was obliged to climb the rocks, the
previous summer, to avoid being drowned. During the heavy tropical rains
which sometimes fall here, the hundreds of pyramidal hills pour down such
floods that the sand cannot immediately drink them up, and the valleys
are turned into lakes. The man described the roaring of the waters, down
the clefts of the rocks, as something terrible. In summer the passage of
the Desert is much more arduous than in winter, and many men and camels
perish. The road was strewn with bones and carcasses, and I frequently
counted twenty dead camels within a stone’s throw. The stone-heaps which
are seen on all the spurs of the hills, as landmarks for caravans, have
become useless, since one could find his way by the bones in the sand. My
guide, who was a great believer in afrites and devils, said that formerly
many persons lost the way and perished from thirst, all of which was the
work of evil spirits.

My next camp was in the midst of a high circular plain, surrounded by
hundreds of black peaks. Here I had an unexpected visit. I was sitting
in my tent, about eight o’clock, when I heard the tramp of dromedaries
outside, and a strange voice saying: _ana wahed Ingleez_ (I am an
Englishman). It proved to be Capt. Peel, of the British Navy, (son of
the late Sir Robert Peel), who was returning from a journey to Khartoum
and Kordofan. He was attended by a single guide, and carried only a
water-skin and a basket of bread. He had travelled nearly day and night
since leaving Berber, and would finish the journey from that place to
Korosko—a distance of four hundred miles—in seven days. He spent an hour
with me, and then pushed onward through “The Gates” towards the Nile. It
had been his intention to penetrate into Dar-Fūr, a country yet unvisited
by any European, but on reaching Obeid, the Capital of Kordofan, his
companion, a Syrian Arab, fell sick, and he was himself attacked with
the ague. This decided him to return, and he had left his baggage and
servants to follow, and was making for England with all speed. He was
provided with all the necessary instruments to make his travel useful in
a scientific point of view, and the failure of his plans is much to be
regretted. I was afterwards informed by M. Linant that he met Capt. Peel
on the following day, and supplied him with water enough to reach the
Nile.

Towards noon, on the third day, we passed the last of the “Gates,”
and entered the _Bahr bela Ma_ (River without Water), a broad plain
of burning yellow sand. The gateway is very imposing, especially
on the eastern side, where it is broken by a valley or gorge of
Tartarean blackness. As we passed the last peak, my guide, who had
ridden in advance dismounted beside what seemed to be a collection of
graves—little ridges of sand, with rough head and foot stones. He sat
by one which he had just made. As I came up he informed me that all
travellers who crossed the Nubian Desert, for the first time, are here
expected to pay a toll, or fee to the guide and camel-men. “But what if
I do not choose to pay?” I asked. “Then you will immediately perish, and
be buried here. The graves are those of persons who refused to pay.” As
I had no wish to occupy the beautiful mound he had heaped for me, with
the thigh-bones of a camel at the head and foot, I gave the men a few
piastres, and passed the place. He then plucked up the bones and threw
them away, and restored the sand to its original level.[1]

The _Bahr bela Ma_ spread out before us, glittering in the hot sun. About
a mile to the eastward lay (apparently) a lake of blue water. Reeds
and water-plants grew on its margin, and its smooth surface reflected
the rugged outline of the hills beyond. The Waterless River is about
two miles in breadth, and appears to have been at one time the bed of
a large stream. It crosses all the caravan routes in the desert, and
is supposed to extend from the Nile to the Red Sea. It may have been
the outlet for the river, before its waters forced a passage through
the primitive chains which cross its bed at Assouan and Kalabshee. A
geological exploration of this part of Africa could not fail to produce
very interesting results. Beyond the _Bahr bela Ma_ extends the broad
central plateau of the Desert, fifteen hundred feet above the sea. It
is a vast reach of yellow sand, dotted with low, isolated hills, which
in some places are based on large beds of light-gray sandstone of an
unusually fine and even grain. Small towers of stone have been erected on
the hills nearest the road, in order to guide the couriers who travel by
night. Near one of them the guide pointed out the grave of a merchant,
who had been murdered there two years previous, by his three slaves. The
latter escaped into the Desert, but probably perished, as they were never
heard of afterwards. In the smooth, loose sand, I had an opportunity of
reviving my forgotten knowledge of trackography, and soon learned to
distinguish the feet of hyenas, foxes, ostriches, lame camels and other
animals. The guide assured me that there were devils in the Desert, but
one only sees them when he travels alone.

On this plain the mirage, which first appeared in the Biban, presented
itself under a variety of wonderful aspects. Thenceforth, I saw it
every day, for hours together, and tried to deduce some rules from the
character of its phenomena. It appears on all sides, except that directly
opposite to the sun, but rarely before nine A. M. or after three P. M.
The color of the apparent water is always precisely that of the sky,
and this is a good test to distinguish it from real water, which is
invariably of a deeper hue. It is seen on a gravelly as well as a sandy
surface, and often fills with shining pools the slight depressions in
the soil at the bases of the hills. Where it extends to the horizon
there is no apparent line, and it then becomes an inlet of the sky,
as if the walls of heaven were melting down and flowing in upon the
earth. Sometimes a whole mountain chain is lifted from the horizon and
hung in the air, with its reflected image joined to it, base to base.
I frequently saw, during the forenoon, lakes of sparkling blue water,
apparently not a quarter of a mile distant. The waves ripple in the wind;
tall reeds and water-plants grow on the margin, and the Desert rocks
behind cast their shadows on the surface. It is impossible to believe
it a delusion. You advance nearer, and suddenly, you know not how, the
lake vanishes. There is a grayish film over the spot, but before you
have decided whether the film is in the air or in your eyes, that too
disappears, and you see only the naked sand. What you took to be reeds
and water-plants probably shows itself as a streak of dark gravel. The
most probable explanation of the mirage which I could think of, was, that
it was actually a reflection of the sky upon a stratum of heated air,
next the sand.

I found the Desert life not only endurable but very agreeable. No matter
how warm it might be at mid-day, the nights were always fresh and cool,
and the wind blew strong from the north-west, during the greater part of
the time. The temperature varied from 50°-55° at 6 A. M. to 80°-85° at 2
P. M. The extremes were 47° and 100°. So great a change of temperature
every day was not so unpleasant as might be supposed. In my case, Nature
seemed to make a special provision in order to keep the balance right.
During the hot hours of the day I never suffered inconvenience from
the heat, but up to 85° felt sufficiently cool. I seemed to absorb the
rays of the sun, and as night came on and the temperature of the air
fell, that of my skin rose, till at last I glowed through and through,
like a live coal. It was a peculiar sensation, which I never experienced
before, but was rather pleasant than otherwise. My face, however, which
was alternately exposed to the heat radiated from the sand, and the
keen morning wind; could not accommodate itself to so much contraction
and expansion. The skin cracked and peeled off more than once, and I
was obliged to rub it daily with butter. I mounted my dromedary with a
“shining morning face,” until, from alternate buttering and burning, it
attained the hue and crispness of a well-basted partridge.

I soon fell into a regular daily routine of travel, which, during all
my later experiences of the Desert, never became monotonous. I rose at
dawn every morning, bathed my eyes with a handful of the precious water,
and drank a cup of coffee. After the tent had been struck and the camels
laden, I walked ahead for two hours, often so far in advance that I lost
sight and hearing of the caravan. I found an unspeakable fascination in
the sublime solitude of the Desert. I often beheld the sun rise, when,
within the wide ring of the horizon, there was no other living creature
to be seen. He came up like a god, in awful glory, and it would have been
a natural act, had I cast myself upon the sand and worshipped him. The
sudden change in the coloring of the landscape, on his appearance—the
lighting up of the dull sand into a warm golden hue, and the tintings of
purple and violet on the distant porphyry hills—was a morning miracle,
which I never beheld without awe. The richness of this coloring made
the Desert beautiful; it was too brilliant for desolation. The scenery,
so far from depressing, inspired and exhilarated me. I never felt the
sensation of physical health and strength in such perfection, and was
ready to shout from morning till night, from the overflow of happy
spirits. The air is an elixir of life—as sweet and pure and refreshing
as that which the first Man breathed, on the morning of Creation. You
inhale the unadulterated elements of the atmosphere, for there are no
exhalations from moist earth, vegetable matter, or the smokes and steams
which arise from the abodes of men, to stain its purity. This air, even
more than its silence and solitude, is the secret of one’s attachment
to the Desert. It is a beautiful illustration of the compensating care
of that Providence, which leaves none of the waste places of the earth
without some atoning glory. Where all the pleasant aspects of Nature are
wanting—where there is no green thing, no fount for the thirsty lip,
scarcely the shadow of a rock to shield the wanderer in the blazing
noon—God has breathed upon the wilderness his sweetest and tenderest
breath, giving clearness to the eye, strength to the frame, and the most
joyous exhilaration to the spirits.

Achmet always insisted on my taking a sabre as a protection against the
hyenas, but I was never so fortunate as to see more than their tracks,
which crossed the path at every step. I saw occasionally the footprints
of ostriches, but they, as well as the giraffe, are scarce in this
Desert. Towards noon, Achmet and I made a halt in the shadow of a rock,
or if no rock was at hand, on the bare sand, and took our breakfast.
One’s daily bread is never sweeter than in the Desert. The rest of the
day I jogged along patiently beside the baggage camels, and at sunset
halted for the night. A divan on the sand, and a well-filled pipe,
gave me patience while dinner was preparing, and afterwards I made the
necessary entries in my journal. I had no need to court sleep, after
being rocked all day on the dromedary.

At the close of the third day, we encamped opposite a mountain which
Eyoub called _Djebel Khattab_ (the Mountain of Wood). The _Bahr Khattab_,
a river of sand, similar to the Bahr bela Ma, and probably a branch
of it, crossed our path. I here discovered that the water-skins I had
hired from Shekh Abou-Mohammed were leaky, and that our eight skins were
already reduced to four, while the Arabs had entirely exhausted their
supply. This rendered strict economy necessary, as there was but a single
well on the road. Until noon the next day we journeyed over a vast plain
of sand, interrupted by low reefs of black rock. To the south-east it
stretched unbroken to the sky, and looking in that direction, I saw two
hemispheres of yellow and blue, sparkling all over with light and heat,
so that the eye winked to behold them. The colocynth (called by the Arabs
_murràr_), grew in many places in the dry, hot sand. The fruit resembles
a melon, and is so intensely bitter that no animal will eat it. I made
breakfast under the lee of an isolated rock, crowned with a beacon of
camel-bones. We here met three Ababdehs, armed with long spears, on
their way to Korosko. Soon after mid-day the plain was broken by low
ranges of hills, and we saw in front and to the east of us many blue
mountain-chains. Our road approached one of them—a range, several miles
in length, the highest peak of which reached an altitude of a thousand
feet. The sides were precipitous and formed of vertical strata, but the
crests were agglomerations of loose stones, as if shaken out of some
enormous coal-scuttle. The glens and gorges were black as ink; no speck
of any other color relieved the terrible gloom of this singular group of
hills. Their aspect was much more than sterile: it was infernal. The name
given to them by the guide was _Djilet e’ Djindee_, the meaning of which
I could not learn. At their foot I found a few thorny shrubs, the first
sign of vegetation since leaving Korosko.

We encamped half an hour before sunset on a gravelly plain, between two
spurs of the savage hills, in order that our camels might browse on the
shrubs, and they were only too ready to take advantage of the permission.
They snapped off the hard, dry twigs, studded with cruel thorns, and
devoured them as if their tongues were made of cast-iron. We were now
in the haunts of the gazelle and the ostrich, but saw nothing of them.
Shekh Ali taught me a few words of the Bishàree language, asking for the
English words in return, and was greatly delighted when I translated okam
(_camel_), into “O camel!” “Wallah!” said he, “your language is the same
as ours.” The Bishàree tongue abounds with vowels, and is not unmusical.
Many of the substantives commence with _o_—as _omek_, a donkey; _oshà_,
a cow; _ogana_, a gazelle. The plural changes _o_ into _a_, as _akam_,
camels; _amek_, donkeys, &c. The language of the Ababdehs is different
from that of the Bishàrees, but probably sprang from the same original
stock. Lepsius considers that the Kenoos dialect of Nubia is an original
African tongue, having no affinity with any of the Shemitic languages.

On the fifth day we left the plain, and entered a country of broken
mountain-ranges. In one place the road passed through a long, low hill
of slate rock, by a gap which had been purposely broken. The strata were
vertical, the laminæ varying from one to four inches in thickness, and
of as fine a quality and smooth a surface as I ever saw. A long wady,
or valley, which appeared to be the outlet of some mountain-basin, was
crossed by a double row of stunted doum-palms, marking a water-course
made by the summer rains. Eyoub pointed it out to me, as the half-way
station between Korosko and Abou-Hammed. For two hours longer we threaded
the dry wadys, shut in by black, chaotic hills. It was now noonday, I was
very hungry, and the time allotted by Eyoub for reaching _Bir Mûrr-hàt_
had passed. He saw my impatience and urged his dromedary into a trot,
calling out to me to follow him. We bent to the west, turned the flank
of a high range, and after half an hour’s steady trotting, reached a
side-valley or cul-de-sac, branching off from the main wady. A herd of
loose camels, a few goats, two black camel’s-hair tents, and half a dozen
half-naked Ababdehs, showed that we had reached the wells. A few shallow
pits, dug in the centre of the valley, furnished an abundance of bitter,
greenish water, which the camels drank, but which I could not drink. The
wells are called by the Arabs _el morra_, “the bitter.” Fortunately,
I had two skins of Nile-water left, which, with care, would last to
Abou-Hammed. The water was always cool and fresh, though in color and
taste it resembled a decoction of old shoes.

[Illustration: The Wells of Mûrr-hàt.]

We found at the wells Capt. Peel’s Syrian friend, Churi, who was on his
way to Korosko with five camels, carrying the Captain’s baggage. He left
immediately after my arrival, or I might have sent by him a Christmas
greeting to friends at home. During the afternoon three slave-merchants
arrived, in four days from Abou-Hammed. Their caravan of a hundred and
fifty slaves was on the way. They were tall, strong, handsome men,
dark-brown in complexion, but with regular features. They were greatly
pleased with my sketch-book, but retreated hastily when I proposed making
a drawing of them. I then called Eyoub into my tent, who willingly enough
sat for the rough sketch which heads this chapter. Achmet did his best
to give me a good Christmas dinner, but the pigeons were all gone, and
the few fowls which remained were so spiritless from the heat and jolting
of the camel, that their slaughter anticipated their natural death by a
very short time. Nevertheless, I produced a cheery illumination by the
tent-lanterns, and made Eyoub and the Bishàrees happy with a bottle of
arakee and some handfulls of tobacco. The wind whistled drearily around
my tent, but I glowed like fire from the oozing out of the heat I had
absorbed, and the Arabs without, squatted around their fire of camel’s
dung, sang the wild, monotonous songs of the Desert.

We left Mûrr-hàt at sunrise, on the morning of the sixth day. I walked
ahead, through the foldings of the black mountains, singing as I went,
from the inspiration of the brilliant sky and the pure air. In an hour
and a half the pass opened on a broad plain of sand, and I waited for
my caravan, as the day was growing hot. On either side, as we continued
our journey, the blue lakes of the mirage glittered in the sun. Several
isolated pyramids rose above the horizon, far to the East, and a purple
mountain-range in front, apparently two or three hours distant, stretched
from east to west. “We will breakfast in the shade of those mountains,”
I said to Achmet, but breakfast-time came and they seemed no nearer,
so I sat down in the sand and made my meal. Towards noon we met large
caravans of camels, coming from Berber. Some were laden with gum, but the
greater part were without burdens, as they were to be sold in Egypt. In
the course of the day upwards of a thousand passed us. Among the persons
we met was Capt. Peel’s _cawass_, or janissary (whom he had left in
Khartoum), on his return, with five camels and three slaves, which he had
purchased on speculation. He gave such a dismal account of Soudân, that
Achmet was quite gloomy for the rest of the day.

The afternoon was intensely hot, the thermometer standing at 100°, but
I felt little annoyance from the heat, and used no protection against
it. The sand was deep and the road a weary one for the camels, but the
mountains which seemed so near at hand in the morning were not yet
reached. We pushed forward; the sun went down, and the twilight was over
before we encamped at their base. The tent was pitched by the light of
the crescent moon, which hung over a pitchy-black peak. I had dinner
at the fashionable hour of seven. Achmet was obliged to make soup of
the water of Mûrr-hàt, which had an abominable taste. I was so drowsy
that before my pipe was finished, I tumbled upon my mattress, and was
unconscious until midnight, when I awoke with the sensation of swimming
in a river of lava. Eyoub called the mountain _Kab el Kafass_—an absurd
name, without meaning—but I suspect it is the same ridge which crosses
the caravan route from Shendy to Assouan, and which is called Djebel
Shigre by Bruce and Burckhardt.

The tent was struck in the morning starlight, at which time the
thermometer stood at 55°. I walked alone through the mountains, which
rose in conical peaks to the height of near a thousand feet. The path
was rough and stony until I reached the outlet of the pass. When the
caravan came up, I found that the post-courier who left Korosko two days
after us, had joined it. He was a jet-black, bare-headed and barelegged
Bishàree, mounted on a dromedary. He remained with us all day, and liked
our company so well that he encamped with us, in preference to continuing
his journey. On leaving the mountain, we entered a plain of coarse
gravel, abounding with pebbles of agate and jasper. Another range, which
Eyoub called Djebel Dighlee, appeared in front, and we reached it about
noon. The day was again hot, the mercury rising to 95°. It took us nearly
an hour to pass Djebel Dighlee, beyond which the plain stretched away to
the Nile, interrupted here and there by a distant peak. Far in advance
of us lay Djebel Mokràt, the limit of the next day’s journey. From its
top, said Eyoub, one may see the palm-groves along the Nile. We encamped
on the open plain, not far from two black pyramidal hills, in the flush
of a superb sunset. The ground was traversed by broad strata of gray
granite, which lay on the surface in huge boulders. Our camels here found
a few bunches of dry, yellow grass, which had pierced the gravelly soil.
To the south-east was a mountain called by the Arabs _Djebel Nogàra_ (the
Mountain of the Drum), because, as Eyoub declared, a devil who had his
residence among its rocks, frequently beat a drum at night, to scare the
passing caravans.

The stars were sparkling freshly and clearly when I rose, on the morning
of the eighth day, and Djebel Mokràt lay like a faint shadow on the
southern horizon. The sun revealed a few isolated peaks to the right
and left, but merely distant isles on the vast, smooth ocean of the
Desert. It was a rapture to breathe air of such transcendent purity and
sweetness. I breakfasted on the immense floor, sitting in the sun, and
then jogged on all day, in a heat of 90°, towards Djebel Mokràt, which
seemed as far off as ever. The sun went down, and it was still ahead of
us. “That is a _Djebel Shaytan_,” I said to Eyoub; “or rather, it is no
mountain; it is an afrite.” “O Effendi!” said the old man, “don’t speak
of afrites here. There are many in this part of the Desert, and if a man
travels alone here at night, one of them walks behind him and forces him
to go forward and forward, until he has lost his path.” We rode on by the
light of the moon and stars—silently at first, but presently Shekh Ali
began to sing his favorite song of “_Yallah salaàmeh, el-hamdu lillàh
fôk belàmeh_,” and one of the Kenoos, to beguile the way, recited in a
chanting tone, copious passages from the Koran. Among other things, he
related the history of Joseph, which Achmet translated to me. The whole
story would be too long to repeat, but portions of it are interesting.

“After Joseph had been thrown into the well,” continued the Kenoos, “a
caravan of Arabs came along, and began to draw water for the camels, when
one of the men said: ‘O Shekh, there is something in the well.’ ‘Well,’
said the Shekh, ‘if it be a man, he belongs to me, but if it be goods,
you may have them.’ So they drew it up, and it was Joseph, and the Shekh
took him to Cairo and sold him to Azeez (Potiphar).’ [I omit his account
of Potiphar’s wife, which could not well be repeated.] When Joseph was in
prison, he told what was the meaning of the dreams of Sultan Faraoon’s
baker and butler, who were imprisoned with him. The Sultan himself soon
afterwards had a dream about seven fat cows eating seven lean ones, which
nobody could explain. Then the jailer went to Faraoon, and said: ‘Here
is Joseph, in jail—he can tell you all about it.’ Faraoon said: ‘Bring
him here, then.’ So they put Joseph in a bath, washed him, shaved his
head, gave him a new white turban, and took him to the Sultan, who said
to him: ‘Can you explain my dream?’ ‘To be sure I can,’ said Joseph, ‘but
if I tell you, you must make me keeper of your magazines.’ ‘Very well:’
said Faraoon. Then Joseph told how the seven fat cows meant seven years
when the Nile would have two inundations a year, and the seven lean cows,
seven years afterwards when it would have no inundation at all; and he
said to Faraoon that since he was now magazine-keeper, he should take
from all the country as far as Assouan, during the seven fat years,
enough wheat and dourra and beans, to last during the seven lean ones.”
The narrator might have added that the breed of fat kine has never been
restored, all the cattle of Egypt being undoubted descendants of the lean
stock.

Two hours after sunset, we _killed_ Djebel Mokràt, as the Arabs say: that
is, turned its corner. The weary camels were let loose among some clumps
of dry, rustling reeds, and I stretched myself out on the sand, after
twelve hours in the saddle. Our water was nearly exhausted by this time,
and the provisions were reduced to hermits’ fare—bread, rice and dates.
I had, however, the spice of a savage appetite, which was no sooner
appeased, than I fell into a profound sleep. I could not but admire
the indomitable pluck of the little donkeys owned by the Kenoos. These
animals not only carried provisions and water for themselves and their
masters, the whole distance, but the latter rode them the greater part of
the way; yet they kept up with the camels, plying their little legs as
ambitiously the last day as the first. I doubt whether a horse would have
accomplished as much under similar circumstances.

The next morning we started joyfully, in hope of seeing the Nile, and
even Eyoub, for the first time since leaving Korosko, helped to load
the camels. In an hour we passed the mountain of Mokràt, but the same
endless plain of yellow gravel extended before us to the horizon. Eyoub
had promised that we should reach Abou-Hammed in half a day, and even
pointed out some distant blue mountains in the south, as being beyond the
Nile. Nevertheless, we travelled nearly till noon without any change of
scenery, and no more appearance of river than the abundant streams of
the mirage, on all sides. I drank my last cup of water for breakfast, and
then continued my march in the burning sun, with rather dismal spirits.
Finally, the Desert, which had been rising since we left the mountain,
began to descend, and I saw something like round granite boulders lying
on the edge of the horizon. “Effendi, see the doum-trees!” cried Eyoub.
I looked again: they _were_ doum-palms, and so broad and green that they
must certainly stand near water. Soon we descended into a hollow in the
plain, looking down which I saw to the south a thick grove of trees, and
over their tops the shining surface of the Nile. “Ali,” I called to my
sailor-servant, “look at that great _bahr shaytan_!” The son of the Nile,
who had never before, in all his life, been more than a day out of sight
of its current, was almost beside himself with joy. “Wallah, master,”
he cried, “that is no river of the Devil: it is the real Nile—the water
of Paradise.” It did my heart good to see his extravagant delight. “If
you were to give me five piastres, master,” said he, “I would not drink
the bitter water of Mûrr-hàt.” The guide made me a salutation, in his
dry way, and the two Nubians greeted me with “a great welcome to you, O,
Effendi!” With every step the valley unfolded before me—such rich deeps
of fan-like foliage, such a glory in the green of the beans and lupins,
such radiance beyond description in the dance of the sunbeams on the
water! The landscape was balm to my burning eyes, and the mere sight of
the glorious green herbage was a sensuous delight, in which I rioted for
the rest of the day.

CHAPTER XV.

THE ETHIOPIAN FRONTIER.

Achmet and I began to feel thirst, so we hurried on in advance, to the
mud hamlet of Abou-Hammed. We dismounted on the bank of the river, where
we were received by a dark Ababdeh, who was officiating in place of the
Governor, and invited me to take possession of the latter’s house. Achmet
gave him a large wooden bowl and told him to fill it from the Nile, and
we would talk to him afterwards. I shall never forget the luxury of that
long, deep draught. My body absorbed the water as rapidly as the hot sand
of the Desert, and I drank at least a quart without feeling satisfied.
I preferred my tent to the Governor’s house, and had it pitched where I
could look out on the river and the palms. Abou-Hammed is a miserable
village, inhabited by a few hundred Ababdehs and Bishàrees; the Desert
here extended to the water’s edge, while the opposite banks were as green
as emerald. There was a large mud fortress, with round bastions at the
corners, to the west of the village. It formerly belonged to an Ababdeh
Shekh, but was then deserted.

[Illustration: The Tent-Door, at Abou-Hammed.]

In the afternoon I crossed to the island of Mokràt, which lies opposite.
The vessel was a sort of a canoe, made of pieces of the doum-palm, tied
together with ropes and plastered with mud. My oarsmen were two boys of
fifteen, half-naked fellows with long, wild hair, yet very strong and
symmetrical limbs and handsome features. I landed in the shade of the
palms, and walked for half an hour along the shore, through patches of
dourra and cotton, watered by the creaking mills. The whole island, which
is upwards of twenty miles long, is level and might be made productive,
but the natives only cultivate a narrow strip along the water. The trees
were doum and date palm and acacia, and I saw in the distance others
of a rich, dark green, which appeared to be sycamore. The hippopotamus
is found here, and the boatmen showed me the enormous tracks of three,
which had made havoc among their bean-patches the day before. As I was
returning to the boat I met three natives, tall, strong, stately men. I
greeted them with “Peace be with you!” and they answered “Peace be with
you,” at the same time offering their hands. We talked for some time
in broken Arabic, and I have rarely seen such good-will expressed in
savage features. In fact, all the faces I now saw were of a superior
stamp to that of the Egyptians. They expressed not only more strength and
independence, but more kindness and gentleness.

I procured a lean sheep for eight piastres, and after Achmet had chosen
the best parts for my dinner, I gave the remainder to Eyoub and the
Bishàrees. The camels were driven down to the river, but only three drank
out of the six. I took my seat in the shade of the tent, and looked at
the broad blue current of the Nile for hours, without being wearied of
the scene. Groups of tall Bishàrees stood at a respectable distance,
gazing upon me, for a Frank traveller was no common sight. In the evening
I attempted to reduce my desert temperature by a bath in the river, but I
had become so sensitive to cold that the water made me shudder in every
nerve, and it required a double portion of pipes and coffee to restore my
natural warmth.

I left Abou-Hammed at noon the next day, having been detained by some
government tax on camels, which my Bishàrees were called upon to pay.
Our road followed the river, occasionally taking to the Desert for a
short distance, to cut off a bend, but never losing sight of the dark
clumps of palms and the vivid coloring of the grain on the western bank.
The scenery bore a very different stamp from that of Egypt. The colors
were darker, richer and stronger, the light more intense and glowing,
and all forms of vegetable and animal life penetrated with a more full
and impassioned expression of life. The green of the fields actually
seemed to throb under the fiery gush of sunshine, and the palm-leaves
to thrill and tremble in the hot blue air. The people were glorious
barbarians—large, tall, full-limbed, with open, warm, intelligent faces
and lustrous black eyes. They dress with more neatness than the Egyptian
Fellahs, and their long hair, though profusely smeared with suet, is
arranged with some taste and clothes their heads better than the dirty
cotton skull-cap. Among those I saw at Abou-Hammed were two youths of
about seventeen, who were wonderfully beautiful. One of them played a
sort of coarse reed flute, and the other a rude stringed instrument,
which he called a _tambour_. He was a superb fellow, with the purest
straight Egyptian features, and large, brilliant, melting black eyes.
Every posture of his body expressed a grace the most striking because it
was wholly unstudied. I have never seen human forms superior to these
two. The first, whom I named the Apollo Ababdese, joined my caravan,
for the journey to Berber. He carried with him all his wealth—a flute,
a sword, and a heavy shield of hippopotamus hide. His features were
as perfectly regular as the Greek, but softer and rounder in outline.
His limbs were without a fault, and the light poise of his head on the
slender neck, the fine play of his shoulder-blades and the muscles of
his back, as he walked before me, wearing only a narrow cloth around
his loins, would have charmed a sculptor’s eye. He walked among my
camel-drivers as Apollo might have walked among the other shepherds
of King Admetus. Like the god, his implement was the flute; he was a
wandering minstrel, and earned his livelihood by playing at the festivals
of the Ababdehs. His name was Eesa, the Arabic for Jesus. I should have
been willing to take several shades of his complexion if I could have had
with them his perfect ripeness, roundness and symmetry of body and limb.
He told me that he smoked no tobacco and drank no arakee, but only water
and milk—a true offshoot of the golden age!

[Illustration: Abebdeh Flute and Tambour Players.]

We encamped for the night in a cluster of doum-palms, near the Nile. The
soil, even to the edge of the millet-patches which covered the bank,
was a loose white sand, and shone like snow under the moon, while the
doum-leaves rustled with as dry and sharp a sound as bare boughs under a
northern sky. The wind blew fresh, but we were sheltered by a little rise
of land, and the tent stood firm. The temperature (72°) was delicious;
the stars sparkled radiantly, and the song of crickets among the millet
reminded me of home. No sooner had we encamped than Eesa ran off to some
huts which he spied in the distance, and told the natives that they must
immediately bring all their sheep and fowls to the Effendi. The poor
people came to inquire whether they must part with their stock, and
were very glad when they found that we wanted nothing. I took only two
cucumbers which an old man brought and humbly placed at my feet.

The next morning I walked ahead, following the river bank, but the camels
took a shorter road through the Desert, and passed me unobserved. After
walking two hours, I sought for them in every direction, and finally
came upon Ali, who was doing his best to hold my dromedary down. No
sooner had I straddled the beast than he rose and set off on a swinging
gallop to rejoin the caravan. During the day our road led along the
edge of the Desert, sometimes in the sand and sometimes over gravelly
soil, covered with patches of thorny shrubs. Until I reached the village
of Abou-Hashym, in the evening, there was no mark of cultivation on
the eastern bank, though I saw in places the signs of fields which had
long since been deserted. I passed several burying-grounds, in one of
which the guide showed me the grave of Mr. Melly, an English gentleman
who died there about a year previous, on his return to Egypt with his
family, after a journey to Khartoum. His tomb was merely an oblong
mound of unburnt brick, with a rough stone at the head and foot. It had
been strictly respected by the natives, who informed me that large sums
were given to them to keep it in order and watch it at night. They also
told me that after his death there was great difficulty in procuring a
shroud. The only muslin in the neighborhood was a piece belonging to an
old Shekh, who had kept it many years, in anticipation of his own death.
It was sacred, having been sent to Mecca and dipped in the holy well of
Zemzem. In this the body was wrapped and laid in the earth. The grave was
in a dreary spot, out of sight of the river, and surrounded by desert
thorns.

We had a strong north-wind all day. The sky was cloudless, but a fine
white film filled the air, and the distant mountains had the pale,
blue-gray tint of an English landscape. The Bishàrees wrapped themselves
closely in their mantles as they walked, but Eesa only tightened the
cloth around his loins, and allowed free play to his glorious limbs. He
informed me that he was on his way to Berber to make preparations for
his marriage, which was to take place in another moon. He and Hossayn
explained to me how the Ababdehs would then come together, feast on
camel’s flesh, and dance their sword-dances. “I shall go to your wedding,
too,” I said to Eesa. “Will you indeed, O Effendi!” he cried, with
delight: “then I shall kill my she-camel, and give you the best piece.” I
asked whether I should be kindly received among the Ababdehs, and Eyoub
declared that the men would be glad to see me, but that the women were
afraid of Franks. “But,” said Achmet, “the Effendi is no Frank.” “How is
this?” said Eyoub, turning to me. “Achmet is right,” I answered: “I am a
white Arab, from India.” “But do you not speak the Frank language, when
you talk with each other?” “No,” said Achmet, “we talk Hindustanee.” “O,
praised be Allah!” cried Hossayn, clapping his hands with joy: “praised
be Allah, that you are an Arab, like ourselves!” and there was such
pleasure in the faces of all, that I immediately repented of having
deceived them. They assured me, however, that the Ababdehs would not
only admit me into their tribe, but that I might have the handsomest
_Ababdiyeh_ that could be found, for a wife. Hossayn had already asked
Achmet to marry the eldest of his two daughters, who was then eleven
years old.

I passed the last evening of the year 1851 on the bank of the Nile, near
Abou-Hashym. There was a wild, green island on the stream, and reefs of
black rock, which broke the current into rapids. The opposite shore was
green and lovely, crowned with groups of palms, between whose stems I had
glimpses of blue mountains far to the south and west. The temperature was
mild, and the air full of the aroma of mimosa blossoms. When night came
on I enjoyed the splendid moon and starlight of the tropics, and watched
the Southern Cross rise above the horizon. The inhabitants of the village
beat their wooden drums lustily all night, to scare the hippopotami away
from their bean-fields. My dream before waking was of an immense lion,
which I had tamed, and which walked beside me—a propitious omen, said the
Arabs.

The morning was so cold that the Bishàrees were very languid in their
movements, and even I was obliged to don my capote. Eesa helped the men
in all the freedom of his naked limbs, and showed no signs of numbness.
The village of Abou-Hashym extends for three or four miles along the
river, and looked charming in the morning sunshine, with its bright
fields of wheat, cotton and dourra spread out in front of the tidy clay
houses. The men were at work among the grain, directing the course of
the water, and shy children tended the herds of black goats that browsed
on the thorns skirting the Desert. The people greeted me very cordially,
and when I stopped to wait for the camels an old man came running up to
inquire if I had lost the way. The western bank of the river is still
richer and more thickly populated, and the large town of Bedjem, capital
of the Beyooda country, lies just opposite Abou-Hashym. After leaving
the latter place our road swerved still more from the Nile, and took a
straight course over a rolling desert tract of stones and thorns, to
avoid a very long curve of the stream. The air was still strong from the
north, and the same gray vapor tempered the sunshine and toned down the
brilliant tints of the landscape.

We passed several small burying-grounds in which many of the graves were
decked with small white flags stuck on poles, and others had bowls of
water placed at the head—a custom for which I could get no explanation.
Near El Bagheyr, where we struck the river again, we met two Bedouins,
who had turned merchants and were taking a drove of camels to Egypt. One
of them had the body of a gazelle which he had shot two days before,
hanging at his saddle, and offered to sell to me, but the flesh had
become too dry and hard for my teeth. Ali succeeded in buying a pair of
fowls for three piastres, and brought me, besides, some doum-nuts, of the
last year’s growth. I could make no impression on them until the rind had
been pounded with stones. The taste was like that of dry gingerbread, and
when fresh, must be very agreeable. In the fields I noticed a new kind of
grain, the heads of which resembled rice. The natives called it _dookhn_,
and said that it was even more nutritious than wheat or dourra, though
not so palatable.

I signalized New-Year’s Day, 1852, by breaking my thermometer, which
fell out of my pocket as I was mounting my dromedary. It was impossible
to replace it, and one point wherein my journey might have been useful
was thus lost. The variations of temperature at different hours of the
day were very remarkable, and on leaving Korosko I had commenced a
record which I intended to keep during the whole of my stay in Central
Africa.[2] In the evening I found in the Nile a fish about four feet
long, which had just been killed by a crocodile. It was lying near the
water’s edge, and as I descended the bank to examine it, two slender
black serpents slid away from before my feet.

We struck the tent early the next morning, and entered on the _akaba_,
or pass of the _Wady el-homar_ (Valley of Asses). It was a barren, stony
tract, intersected with long hollows, which produced a growth of thorns
and a hard, dry grass, the blades of which cut the fingers that attempted
to pluck it. We passed two short ranges of low hills, which showed the
same strata of coal-black shale, as in the Nubian Desert. The _akaba_
takes its name from the numbers of wild asses which are found in it.
These beasts are remarkably shy and fleet, but are sometimes killed and
eaten by the Arabs. We kept a sharp look-out, but saw nothing more than
their tracks in the sand. We met several companies of the village Arabs,
travelling on foot or on donkeys. The women were unveiled, and wore the
same cotton mantle as the men, reaching from the waist to the knees. They
were all tolerably old, and, unlike the men, were excessively ugly. An
Ababdeh, riding on his dromedary, joined company with us. He was naked
to the loins, strongly and gracefully built, and sat erect on his high,
narrow saddle, as if he and his animal were one—a sort of camel-centaur.
His hair was profuse and bushy, but of a fine, silky texture, and “short
Numidian curl,” very different from the crisp wool of the genuine negro.

In the afternoon we reached the Nile again, at his Eleventh Cataract.
For a space of two or three miles his bed is filled with masses of black
rock, in some places forming dams, over which the current roars in its
swift descent. The eastern bank is desert and uninhabited, but the
western delighted the eye with the green brilliance of its fields. In a
patch of desert grass we started a large and beautiful gazelle, spotted
like a fallow-deer. I rode towards it and approached within thirty yards
before it moved away. At sunset we reached a village called Ginnaynetoo,
the commencement of the Berber country. The inhabitants, who dwelt mostly
in tents of palm-matting, were very friendly. As I was lying in my
tent, in the evening, two, who appeared to be the principal persons of
the place, came in, saluted me with “Peace be with you!” and asked for
my health, to which I replied: “Very good, Allah be praised!” Each of
them then took my hand in his, pressed it to his lips and forehead, and
quietly retired.

We resumed our march through a dry, rolling country, grown with thorns,
acacias in flower, and occasional doum-trees. Beyond the Nile, whose
current was no longer to be seen, stretched the long mountain of Berber,
which we first discerned the day previous, when crossing the rise of
the Wady el-homar. The opposite bank was a sea of vivid green, as far
as the eye could reach. Near the water the bean and lupin flourished in
thick clusters; behind them extended fields of cotton, of a rich, dark
foliage; and still beyond, tall ranks of dourra, heavy with ripening
heads. Island-like groups of date-trees and doum-palms studded this
rich bed of vegetation, and the long, blue slope of the mountain gave a
crowning charm to the landscape. As we approached the capital of Berber,
the villages on our right became more frequent, but our path still lay
over the dry plain, shimmering with the lakes of the mirage. We passed a
score of huge vultures, which had so gorged themselves with the carcase
of a camel, that they could scarcely move out of our way. Among them were
several white hawks, a company of crows, and one tall black stork, nearly
five feet in height, which walked about with the deliberate pace of a
staid clergyman. Flocks of quail rose before our very feet, and a large
gray dove, with a peculiar cooing note, was very abundant on the trees.

My _shaytan_ of a guide, Eyoub, wanted to stop at a village called El
Khassa, which we reached at two o’clock. El Mekheyref, he said, was far
ahead, and we could not get there; he would give us a sheep for our
dinner; the Effendi must prove his hospitality (but all at the Effendi’s
expense), and many other weighty reasons — but it would not do. I pushed
on ahead, made inquiries of the natives, and in two hours saw before me
the mud fortress of El Mekheyref. The camel-men, who were very tired,
from the long walk from Korosko, would willingly have stopped at El
Khassa, but when I pointed out Berber, and Achmet told them they could
not deceive me, for I had the truth written in a book, they said not a
word.

We entered the town, which was larger, cleaner and handsomer than any
place I had seen since leaving Siout. Arnaout soldiers were mixed
with the Arabs in the streets, and we met a harem of Cairene ladies
taking a walk, under the escort of two eunuchs. One of them stopped
and greeted us, and her large black eyes sparkled between the folds of
her veil as she exclaimed, in great apparent delight: “Ah, I know you
come from Cairo!” I passed through the streets, found a good place for
my tent on the high bank above the water, and by an hour before sunset
was comfortably encamped. I gave the men their backsheesh—forty-seven
piastres in all, with which they were well satisfied, and they then left
for the tents of their tribe, about two hours distant. I gave Eesa some
trinkets for his bride, which he took with “God reward you!” pressed my
hand to his lips, and then went with them.

CHAPTER XVI.

MY RECEPTION IN BERBER.

I was sitting at my tent-door at dusk, after a luxurious dinner of fowls
and melons, when we suddenly heard a great sound of drums and Arab
singing, with repeated discharges of musketry. The people told us that
a marriage was being celebrated, and proposed that I should go and take
part in the festivities. I therefore partly resumed my Frank dress, and
told Achmet that he must no longer represent me as a Turk, since, in the
conquered countries of Soudân the ruling race is even more unpopular than
the Franks. “Well, master,” said he; “but I must at least make you an
American Bey, because some rank is necessary in these countries.” He took
a lantern, and we set out, in the direction of the noises.

As we passed the mosque, a priest informed us that the wedding was at
the Governor’s house, and that the bridegroom was the son of a former
Governor’s _wekeel_, or deputy. The drums guided us to a spacious
court-yard, at the door of which stood guards in festive dresses. The
court was lighted by a large open brazier of charcoal, fastened on the
end of a high pole, and by various colored lanterns. Long benches were
ranged across the central space, facing the Governor’s mansion, and upon
them sat many of the inhabitants of the town, listening to the music.
The Arnaout soldiers, in their picturesque dresses, were squatted around
the walls, their yataghans and long guns gleaming in the moonlight. The
musicians sat on a raised platform, beside the steps leading to the
door. There were half a dozen drums, some Arab flutes, and a chorus of
strong-lunged singers, who chanted a wild, barbaric epithalamium, in
perfect time and accord. The people all saluted us respectfully, and
invited us to enter. The Albanian guards ushered us into a lofty room,
roofed with palm-logs, which were carefully chosen for their size and
straightness. A broad, cushioned divan ran around two sides of the
apartment. Here sat the military Governor, with his principal officers,
while richly-dressed soldiers stood in waiting. An immense glass lantern
gave light to this striking picture.

The Governor, who was called Yagheshir Bey (although he held the lower
rank of a _Sanjak_), was an Albanian, and commander of the Egyptian
troops in Berber and Shendy. He received me with great kindness, and
made room for me beside him on the divan. He was a tall, stately man,
about fifty years of age; his face was remarkably handsome, with a mild,
benevolent expression, and he had the manners of a finished gentleman. On
my left hand was one of his officers, also a tall, fur-capped Albanian.
I presented both of the dignitaries with cigars, for which they seemed
to have a great relish. Coffee soon appeared, served by negro slaves,
in rich blue dresses, and then the Bey’s shebook, with a mouth-piece
studded with diamonds, was filled for me. The slaves presently returned,
with large glass cups filled with delicious sherbet, which they offered
upon gold-fringed napkins. Achmet, being seated on the other side of
the Governor, was mistaken by the attendants for the American Bey,
notwithstanding his dark complexion, and served first. I could not but
admire the courtly ease of his manners, which belonged rather to the born
son of a Pasha than to the poor orphan-boy of Luxor, indebted only to his
honesty, quick sense, and the kindness of an English lady, for a better
fate than that of the common Fellahs of Egypt. Yet with all the respect
which he knew so well how to command, his devotion to me, as a servant,
was unchanged, and he was as unremitting in his attentions as if soul and
body had been given him expressly for my use.

The Bey, learning that I was bound for Khartoum, sent a soldier for the
shekh of the harbor, whom he commanded, in my presence, to procure a boat
for me, and see that it was ready to sail the next day. The only boats
in this region are rough, open crafts, but the shekh promised to erect a
tent of palm-mats on the poop, to serve as a cabin. Soon after he left
the bridegroom appeared, led by an attendant, as he was totally blind.
He was a handsome youth of eighteen, and in his air there was a charming
mixture of the bridegroom’s dignity and the boy’s bashfulness. He was
simply, but very tastefully dressed, in a blue embroidered jacket, white
silk shirt, white shawl fringed with gold, full white trowsers and red
slippers. He was led to the Governor, kissed his hand and begged him to
ask me if he might not be allowed to have dinner prepared for me. The
officers asked me whether I knew of any remedy for his blindness, but as
I found that the sight had been destroyed by cataract, I told them there
was no help for him nearer than Cairo. The ceremonies were all over, and
the bride, after the entire consummation of the nuptials, had gone to her
father’s house, to remain four days.

The Bey, finding that I was not a merchant, asked Achmet what rank I
held, and the latter answered that in my own country it was something
between a Bey and a Pasha. Before we left, three soldiers were sent down
to the river, and, as I afterwards learned, remained all night, standing
with whips over the poor sailors who were employed in removing the cargo
from the hold of the vessel, which the shekh of the harbor had selected
for me. The raïs was threatened with a hundred lashes, unless he had
every thing ready by the next day. On leaving, I gave a _medjid_ to the
servants, as a gratuity is expected on such occasions. The Bey sent me
one of his Arnaouts to carry the lantern, and insisted on stationing a
guard near my tent. Two soldiers came soon afterwards, who sat upon my
camp-chests and smoked my tobacco until morning. Many of the soldiers
were slaves, who received only fifteen piastres a month, beside their
rations. The Arnaouts were paid one hundred and twenty-five piastres,
and thirty-five piastres additional, provided they furnished their own
equipments. As I pulled off my turban and threw myself on my mattress, I
involuntarily contrasted my position with that of the previous evening.
Then, I slept in the midst of a cluster of Arab huts, a simple Howadji,
among camel-drivers. Now, I was an American Bey, in my tent overlooking
the Nile, watched by a guard of honor sent me by the commander of the
military forces in Berber and Shendy. All honor to Ethiopian hospitality!
For here was at last the true Ethiopia, beyond the confines of Nubia;
beyond the ancient Capital of Queen Candace; beyond, not only the first
and second, but the eleventh cataract of the Nile, and not far distant
from “the steep of utmost Axumè.”

The morning brought with it no less pleasant experiences. Seated at the
door of my tent, indolently smoking, lulled by the murmuring of the Nile
and cheered by the brightness of the green sea that bathed his western
shore, I enjoyed the first complete _kèff_ since leaving Egypt. The
temperature was like that of an American June, and my pulse beat so full
and warm, my whole body was so filled with a sense of health, of strength
in repose, of pure physical satisfaction, that I could not be otherwise
than happy. My pleasure was disturbed by an old Arab, who came up with
two beautiful goats, which I supposed he wanted to sell, but when Achmet
returned from the bazaar, I found that they were a present from the Bey.

As I was sitting at breakfast, an hour later, I heard Achmet talking
loudly with some one on the outside of the tent, and called to him to
know what was the matter. He stated that an officer had just arrived
to announce the Bey’s approach, but that he had ordered him to go back
and say that I was at breakfast, and the Bey must not come for half an
hour. “You have done a very rude thing,” I said; for I felt annoyed that
the Bey should receive such a message, as coming from me. “Don’t be
alarmed, master,” he coolly replied; “the Bey is now certain that you
are of higher rank than he.” Fortunately, I had a handsome tent, the
best of tobacco, and pure Mocha coffee, so that I could comply with the
requisites of Eastern hospitality in a manner worthy of my supposed
rank. The tent was put in order, and I arranged a divan on one side,
made of my carpet, mattress, and capote. The two lantern-poles, bound
together, formed a mast, which I planted at the door, and then run up
the American flag. The preparations were scarcely completed before the
Bey appeared, galloping up on a superb, jet-black stallion, with half a
dozen officers in attendance. As he dismounted, I advanced to receive
him. According to Arab etiquette, the highest in rank enters first, and
true to Achmet’s prediction, the Bey, after taking my hand, requested me
to precede him. I declined, out of courtesy to him, and after a polite
controversy on the subject, he passed his arm affectionately around my
waist, and we went in side by side. Achmet had excellent coffee and
sherbet in readiness, but the Bey preferred my cigars to the shebook.
As he sat beside me on the divan, I thought I had rarely seen a nobler
countenance. He had an unusually clear, large hazel eye, a long but not
prominent nose, and the lines of fifty years had softened and subdued an
expression which may have been fierce and fearless in his younger days.
He was from a village near Parga, in Albania, and was delighted when I
told him that not long previous, I had sailed past the shores of his
native land.

He had no sooner taken his leave than the Civil Governor, _ad interim_,
Mustapha Kashif, arrived, attended by his chief secretary, Mahmoud
Effendi. Mustapha was an Anatolian, small in stature, and quite withered
and wasted by the torrid climate of Berber. His skin had a dark unhealthy
hue, and his eyes a filmy glare, which I attributed to other causes
than the diseased liver of which he complained. He immediately asked
for arakee, and when I told him that it was bad for the liver, said
it was the only thing which did him good. Mahmoud Effendi, who was a
good-humored Turk, made himself quite at home. I showed them my sketches,
with which they were greatly diverted. A remark of the Governor gratified
me exceedingly, as it showed that all the attention I received was paid
me, not on account of my supposed rank, but from the fact of my being
the first American who had ever visited the place. “I have been in
this country twenty-four years,” said he, “and in all that time only
some French and two or three German and English travellers have passed
through. You are the first I have seen from _Yenkee-Doonea_. [This sounds
very much like Yankee-Doodledom, but is in reality the Turkish for “New
World.”] You must not go home with an unfavorable account of us.” He
had once, when in Alexandria, visited an American man-of-war, which, it
appeared, had left a strong impression upon his mind. After mentioning
the circumstance, he asked me how many vessels there were in our Navy.
I had mastered the Arabic language sufficiently to know the necessity
of exaggeration, and answered, without hesitation, that there were one
hundred. “Oh no!” said Mustapha, turning to Mahmoud, the Secretary:
“His Excellency is entirely too modest. I know very well that there are
_six hundred_ vessels in the American Navy!” I had fallen far below the
proper mark; but Achmet tried to straighten the matter by saying that I
meant one hundred ships-of-the-line, and did not include the frigates,
sloops-of-war, brigs, and corvettes.

Before the Governor had finished his visit, there was a stir outside
of the tent, and presently the Chief Mollah—the high-priest of the
mosque of Berber—made his appearance. He was a tall, dark-skinned Arab
of between fifty and sixty years of age, and wore a long robe of the
color sacred to Mahomet, with a turban of the same, under which the ends
of a scarf of white gauze, embroidered with Arabic characters in gold,
hung on both sides of his face. His manner was quiet and dignified, to
a degree which I never saw excelled by any Christian divine. He refused
the pipe, but took coffee and sherbet, holding the former two or three
times alternately to each eye, while he murmured a form of prayer. He
was very much delighted with my sketches, and I was beginning to feel
interested in his remarks, when the Governor’s servant appeared, leading
a splendid chestnut stallion, with a bridle of scarlet silk cord, and
trappings of cloth of the same royal color. He was brought in order that
I might take a ride through the city. “But,” said I to Achmet, “I cannot
go until this priest has left.” “You forget your high rank, O master!”
said the cunning dragoman; “go without fear, and I will take charge of
the priest.” Without more ado, I took a hasty leave of the mollah, and
swung myself into the saddle. The animal shot off like a bolt from a
cross-bow, leaving the Governor to follow in my wake, on his favorite
gray ass. On reaching the mosque, I waited for him, and we entered the
bazaars together. He insisted on my preceding him, and at his command
all the merchants rose and remained standing until we passed. All eyes
were of course fixed upon me, and I had some difficulty in preserving a
serious and dignified countenance, as I thought of my cracked nose and
Abyssinian complexion. Two of the Governor’s slaves attended me, and one
of them, who had a remarkably insolent and scornful expression, was the
only person who did not seem impressed by my presence. The fellow’s face
was disagreeable to me; he was the death’s-head at my banquet.

The stallion was a noble beast, so full of blood and fire that it was
worth a month’s journey through the Desert to bestride him. He was
small, and his limbs were scarcely long enough for the breadth of his
chest and the fulness of his flanks. He had, however, the slender head
and brilliant eye of the Arab breed, and his powerful neck expressed a
fine disdain of other horses. He was of the best Dongolese stock, but
resembled in many points the famed Anatolian breed of Asia Minor. He
pranced and caracoled impatiently as I forced him to accommodate his
pace to that of the ignoble ass. “Let him run!” said the Governor, as we
reached a broad open square near the outskirts of the city. I slackened
the rein, and he dashed away with a swiftness that almost stopped my
breath. I am but an ordinary rider, but owing to the Turkish saddle, had
no difficulty in keeping a firm seat and controlling the powerful steed.
We visited the mud fortress of Berber, which is a square structure, with
a bastion at each corner, having embrasures for three cannon, and the
Governor gave me to understand that they made a mighty sound, every time
they were fired. He then took me to the house of a French merchant, with
a name something like D’Arfou. The merchant was absent in Cairo, but a
black slave gave us admittance. We took seats in a cool portico, admired
the Frenchman’s handsome gray donkey and his choice cows, looked out the
windows upon his garden, planted with fig, orange, banana and pomegranate
trees, and were finally served with coffee, presented in heavy silver
_serfs_. A slave then appeared, bringing his child, a pretty boy of two
years old, born of an Abyssinian mother. He refused to be taken into
the Governor’s arms, and contemplated me, his Frank relative, with much
more satisfaction. M. D’Arfou’s house—although the walls were mud, the
floors gravel and the roof palm-logs—was cool, roomy and pleasant; and
for that region, where one cannot easily have marble pavements and jasper
fountains, was even luxurious.

We mounted again, and the Governor took me through the city, to its
southern extremity. It is more than a mile in length, and contains about
twenty thousand inhabitants. The houses are all of mud, which, though
unsightly in appearance, is there as good as granite, and the streets
are broad, clean, and unmolested by dogs. I was well pleased with the
appearance of the place. The inhabitants are mostly Nubians, of the
different tribes between Berber and Dongola, mixed with a few Ababdehs,
Bishàrees, and other Desert Arabs. Though scantily dressed, they seemed
contented, if not with their masters, at least with their condition.
Among the crowd that gathered to see us, I recognized Eesa, arrayed in
a new, snow-white garment, and looking like a bronze Ganymede. He gazed
at me wistfully, as if uncertain whether he should dare to speak, but I
hailed him at once with: “_Salaamàt, ya Eesa!_” and he replied proudly
and joyfully. After our tour was over, the Governor took me to his house,
which, after that of the Pasha, was the finest one in the place. His
reception-room was cool, with a broad divan, upon which we stretched
ourselves at ease, sharing the single pillow between us. The attendants
were dressing in an adjoining room, and presently appeared in all the
splendor of snow-white turbans and trowsers. I was presented with a
pipe, and as a great treat, a bottle of the mastic cordial of Scio was
brought. The Governor insisted on my drinking three small glasses of it,
three being the fortunate number. At this juncture Achmet appeared, to my
great relief, for my whole stock of Arabic was exhausted.

We were about to leave, but the Governor declared that it was impossible.
It would be disgraceful to him, should we not take dinner in his house,
and in order that we might not be delayed, he ordered it to be served at
once. I was willing enough to make use of this opportunity of partaking
of an Arab dinner. First, a slave appeared, and gave each of us a napkin,
which we spread over our knees. He was followed by another, who bore a
brass ewer, and a pitcher from which he poured water over our hands. A
small stand upholding a large circular piece of tin, was then placed
before us. A covered dish stood in the centre, and a rampart of thin
wheaten cakes, resembling Mexican tortillas, adorned the circumference.
The cover was removed, disclosing a thick soup, with balls of dough and
meat. We took the ebony spoons, and now behold the Governor, Achmet and
I dipping fraternally into the same bowl, and politely stirring the
choice lumps into each other’s spoons. Mustapha was in the most hilarious
humor, but his four dark attendants stood before us as solemn as Death.
I thought then, and still think, that they hated him cordially. The soup
was followed by a dish of _kibâbs_, or small pieces of meat, fried in
grease. These we picked out with our fingers, and then, tearing the wheat
cakes into slices, sopped up the sauce. About ten different compounds
of meat and vegetables followed, each unlike any thing I ever tasted
before, but all quite palatable. The only articles I was able to detect
in the whole dinner, were mutton-cutlets, egg-plants and sour milk.
Each dish was brought on separately, and we all three ate therefrom,
either with spoons or fingers. When the repast was finished, water was
brought again, and we washed our hands and quietly awaited the pipes and
coffee. When we arose to leave, Achmet was about to give the customary
medjid to the servants, but the Governor prevented him. Nevertheless, he
found an opportunity as I was mounting, to slip it into the hand of the
scornful slave, who took it without relaxing the scowl upon his features.
I pranced back to my tent upon the chestnut stallion, from which I parted
with more regret than from its owner.

By this time, every thing was in readiness for my departure. The sailors,
who had worked all night with the whips of the Albanian soldiers hung
over their backs (unknown to me, or I should not have permitted it), had
brought the vessel to the bank below my tent, and the Bey had sent me
his promised letter to the Governor of Shendy. The pleasures of royalty
were now over, and I had to deal with some of its pains. All the officers
and servants who had been employed for my benefit expected backsheesh,
and every beggar in the place came to taste the bounty of the foreign
king. When Achmet went to the bazaars to purchase a few necessaries, he
overheard the people saying to one another, “That is the interpreter of
the strange king,” and many of them rose and remained standing until he
had passed. Ali, who had spent the whole day apparently in hunting for
chickens and pigeons, but Eblis knew for what in reality, was assailed on
all sides with inquiries: “Who is this that has come among us? What high
rank does he possess, that he receives such honor?” Ali, who had known
me merely as a Howadji, was somewhat perplexed how to explain the matter,
but got out of his difficulty by declaring that I was the son of the
great king of all the Franks.

I shall not soon forget that noble old Albanian, Yagheshir Bey. Achmet,
who paid him a parting visit, and was received with the greatest
kindness, conceived a strong affection for him. The Bey, on learning that
I was ready to leave, sent word to me that he would bring a company of
his Arnaouts down to the bank of the Nile, and salute my flag. “It is the
first time that flag has been seen here,” said he to Achmet, “and I must
have it properly honored.” And truly enough, when we were all embarked,
and I had given the stars and stripes to the Ethiopian winds, a company
of about fifty soldiers ranged themselves along the high bank, and
saluted the flag with a dozen rattling volleys.

As I sailed away I returned the salute with my pistols, and the soldiers
fired a parting volley after me for good luck on the voyage, but so
recklessly that I heard the sharp whistle of the bullets quite close to
the vessel. I felt more grateful to the Bey for this courtesy than for
his kindness to myself. But Berber was soon left behind; for the wind was
fair, and bore me southward, deeper into Africa.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE ETHIOPIAN NILE.

“Fair is that land as evening skies,
And cool—though in the depth it lies
Of burning Africa.”—WORDSWORTH.

The voyage from Berber to Khartoum was another link in my chain of
fortunate travel The Ethiopian Nile seemed to me more beautiful than
the Egyptian; at least, the vegetation was richer, the air milder and
sweeter, the water purer, and to crown all, the north-wind unfailing. Day
and night there was a fresh, steady breeze, carrying us smoothly against
the current, at the precise rate of speed which is most pleasant in a
sailing craft—three to four miles an hour. The temperature was that of an
American June, the nights deliciously mild and sweet, and the full moon
shone with a splendor unknown in northern latitudes. I was in perfect
health of body, and suffered no apprehension or anxiety for the future to
disturb my happy frame of mind.

El Mekheyref looked very picturesque in the soft clear light of the
last afternoon hour, as I sailed away from it. The Bey’s mansion and the
mosque rose conspicuously above the long lines of clay walls, and groups
of luxuriant date-trees in the gardens supplied the place of minarets and
spires. Both shores, above the city, were in a high state of cultivation,
and I passed many thriving villages before dusk. Even under the moon,
the corn-fields on either hand were green and bright. I was installed
in a temporary cabin, formed of my tent-canvas, stretched over a frame
of palm-sticks, erected on the narrow poop-deck. Achmet and Ali took
possession of the hold, which they occupied as kitchen and store-room.
The raïs, sailors, and the two beautiful sheep which the Bey gave me,
were grouped on the forecastle. On this first evening, the men, fatigued
by their extra labors on my account, were silent, and I was left to the
full enjoyment of the scene. The waves rippled pleasantly against the
prow of the _America_; the frogs and crickets kept up a concert along the
shore, and the _zikzak_, or crocodile-bird, uttered his sharp, twittering
note at intervals. Hours passed thus, before I was willing to close my
eyes.

The landscapes next morning were still more beautiful. The Nile was as
broad as in Lower Egypt, flowing between banks of the most brilliant
green. Long groves of palms behind the shore, shut out from view the
desert tracts beyond, and my voyage all day was a panorama of the
richest summer scenery. Early in the forenoon I passed the mouth of the
Atbara, the ancient Astaboras, and the first tributary stream which the
traveller meets on his journey from the Mediterranean. Its breadth is
about one-third that of the main river, but the volume of water must be
in a much smaller proportion. The water is a clear, bright green, and its
junction with the darker Nile is distinctly marked. I could look up the
Atbara for about a mile, to where it curved out of sight between high
green banks covered with flowering mimosas. It was a charming piece of
river scenery, and I longed to follow the stream upward through the wild
domains of the Hallengas and Hadendoas, through the forests and jungles
of Takka and Schangalla, to where, an impetuous torrent, it foams through
the Alpine highlands of Samen, under the eternal snows of Abba-Jaret
and Amba-Hai. In Abyssinia it bears the name of Tacazze, but afterwards
through the greater part of its course, is called the Atbara (and the
country it waters, Dar Atbara), except at its junction with the Nile,
where the natives name it El-bahr Mogran.

Two or three hours later we reached the large town of Damer, which gives
its name to the point of land between the two rivers. It is a quarter of
a mile from the shore, and is a collection of mud buildings, scattered
through a grove of sont trees. My sailors stopped to get some mats, and
I climbed the bank to look at the place, but there was nothing in the
view to tempt me to enter. During the day we stopped at an island in
the river, to buy some vegetables. Two men were guarding a large patch
of ripe melons and cucumbers, behind which extended fields of dourra,
divided by hedges of a kind of shrub cypress, all overgrown with a
purple convolvulus in flower, and a wild gourd-vine, with bright yellow
blossoms. In wandering through the luxuriant mazes of vegetation, I
came upon a dwelling of the natives—a nest or arbor, scooped out of a
thick clump of shrubs, and covered with dry branches. It resembled the
_milpas_, or brush-huts of the Mexican rancheros. The only furniture was
a frame of palm-sticks, serving as a divan, and four stones, arranged
so as to form a fireplace. On returning to the shore, I found Achmet in
dispute with the two men. He had taken some melons, for which he offered
them two and a half piastres. They demanded more, but as he had purchased
melons for less in El Mekheyref, he refused, and giving them the money,
took the melons perforce. “Well,” said they, “you are our masters, and
we must submit;” but they would sell no more to my sailors. The latter,
however, procured a bowl of treacle, made of dates, and some sour milk,
at another hut, and were contented therewith. The bean-fields along
the shore had just been trampled down by a hippopotamus, whose huge
footprints we saw in the soft mud near the water.

All day, we sailed between shores of vegetation, of the ripest green.
Both banks of the river, through this region, are studded with
water-wheels, whose creaking ceases not by day nor by night. It was
pleasant to see the strings of jars ascending and descending, and to hear
the cool plashing of the precious blood of the Nile, as it poured into
the branching veins which are the life of that teeming soil. The wheels
were turned by oxen, driven by Dinka slaves, who sang vociferous melodies
the while, and the water was conveyed to fields distant from the river in
the hollow trunks of the doum-tree.

There, where I expected to sail through a wilderness, I found a garden.
Ethiopia might become, in other hands, the richest and most productive
part of Africa. The people are industrious and peaceable, and deserve
better masters. Their dread of the Turks is extreme, and so is their
hatred. I stopped one evening at a little village on the western bank.
The sailors were sent to the houses to procure fowls and eggs, and after
a long time two men appeared, bringing, as they said, the only chicken
in the place. They came up slowly, stooped and touched the ground, and
then laid their hands on their heads, signifying that they were as dust
before my feet. Achmet paid them the thirty paràs they demanded, and when
they saw that the supposed Turks had no disposition to cheat them, they
went back and brought more fowls. Travellers who go by the land routes
give the people an excellent character for hospitality. I was informed
that it is almost impossible to buy anything, even when double the value
of the article is tendered, but by asking for it as a favor, they will
cheerfully give whatever they have.

When I crept out of my tent on the third morning, the features of the
scenery were somewhat changed. A blue chain of hills, which we had passed
in the night, lay behind us, and a long, graceful mountain range rose
on the right, broken by a pass which was cut through it at right angles
to its course. The mountains retreated out of my horizon during the
forenoon, but in the afternoon again approached nearly to the water’s
edge, on the eastern bank. They were of a dark-red color, exhibiting
a broken, mound-like formation. We passed several islands during the
day—beds of glorious vegetation. The sakias were turning at intervals
of a hundred yards or less, and the rustling fields of wheat and dourra
seemed bursting with the fulness of their juices. I now began to notice
that warm vermilion tinge of the clouds, which is frequently exhibited
near the Equator, but is nowhere so striking as in Central Africa. Lying
heavily along the horizon, in the warm hours of the day, they appeared
to glow with a dead, smouldering fire, like brands which are soft white
ashes on the outside, but living coals within.

On the same day I saw the first hippopotamus. The men discerned him
about a quarter of a mile off, as he came up to breathe, and called
my attention to him. Our vessel was run towards him, and the sailors
shouted, to draw his attention: “How is your wife, old boy?” “Is your
son married yet?” and other like exclamations. They insisted upon it
that his curiosity would be excited by this means, and he would allow
us to approach. I saw him at last within a hundred yards, but only the
enormous head, which was more than three feet in breadth across the ears.
He raised it with a tremendous snort, opening his huge mouth at the same
time, and I thought I had never seen a more frightful-looking monster.
He came up in our wake, after we had passed, and followed us for some
time. Directly afterwards we spied five crocodiles on a sand-bank. One of
them was of a grayish-yellow color, and upward of twenty feet in length.
We approached quietly to within a few yards of them, when my men raised
their poles and shouted. The beasts started from their sleep and dashed
quickly into the water, the big yellow one striking so violently against
our hull, that I am sure he went off with a head-ache. The natives have
many superstitions concerning the hippopotamus, and related to me some
astonishing examples of his cunning and sagacity. Among others, they
asserted that an Arab woman, at Abou-Hammed, went down to the river to
wash some clothes, once upon a time. She laid the garments upon some
smooth stones, and was engaged in trampling them with her feet, when a
huge hippopotamus thrust his head out of the river, and after watching
her for some time, made for the shore. The woman fled in terror leaving
the clothes behind her; whereupon the beast immediately took her place,
and pounded away so vigorously with his feet, that in a short time there
was not left a fragment as big as your hand.

On making inquiries for the ruins of Meroë, which we were then
approaching, the raïs only knew that there were some “_beioot kadeem_”
(ancient houses) near the village of Bedjerowiyeh, which we would
probably reach that night. As I found on my map a name which nearly
corresponded to that of the village, I had no doubt that this was Meroë,
and gave orders that the boat should halt until the next day. The raïs
was greatly surprised at my knowing the names of all the towns along
the river, seeing that I had never been there before. I showed him my
map, and told him that I knew from it, the name of every mountain, every
village, and every river, from Cairo to Abyssinia. The men crowded around
and inspected it with the utmost astonishment, and when I pointed out to
them the location of Mecca, and read them the names of all the villages
as far as Khartoum, they regarded it with an expression of reverential
awe. “Wallah!” exclaimed the raïs: “this is truly a wonderful Frank!”

My raïs, whose name was Bakhid, belonged, with his men, to the Nubian
tribe of Màhass, below Dongola. They were tall, well-formed men, with
straight features and high cheek-bones, but the lips were thicker than
those of the Arab tribes of Ethiopia. The latter are of almost pure
Shemitic blood, and are descended from families which emigrated into
Africa from the Hedjaz, seven or eight centuries ago. This accounts for
the prevalence and purity of the Arab language in these regions. The
descendants of the Djaaleyn, or tribe of Beni Koreish, of Yemen, are
still to be found in the country of the Atbara, and there are those in
Ethiopia, who claim to be descendants from the line of the Abbasides and
the Ommiades. There has been very little intermixture with the negro
races beyond Sennaar, who are looked upon as little better than wild
beasts. The Arabic language is spoken from the Red Sea to the borders of
Dar-Fūr and Bornou, and according to Burckhardt, the prevalent idioms
are those of Hedjaz, in Arabia. The distinction between the descendants
of the old Arab stock, and those who, like the Ababdehs and Bishàrees,
belong to the native African races, is obvious to the most careless
observer. The latter, however, must not be confounded with the Negro
race, from which they differ still more widely.

Raïs Bakhid had with him a son named Ibrahim—a boy of twelve. His head
was shaven so as to leave a circular tuft of hair on the crown; large
silver rings hung from his ears, and each cheek was adorned with four
broad scars—three horizontal, and one vertical,—which were produced
by gashing the skin with a knife, and then raising the flesh so as to
prevent the edges from uniting. All the Nubian tribes are scarred in
the same way, frequently upon the breast and back as well as the face,
and the number and position of the marks is generally a token of the
particular tribe to which the person belongs. The slaves brought from the
mountains of Fazogl, on the Abyssinian frontier, have a still greater
profusion of these barbaric ornaments. I had another Mahassee on board—a
fellow of five and twenty, named Beshir, who kept all the others in a
continual laugh with his droll sayings. He spoke the dialect of his
tribe, not a word of which I could understand, but his face and voice
were so comical, that I laughed involuntarily, whenever he spoke. He
was a graceless fellow, given to all sorts of debauchery, and was never
so happy as when he could drink his fill of _om bilbil_; (the “mother
of nightingales,”) as the beer of the country is called, because he who
drinks it, sings.

Another curious character was an old woman named Bakhita, a slave of the
owner of the vessel, who acted as cook for the sailors. She sat squatted
on the forward deck all day, hideously and nakedly ugly, but performed
her duties so regularly and with such a contented face, laughing heartily
at all the jokes which the men made at her expense, that I soon learned
to tolerate her presence, which was at first disgusting. She was a native
of the mountains of Dar-Fūr, but had been captured by the slave-hunters
when a child. She was in Shendy on the night when Ismaïl Pasha and his
soldiers were burned to death by Mek Nemr, in the year 1822. But with
all my questioning, she could give no account of the scene, and it was
a marvel that she remembered it at all. Life was to her a blank page,
and what one day might write upon it, the next day erased. She sat
from morning till night, grinding the dourra between two flat stones,
precisely as the Mexican women grind their maize, occasionally rubbing
her hands upon her woolly head to rid them of the paste. Her only trouble
was my white sheep, which, in its search after food, would deliberately
seize her mealy top-knots and begin to chew them. Her yells, at such
times, were the signal for a fresh attack of Beshir’s drollery. Yet old,
and ugly, and imbruted as she was, no Frankish belle, whose bloom is
beginning to wane, could have been more sensitive about her age. I was
delighted to find this touch of vanity in her; it was the only trace of
feminine nature she ever betrayed. Beshir’s declaration that she was
a hundred and fifty years old, roused her to fury. She rose up, turned
to me with a face so hideously distorted that I could not laugh at it,
and yelled out: “Look at me, O my lord! and tell me if this son of a dog
speaks the truth!” “He lies, Bakhita,” I answered; “I should say that you
were not more than thirty years old.” The fury of her face was instantly
replaced by a simper of vanity which made it even more hideous; but
from that time Bakhita considered me as her friend. Beshir, who never
missed an opportunity of hailing the people on shore, called out one day
to a damsel who came down to the river for water: “Here is your sister
on board.” The amiable maiden, not at all pleased with the comparison,
rejoined; “Am I sister to a hyena?”—a compliment, over which the old
woman chuckled for a long time.

The wind fell at sunset, when we were about seven miles from Meroë, and
while the sailors moored the boat to the shore and built a fire to cook
the head and ribs of my sheep, I climbed the bank, to get a sight of the
country. As far as I could see, the soil was cultivated, principally with
cotton and dourra. The cotton was both in flower and pod, and was of
excellent quality. Achmet and I visited a water-mill, under the charge of
a Dinka slave, who came up humbly and kissed our hands. We commanded him
to go on with his work, when he took his seat on the beam of the wheel
and drove his cows around, to the accompaniment of a loud, shrill song,
which, at a distance harmonized strangely with the cry of the jackal, in
the deserts away beyond the river.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE RUINS OF MEROË.

A light breeze sprang up soon after midnight, and when I arose, at
sunrise, we were approaching the village of Bedjerowiyeh. By the time
coffee was ready, the America was moored at the landing-place, and Raïs
Bakhid, who was familiar with all the localities, stood in waiting.
Achmet, with Beshir and another sailor, also accompanied me. We crossed
some fields of cotton and dookhn to the village, which was a cluster of
_tokuls_ or circular huts of mud and sticks, in a grove of sont trees.
The raïs tried to procure a donkey for me, but the people, who took me
for an Egyptian, and appeared very timorous and humble, denied having
any, although I saw two half-starved beasts among the trees. We therefore
set out on foot, toward a range of mountains, about five miles distant.

The discovery of the ruins of Meroë is of comparatively recent date,
and it is only within a very short time that their true character
and place in Ethiopian history have been satisfactorily established.
Hoskins, Cailliaud and Ferlini were the first to direct the attention of
antiquarians to this quarter, and the later and more complete researches
of Lepsius leave room for little more to be discovered concerning them.
It is remarkable that both Bruce and Burckhardt, who travelled by land
from Berber to Shendy, failed to see the ruins, which must have been
visible from the road they followed. The former, in fact, speaks of the
broken pedestals, carved stones and pottery which are scattered over the
plain, and sagely says. “It is impossible to avoid risking a guess that
this is the ancient city of Meroë”—but he does not mention the groups of
pyramids which are so conspicuous a feature in the landscape.

Our path led over a plain covered with thorny shrubs at first, but
afterwards hard black gravel, and we had not gone more than a mile
before the raïs pointed out the pyramids of the ancient Ethiopian city.
I knew it only from its mention in history, and had never read any
description of its remains; consequently I was surprised to see before
me, in the vapory morning air, what appeared to be the ruins of pylæ and
porticos, as grand and lofty as those of Karnak. Rising between us and
the mountains, they had an imposing effect, and I approached them with
excited anticipations. As we advanced, however, and the morning vapors
melted away, I found that they derived much of their apparent height
from the hill upon which they are built, and that, instead of being the
shattered parts of one immense temple, they were a group of separate
pyramids, standing amid the ruins of others which have been completely
destroyed.

We reached them after a walk of about four miles. They stand upon a
narrow, crescent-shaped hill, which rises forty or fifty feet from the
plain, presenting its convex front to the Nile, while toward the east its
hollow curve embraces a small valley lying between it and the mountain
range. Its ridge is crowned with a long line of pyramids, standing so
close to each other that their bases almost meet, but presenting no
regular plan or association, except in the direction of their faces.
None of them retains its apex, and they are all more or less ruined,
though two are perfect to within a few courses of the top. I climbed one
of the highest, from which I could overlook the whole group, as well as
another cluster, which crowned the summit of a low ridge at the foot of
the mountains opposite. Of those among which I stood, there were sixteen,
in different degrees of ruin, besides the shapeless stone-heaps of many
more. They are all built of fine red sandstone, in regular courses of
masonry, the spaces of which are not filled, or cased, as in the Egyptian
pyramids, except at the corners, which are covered with a narrow hem
or moulding, in order to give a smooth outline. The stones are about
eighteen inches high, and the recession of each course varies from two to
four inches, so that the height of the structure is always much greater
than the breadth of the base. A peculiarity of these pyramids is, that
the sides are not straight but curved lines, of different degrees of
convexity, and the breadth of the courses of stone is adjusted with the
utmost nicety, so as to produce this form. They are small, compared with
the enormous piles of Gizeh and Dashoor, but singularly graceful and
elegant in appearance. Not one of the group is more than seventy feet in
height, nor when complete could have exceeded one hundred.

All or nearly all have a small chamber attached to the exterior, exactly
against the centre of their eastern sides, but no passage leading into
the interior; and from the traces of Dr. Lepsius’s labors, by which I
plainly saw that he had attempted in vain to find an entrance, it is
evident that they are merely solid piles of masonry, and that, if they
were intended as tombs, the bodies were deposited in the outer chambers.
Some of these chambers are entire, except the roof, and their walls
are profusely sculptured with hieroglyphics, somewhat blurred and worn
down, from the effect of the summer rains. Their entrances resembled the
doorways of temples, on a miniature scale, and the central stones of two
of them were sculptured with the sacred winged globe. I saw on the jamb
of another a figure of the god Horus. The chambers were quite small,
and not high enough to allow me to stand upright. The sculptures have a
very different character from those in the tombs of Thebes, and their
resemblance to those of the Ptolemaic period was evident at the first
glance. The only cartouches of monarchs which I found were so obliterated
that I could not identify them, but the figure of one of the kings,
grasping in one hand the hair of a group of captives, while with the
other he lifts a sword to slay them, bears a striking resemblance to that
of Ptolemy Euergetes, on the pylon of the temple at Edfou. Many of the
stones in the vast heaps which lie scattered over the hills, are covered
with sculptures. I found on some the winged globe and scarabeüs, while
others retained the scroll or fillet which usually covers the sloping
corners of a pylon. On the northern part of the hill I found several
blocks of limestone, which exhibited a procession of sculptured figures
brilliantly colored.

The last structure on the southern extremity of the hill is rather a
tower than a pyramid, consisting of a high base or foundation, upon which
is raised a square building, the corners presenting a very slight slope
towards the top, which is covered with ruins, indicating that there was
originally another and narrower story upon it. When complete, it must
have borne considerable resemblance to the Assyrian towers, the remains
of which are found at Nineveh. On this part of the hill there are many
small detached chambers, all facing the east, and the remains of a large
building. Here Lepsius appears to have expended most of his labors, and
the heaps of stone and rubbish he has left behind him prevent one from
getting a very clear idea of the original disposition of the buildings.
He has quarried one of the pyramids down to its base, without finding
any chamber within or pit beneath it. My raïs, who was at a loss to
comprehend the object of my visit, spoke of Lepsius as a great Frank
astrologer, who had kept hundreds of the people at work for many days,
and at last found in the earth a multitude of chickens and pigeons,
all of solid gold. He then gave the people a great deal of backsheesh
and went away, taking the golden fowls with him. The most interesting
object he has revealed is a vaulted room, about twenty feet long, which
the raïs pointed out as the place where the treasures were found. It
is possible that he here referred to the discoveries made about twenty
years ago by Ferlini, who excavated a great quantity of rings and other
ornaments—Greek and Roman, as well as Ethiopian—which are now in the
Museum at Berlin. The ceiling of this vault is on the true principle of
the arch, with a keystone in the centre, which circumstance, as well
as the character of the sculptures, would seem to fix the age of the
pyramids at a little more than two thousand years.

I took a sketch of this remarkable cluster of ruins from their northern
end, and afterwards another from the valley below, whence each pyramid
appears distinct and separate, no one covering the other. The raïs and
sailors were puzzled what to make of my inspection of the place, but
finally concluded that I hoped to find a few golden pigeons, which the
Frank astrologer had not carried away. I next visited the eastern group,
which consists of ten pyramids, more or less dilapidated, and the ruined
foundations of six or eight more. The largest, which I ascended, consists
of thirty-five courses of stone, and is about fifty-three feet in height,
eight or ten feet of the apex having been hurled down. Each side of the
apex is seventeen paces, or about forty-two feet long, and the angle of
ascent is consequently much greater than in the pyramids of Egypt. On the
slope of the hill are the substructions of two or three large buildings,
of which sufficient remains to show the disposition of the chambers and
the location of the doorways. Towards the south, near where the valley
inclosed between the two groups opens upon the plain, are the remains
of other pyramids and buildings, and some large, fortress-like ruins
are seen on the summits of the mountains to the East. I would willingly
have visited them, but the wind was blowing fresh, and the raïs was
impatient to get back to his vessel. Many of the stones of the pyramids
are covered with rude attempts at sculpturing camels and horses; no
doubt by the Arabs, for they resemble a school-boy’s first drawings on
a slate—straight sticks for legs, squares for bodies, and triangles for
humps.

Leaving the ruins to the company of the black goats that were browsing
on the dry grass, growing in bunches at their eastern base, I walked
to another group of pyramids, which lay a mile and a half to the
south-west, towards the Nile. As we approached them, a herd of beautiful
gray gazelles started from among the stones and bounded away into the
Desert. “These were the tents of the poor people,” said the raïs,
pointing to the pyramids: “the Frank found no golden pigeons here.”
They were, in fact, smaller and more dilapidated than the others. Some
had plain burial chambers attached to their eastern sides, but the
sculptures were few and insignificant. There were sixteen in all, more
or less ruined. Scattering mounds, abounding with fragments of bricks
and building-stones, extended from these ruins nearly to the river’s
bank, a distance of more than two miles; and the foundations of many
other pyramids might be seen among them. The total number of pyramids
in a partial state of preservation—some being nearly perfect, while a
few retained only two or three of the lower courses—which I counted on
the site of Meroë, was _forty-two_. Besides these, I noticed the traces
of forty or fifty others, which had been wholly demolished. The entire
number, however, of which Meroë could boast, in its prime, was _one
hundred and ninety-six_. The mounds near the river, which cover an extent
of between one and two miles, point out the site of the city, the capital
of the old Hierarchy of Meroë, and the pyramids are no doubt the tombs of
its kings and priests. It is rather singular that the city has been so
completely destroyed, as the principal spoilers of Egypt, the Persians,
never penetrated into Ethiopia, and there is no evidence of the stones
having been used to any extent by the Arabs, as building materials.

The examination of Meroë has solved the doubtful question of an
Ethiopian civilization anterior to that of Egypt. Hoskins and Cailliaud,
who attributed a great antiquity to the ruins, were misled by the fact,
discovered by Lepsius, that the Ethiopian monarchs adopted as their own,
and placed upon their tombs the nomens of the earlier Pharaohs. It is now
established beyond a doubt, that, so far from being the oldest, these
are the latest remains of Egyptian art; their inferiority displays its
decadence, and not the rude, original type, whence it sprang. Starting
from Memphis, where not only the oldest Egyptian, but the oldest human
records yet discovered, are found, the era of civilization becomes
later, as you ascend the Nile. In Nubia, there are traces of Thothmes
and Amunoph III., or about fifteen centuries before the Christian era;
at Napata, the ancient capital of Ethiopia, we cannot get beyond King
Tirhaka, eight centuries later; while at Meroë, there is no evidence
which can fix the date of the pyramids earlier than the first, or at
furthest, the second century before Christ. Egypt, therefore, was not
civilized from Ethiopia, but Ethiopia from Egypt.

The sculptures at Meroë also establish the important fact that the
ancient Ethiopians, though of a darker complexion than the Egyptians
(as they are in fact represented, in _Egyptian_ sculpture), were, like
them, an offshoot of the great Caucasian race.[3] Whether they were
originally emigrants from Northern India and the regions about Cashmere,
as the Egyptians are supposed to have been, or, like the Beni Koreish
at a later period, crossed over from the Arabian Peninsula, is not so
easily determined. The theory of Pococke and other scholars, based on the
presumed antiquity of Meroë, that here was the first dawning on African
soil of that earliest Indian Civilization, which afterwards culminated at
Memphis and Thebes, is overthrown; but we have what is of still greater
significance—the knowledge that the highest Civilization, in every age of
the world, has been developed by the race to which we belong.

I walked slowly back to the boat, over the desolate plain, striving to
create from those shapeless piles of ruin the splendor of which they were
once a part. The sun, and the wind and the mountains, and the Nile, were
what they had ever been; but where the kings and priests of Meroë walked
in the pomp of their triumphal processions, a poor, submissive peasant
knelt before me with a gourd full of goat’s milk; and if I had asked
him when that plain had been inhabited, he would have answered me, like
Chidhar, the Prophet: “As thou seest it now, so has it been for ever!”

CHAPTER XIX.

ETHIOPIAN NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS.

The Landscapes of Ethiopia—My Evenings beside the
Nile—Experiences of the Arabian Nights—The Story of the
Sultana Zobeide and the Wood-cutter—Character of the Arabian
Tales—Religion.

“For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Al-Raschid.”—TENNYSON.

With my voyage on the Ethiopian Nile a thread of romance was woven,
which, in the Oriental mood that had now become native to me, greatly
added to the charm of the journey. My nights’ entertainments were better
than the Arabian. The moon was at the full, and although, during the
day, a light north-wind filled my sails, it invariably fell calm at
sunset, and remained so for two or three hours. During the afternoon,
I lay stretched on my carpet on the deck, looking through half-closed
eyes on the glittering river and his banks. The western shore was one
long bower of Paradise—so green, so bright, so heaped with the deep, cool
foliage of majestic sycamores and endless clusters of palms. I had seen
no such beautiful palms since leaving Minyeh, in Lower Egypt. There they
were taller, but had not the exceeding richness and glory of these. The
sun shone hot in a cloudless blue heaven, and the air was of a glassy,
burning clearness, like that which dwells in the inmost heart of fire.
The colors of the landscape were as if enamelled on gold, so intense, so
glowing in their intoxicating depth and splendor. When, at last, the wind
fell—except a breeze just strong enough to shake the creamy odor out of
the purple bean-blossoms—and the sun went down in a bed of pale orange
light, the moon came up the other side of heaven, a broad disc of yellow
fire, and bridged the glassy Nile with her beams.

[Illustration: Moonlight on the Ethiopian Nile.]

At such times, I selected a pleasant spot on the western bank of the
river, where the palms were loftiest and most thickly clustered, and had
the boat moored to the shore. Achmet then spread my carpet and piled my
cushions on the shelving bank of white sand, at the foot of the trees,
where, as I lay, I could see the long, feathery leaves high above my
head, and at the same time look upon the broad wake of the moon, as she
rose beyond the Nile. The sand was as fine and soft as a bed of down,
and retained an agreeable warmth from the sunshine which had lain upon
it all day. As we rarely halted near a village, there was no sound to
disturb the balmy repose of the scene, except, now and then, the whine
of a jackal prowling along the edge of the Desert. Achmet crossed his
legs beside me on the sand, and Ali, who at such times had special charge
of my pipe, sat at my feet, ready to replenish it as often as occasion
required. My boatmen, after gathering dry palm-leaves and the resinous
branches of the mimosa, kindled a fire beside some neighboring patch
of _dookhn_, and squatted around it, smoking and chatting in subdued
tones, that their gossip might not disturb my meditations. Their white
turbans and lean dark faces were brought out in strong relief by the
red fire-light, and completed the reality of a picture which was more
beautiful than dreams.

On the first of these evenings, after my pipe had been filled for the
third time, Achmet, finding that I showed no disposition to break the
silence, and rightly judging that I would rather listen than talk,
addressed me. “Master,” said he, “I know many stories, such as the
story-tellers relate in the coffee-houses of Cairo. If you will give me
permission, I will tell you some which I think you will find diverting.”
“Excellent!” said I; “nothing will please me better, provided you tell
them in Arabic. This will be more agreeable to both of us, and whenever I
cannot understand your words, I will interrupt you, and you shall explain
them as well as you can, in English.” He immediately commenced, and
while those evening calms lasted, I had such a living experience of the
Arabian Nights, as would have seemed to me a greater marvel than any they
describe, had it been foreshown to my boyish vision, when I first hung
over the charmed pages. There, in my African mood, the most marvellous
particulars seemed quite real and natural, and I enjoyed those flowers of
Eastern romance with a zest unknown before. After my recent reception,
as a king of the Franks, in the capital of Berber, it was not difficult
to imagine myself Shahriar, the Sultan of the Indies, especially as the
moon showed me my turbaned shadow on the sand. If the amber mouth-piece
of my pipe was not studded with jewels, and if the zerf which held my
coffee-cup was brass instead of gold, it was all the same by moonlight.
Achmet, seated on the sand, a little below my throne, was Sheherazade,
and Ali, kneeling at my feet, her sister, Dinarzade; though, to speak
candidly, my imagination could not stretch quite so far. In this respect,
Shahriar had greatly the advantage of me. I bitterly felt the difference
between my dusky vizier, and his vizier’s daughter. Nor did Ali, who
listened to the stories with great interest, expressing his satisfaction
occasionally by a deep guttural chuckle, ever surprise me by saying: “If
you are not asleep, my sister, I beg of you to recount to me one of those
delightful stories you know.”

Nevertheless, those nights possessed a charm which separates them from
all other nights I have known. The stories resembled those of the
Arabian tale in being sometimes prolonged from one day to another.
One of them, in fact, was “Ganem, the Slave of Love,” but, as told by
Achmet, differing slightly from the English version. The principal story,
however, was new to me, and as I am not aware that it has ever been
translated, I may be pardoned for telling it as it was told to me, taking
the liberty to substitute my own words for Achmet’s mixture of Arabic
and English. I was too thoroughly given up to the pleasant illusion, to
note down the story at the time, and I regret that many peculiarities of
expression have escaped me, which then led me to consider it a genuine
product of the age which produced the Thousand and One Nights.

“You already know, my Master,” Achmet began, “that many hundred years
ago all the people of Islam were governed by a caliph, whose capital
was Baghdad, and I doubt not that you have heard of the great Caliph,
Haroun Al-Raschid, who certainly was not only the wisest man of his
day, but the wisest that has been known since the days of our Prophet,
Mohammed, whose name be exalted! It rarely happens that a wise and great
man ever finds a wife, whose wisdom is any match for his own; for as the
wise men whom Allah sends upon the earth are few, so are the wise women
still fewer. But herein was the Caliph favored of Heaven. Since the days
of Balkis, the Queen of Sheba, whom even the prophet Solomon could not
help but honor, there was no woman equal in virtue or in wisdom to the
Sultana Zubeydeh (Zobeide). The Caliph never failed to consult her on all
important matters, and her prudence and intelligence were united with
his, in the government of his great empire, even as the sun and moon are
sometimes seen shining in the heavens at the same time.

“But do not imagine that Haroun Al-Raschid and the Sultana Zubeydeh were
destitute of faults. None except the Prophets of God—may their names be
extolled for ever!—were ever entirely just, or wise, or prudent. The
Caliph was subject to fits of jealousy and mistrust, which frequently led
him to commit acts that obliged him, afterwards, to eat of the bitter
fruit of repentance; and as for Zubeydeh, with all her wisdom she had
a sharp tongue in her head, and was often so little discreet as to say
things which brought upon her the displeasure of the Commander of the
Faithful.

“It chanced that, once upon a time, they were both seated in a window of
the _hareem_, which overlooked one of the streets of Baghdad. The Caliph
was in an ill-humor, for a beautiful Georgian slave whom his vizier had
recently brought him, had disappeared from the harem, and he saw in
this the work of Zubeydeh, who was always jealous of any rival to her
beauty. Now as they were sitting there, looking down into the street,
a poor wood-cutter came along, with a bundle of sticks upon his head.
His body was lean with poverty, and his only clothing was a tattered
cloth, bound around his waist. But the most wonderful thing was, that
in passing through the wood where he had collected his load, a serpent
had seized him by the heel, but his feet were so hardened by toil that
they resembled the hoofs of a camel, and he neither felt the teeth of
the serpent, nor knew that he was still dragging it after him as he
walked. The Caliph marvelled when he beheld this, but Zubeydeh exclaimed:
‘See, O Commander of the Faithful! there is the man’s wife!’ ‘What!’
exclaimed Haroun, with sudden wrath: ‘Is the wife then a serpent to the
man, which stings him none the less because he does not feel it? Thou
serpent, because thou hast stung me, and because thou hast made sport of
the honest poverty of that poor creature, thou shalt take the serpent’s
place!’ Zubeydeh answered not a word, for she knew that to speak would
but increase the Caliph’s anger. Haroun clapped his hands thrice, and
presently Mesrour, his chief eunuch, appeared. ‘Here Mesrour!’ said he,
‘take this woman with thee, follow yonder wood-cutter, and present her to
him as his wife, whom the Caliph hath ordered him to accept.’

“Mesrour laid his hands upon his breast and bowed his head, in token of
obedience. He then beckoned to Zubeydeh, who rose, covered herself with
a veil and a feridjee, such as is worn by the wives of the poor, and
followed him. When they had overtaken the wood-cutter, Mesrour delivered
to him the message of the Caliph, and presented to him the veiled
Zubeydeh. ‘There is no God but God!’ said the poor man; ‘but how can I
support a wife—I, who can scarcely live by my own labors?’ ‘Dost thou
dare to disobey the Commander of the Faithful?’ cried Mesrour, in such
a savage tone, that the man trembled from head to foot; but Zubeydeh,
speaking for the first time, said: ‘Take me with thee, O Man! since it is
the Caliph’s will. I will serve thee faithfully, and perhaps the burden
of thy poverty may be lightened through me.’ The man thereupon obeyed,
and they proceeded together to his house, which was in a remote part
of the city. There were but two miserable rooms, with a roof which was
beginning to fall in, from decay. The wood-cutter, having thrown down
his bundle, went out to the bazaar, purchased some rice and a little
salt, and brought a jar of water from the fountain. This was all he could
afford, and Zubeydeh, who had kindled a fire in the mean time, cooked it
and placed it before him. But when he would have had her raise her veil
and sit down to eat with him, she refused, saying: ‘I have promised that
I shall not increase the burden of thy poverty. Promise me, in return,
that thou wilt never seek to look upon my face, nor to enter that room,
which I have chosen for my apartment. I am not without learning, O Man!
and if thou wilt respect my wishes, it shall be well for thee.’

“The wood-cutter, who was not naturally deficient in intelligence,
perceived from the words of Zubeydeh that she was a superior person,
and, judging that he could not do better than to follow her counsel,
promised at once all that she desired. She then declared, that as she
intended to take charge of his household, he must give to her, every
evening, all the money he had received for his wood during the day. The
man consented to this likewise, produced a handful of copper coins, which
altogether amounted to only one piastre—but you must know, my master,
that a piastre, in the days of Haroun Al-Raschid, was four or five times
as much as it is nowadays. Thus they lived together for several weeks,
the wood-cutter going to the forest every day, and paying his gains every
night into the hands of Zubeydeh, who kept his miserable house clean
and comfortable and prepared his food. She managed things with so much
economy that she was enabled to save two paràs every day, out of the
piastre which he gave her. When she had amassed twenty piastres in this
way, she gave them to the wood-cutter, saying: ‘Go now to the market
and buy thee an ass with this money. Thou canst thus bring home thrice
as much wood as before, and the ass can subsist upon the grass which he
finds in the forest, and which costs thee nothing.’ ‘By Allah!’ exclaimed
the wood-cutter; ‘thou art a wonderful woman, and I will obey thee in
every thing.’

“He forthwith did as Zubeydeh ordered, and was now enabled to give
her three or four piastres every evening. She presented him with a
more decent garment, and added butter to his pillau of rice, but still
preserved such a strict economy, that in a short time he was master of
three asses instead of one, and was obliged to hire a man to assist him
in cutting wood. One evening, as the asses came home with their loads,
Zubeydeh remarked that the wood gave out a grateful fragrance, like that
of musk or ambergris, and upon examining it more closely, she found that
it was a most precious article—in fact, that it had been cut from one
of those spicy trees which sprang up where the tears of Adam fell upon
the Earth, as he bewailed his expulsion from Paradise. For at that time
the juices of the fruits of Paradise still remained in his body, and
his tears were flavored by them—which was the cause of all the spices
that grow in the lands of Serendib and India. Zubeydeh asked of the
wood-cutter: ‘To whom dost thou sell this wood?’ and from his answer she
found that it was all purchased by some Jewish merchants, who gave him no
more for it than for the common wood with which she cooked his rice. ‘The
accursed Jews!’ she exclaimed: ‘Go thou to them immediately, and threaten
to accuse them before the Cadi of defrauding a son of the Faith, unless
they agree to pay thee for this wood henceforth, twelve times as much as
they have paid before!’

“The man lost no time in visiting the Jewish merchants, who, when they
saw that their fraud had been discovered, were greatly alarmed, and
immediately agreed to pay him all that he demanded. The wood-cutter now
brought home every night three donkey-loads of the precious wood, and
paid to Zubeydeh from one to two hundred piastres. She was soon able to
purchase a better house, where she not only gave the man more nourishing
food, but sent for a teacher to instruct him how to read and write. He
had so improved in appearance by this time, and had profited so well by
the wise conversation of Zubeydeh, that he was quite like another person,
and those who had known him in his poverty no longer recognized him. For
this reason, the Caliph, who soon repented of his anger towards Zubeydeh
and made every effort to recover her, was unable to find any trace of
him. Mesrour sought day and night through the streets of Baghdad, but as
Zubeydeh never left the wood-cutter’s house, all his search was in vain,
and the Caliph was like one distracted.

“One day, as the wood-cutter was on his way to the forest, he was met by
three persons, who desired to hire his asses for the day. ‘But,’ said
he, ‘I make my living from the wood which the asses carry to the city.’
‘What profit do you make upon each load?’ asked one of the men. ‘If it
is a good load, I often make fifty piastres,’ answered the wood-cutter.
‘Well,’ said the men, ‘we will give you two hundred piastres as the hire
of each ass, for one day.’ The wood-cutter, who had not expected such an
extraordinary offer, was about to accept it at once, when he reflected
that he had obeyed in all things the advice of Zubeydeh, and ought not
to take such a step without her consent. He thereupon requested the men
to wait while he returned home and consulted his wife. ‘You have done
right, O my lord!’ said Zubeydeh: ‘I commend your prudence, and am quite
willing that you should accept the offer of the men, as the money will
purchase other asses and repay you for the loss of the day’s profit, if
the persons should not return.’

“Now the three men were three celebrated robbers, who had amassed a vast
treasure, which they kept concealed in a cave in one of the neighboring
mountains. They hired the donkeys in order to transport this treasure to
a barque in which they had taken passage to Bassora, where they intended
to establish themselves as rich foreign merchants. But Allah, who governs
all things, allows the plans of the wicked to prosper for a time, only
that he may throw them into more utter ruin at the last. The robbers went
to their secret cave with the donkeys and loaded them with all their
spoils—great sacks of gold, of rubies, diamonds and emeralds, which the
beasts were scarcely strong enough to carry. On their way to the river
below Baghdad, where the boat was waiting for them, two of them stopped
to drink at a well, while the other went on with the asses. Said one of
the twain to the other: “Let us kill our comrade, that we may have the
greater treasure.” He at once agreed, and they had no sooner overtaken
the third robber, than the first, with one stroke of his sabre, made
his head fly from his body. The two then proceeded together for a short
distance, when the murderer said: ‘I must have more than half of the
treasure, because I killed our comrade.’ ‘If you begin by claiming more
than half, you will in the end claim the whole,’ said the other robber,
who refused to agree. They presently set upon each other with their
swords, and after fighting for some time, both of them received so many
wounds that they fell dead in the road.

“The asses, finding that no one was driving them any longer, took, from
habit, the road to the wood-cutter’s house, where they arrived safely,
with the treasure upon their backs. Great was the amazement of their
master, who, at Zubeydeh’s command, carried the heavy sacks into the
house. But when he had opened one of them, and the splendor of the jewels
filled the whole room, Zubeydeh exclaimed: ‘God is great! Now, indeed, I
see that my conduct is acceptable to Him, and that His hand hurries my
design more swiftly to its completion.’ But, as she knew not what had
happened to the robbers, and supposed that the owner of the treasure
would have his loss proclaimed in the bazaars, she determined to keep the
sacks closed for the space of a moon, after which, according to the law,
they would become her property, if they had not been claimed in the mean
time. Of course, no proclamation of the loss was made, and at the end
of the moon, she considered that she had a just right to the treasure,
which, upon computation proved to be even greater than that of the Caliph
Haroun Al-Raschid.

“She commanded the wood-cutter to send her at once the most renowned
architect of Baghdad, whom she directed to build, exactly opposite to
the Caliph’s Palace, another palace which should surpass in splendor any
thing that had ever been beheld. For the purchase of the materials and
the hire of the workmen, she gave him a hundred thousand pieces of gold.
‘If men ask,’ said she, ‘for whom you are building the palace, tell them
it is for the son of a foreign king.’ The architect employed all the
workmen in Baghdad, and followed her instructions so well, that in two
months the palace was finished. The like of it had never been seen, and
the Caliph’s palace faded before its magnificence as the face of the moon
fades when the sun has risen above the horizon. The walls were of marble,
white as snow; the gates of ivory, inlaid with pearl; the domes were
gilded, so that when the sun shone, the eye could not look upon them; and
from a great fountain of silver, in the court-yard, a jet of rose-colored
water, which diffused an agreeable odor, leaped into air. Of this palace
it might be said, in the words of the poet: ‘Truly it resembles Paradise;
or is it the lost House of Irem, built from the treasures of King
Sheddad? May kindness dwell upon the lips of the lord of this palace, and
charity find refuge in his heart, that he be adjudged worthy to enjoy
such splendor!’

“During the building of the palace, Zubeydeh employed the best masters
in teaching the wood-cutter all the accomplishments which his present
condition required that he should possess. In a short time he was a very
pattern of elegance in his manner; his words were choice and spoken with
dignity and propriety, and his demeanor was that of one born to command
rather than to obey. When she had succeeded to the full extent of her
wishes, she commenced teaching him to play chess, and spent several hours
a day in this manner, until he finally played with a skill equal to her
own. By this time, the palace was completed, and after having purchased
horses and slaves, and every thing necessary to the maintenance of a
princely household, Zubeydeh and the wood-cutter took possession of it
during the night, in order that they might not be observed by the Caliph.
Zubeydeh bade the wood-cutter remember the promise he had made her. She
still retained her own apartments, with a number of female slaves to
attend her, and she now presented to him, as a harem becoming a prince,
twenty Circassian girls, each one fairer than the morning-star.

“The next morning she called the wood-cutter, and addressed him thus:
‘You see, my lord! what I have done for you. You remember in what
misery I found you, and how, by your following my advice, every thing
was changed. I intend to exalt you still higher, and in order that my
plans may not be frustrated, I now ask you to promise that you will
obey me in all things, for a month from this time.’ Zubeydeh made this
demand, for she knew how quickly a change of fortune may change a man’s
character, and how he will soon come to look upon that as a right which
Allah granted him as a boon. But the wood-cutter threw himself at her
feet, and said: ‘O Queen! it is for you to command, and it is for me to
obey. You have taught me understanding and wisdom; you have given me the
wealth of kings. May Allah forget me, if I forget to give you, in return,
gratitude and obedience.’ ‘Go, then,’ continued Zubeydeh, ‘mount this
horse, and attended by twenty slaves on horseback, visit the coffee-house
in the great bazaar. Take with thee a purse of three thousand pieces of
gold, and as thou goest on thy way, scatter a handful occasionally among
the beggars. Take thy seat in the coffee-house, where thou wilt see the
Vizier’s son, who is a skilful player of chess. He will challenge the
multitude to play with him, and when no one accepts, do thou engage him
for a thousand pieces of gold. Thou wilt win; but pay him the thousand
pieces as if thou hadst lost, give two hundred pieces to the master of
the coffee-house, divide two hundred pieces among the attendants, and
scatter the remainder among the beggars.’

“The wood-cutter performed all that Zubeydeh commanded. He accepted the
challenge of the Vizier’s son, won the game, yet paid him a thousand
pieces of gold as if he had lost, and then rode back to the palace,
followed by the acclamations of the multitude, who were loud in their
praises of his beauty, the elegance of his speech, his unbounded
munificence, and the splendor of his attendance. Every day he visited the
coffee-house, gave two hundred pieces of gold to the master, two hundred
to the servants, and distributed six hundred among the beggars. But the
Vizier’s son, overcome with chagrin at his defeat, remained at home,
where, in a few days, he sickened and died. These things coming to the
Vizier’s ear, he felt a great desire to see the foreign prince, whose
wealth and generosity were the talk of all Baghdad; and as he believed
himself to be the greatest chess-player in the world, he determined to
challenge him to a game. He thereupon visited the coffee-house, where
he had not remained long when the wood-cutter made his appearance, in
even greater splendor than before. This was in accordance with the
instructions of Zubeydeh, who was informed of all that had taken place.
He at once accepted the Vizier’s challenge to play, for a stake of two
thousand pieces of gold. After a hard-fought battle, the Vizier was
fairly beaten, but the wood-cutter paid him the two thousand pieces of
gold, as if he had lost the game, gave away another thousand as usual,
and retired to his palace.

“The Vizier took his defeat so much to heart, that his chagrin, combined
with grief for the loss of his son, carried him off in a few days. This
circumstance brought the whole history to the ears of Haroun Al-Raschid
himself, who was immediately seized with a strong desire to play chess
with the foreign prince, not doubting but that, as he had always beaten
his Vizier, he would be more than a match for the new antagonist.
Accordingly he sent an officer to the palace of the wood-cutter, with
a message that the Commander of the Faithful desired to offer his
hospitality to the son of the foreign king. By Zubeydeh’s advice, the
invitation was accepted, and the officer speedily returned to Haroun
Al-Raschid, to whom he gave such a description of the magnificence
of the new palace, that the Caliph’s mouth began to water, and he
exclaimed: ‘By Allah! I must look to this. No man, who has not the ring
of Solomon on his finger, shall surpass me in my own capital!’ In a
short time the wood-cutter arrived, attired in such splendor that the
day seemed brighter for his appearance, and attended by forty black
slaves, in dresses of crimson silk, with turbans of white and gold,
and golden swords by their sides. They formed a double row from the
court-yard to the throne-hall where the Caliph sat, and up the avenue
thus formed the wood-cutter advanced, preceded by two slaves in dresses
of cloth-of-silver, who placed at the Caliph’s feet two crystal goblets
filled with rubies and emeralds of immense size. The Caliph, delighted
with this superb present, rose, embraced the supposed prince, and seated
him by his side. From the great wealth displayed by the wood-cutter, and
the perfect grace and propriety of his manners, the Caliph suspected that
he was no less a personage than the son of the King of Cathay.

“After a handsome repast had been served, the Caliph proposed a game of
chess, stating that he had heard much of the prince’s skill in playing.
‘After I shall have played with you, O Commander of the Faithful!’ said
the wood-cutter, ‘you will hear no more of my skill.’ The Caliph was
charmed with the modesty of this speech, and the compliment to himself,
and they immediately began to play. The wood-cutter, although he might
easily have beaten the Caliph, suffered the latter to win the first
game, which put him into the best humor possible. But when the second
game had been played, and the wood-cutter was the victor, he perceived
that the Caliph’s face became dark, and his good-humor was gone. ‘You
are too generous to your servant, O Caliph!’ said he; ‘had you not given
me this success as an encouragement, I should have lost a second time.’
At these words Haroun smiled, and they played a third game, which the
wood-cutter purposely allowed him to win. Such was the counsel given to
him by Zubeydeh, who said: ‘If thou permittest him to win the first game,
he will be so well pleased, that thou mayest venture to defeat him on the
second game. Then, when he has won the third game, thy having been once
victorious will magnify his opinion of his own skill; for where we never
suffer defeat, we at last regard our conquests with indifference.’

“The result was precisely as Zubeydeh had predicted. The Caliph was
charmed with the foreign prince, and in a few days made him his Vizier.
The wood-cutter filled his exalted station with dignity and judgment, and
became at once a great favorite with the people of Baghdad. The month of
obedience which he promised to Zubeydeh was now drawing to a close, when
she said to him: ‘Cease to visit the Caliph, and do not leave thy palace
for two or three days. When the Caliph sends for thee, return for answer
that thou art ill.’ She foresaw that the Caliph would then come to see
his Vizier, and gave the wood-cutter complete instructions, concerning
what he should say and do.

“Haroun Al-Raschid no sooner heard of the illness of his Vizier, than
he went personally to his palace, to see him. He was amazed at the
size and splendor of the edifice. ‘Truly,’ said he, striking his hands
together, ‘this man hath found the ring of Solomon, which compels the
assistance of the genii. In all my life I have never seen such a palace
as this.’ He found the Vizier reclining on a couch of cloth-of-gold, in
a chamber, the walls whereof were of mother-of-pearl, and the floor of
ivory. There was a fountain of perfumed water in the centre, and beside
it stood a jasmine-tree, growing in a vase of crystal. ‘How is this?’
said the Caliph, seating himself on one end of the couch; ‘a man whom the
genii serve, should have the secrets of health in his hands.’ ‘It is no
fever,’ said the Vizier; ‘but the other day as I was washing myself in
the fountain, before the evening prayer, I stooped too near the jasmine
tree, and one of its thorns scratched my left arm.’ ‘What!’ cried the
Caliph, in amazement; ‘the scratch of a blunt jasmine-thorn has made
you ill!’. ‘You wonder at it, no doubt, O Commander of the Faithful!’
said the Vizier; ‘because, only a few months ago, you saw that I was
insensible to the fangs of a serpent, which had fastened upon my heel.’
‘There is no God but God!’ exclaimed Haroun Al-Raschid, as by these words
he recognized the poor wood-cutter, who had passed under the window of
his palace—‘hast thou indeed found the ring of Solomon?—and where is the
woman whom Mesrour, at my command, brought to thee?’

“‘She is here!’ said Zubeydeh, entering the door. She turned towards
the Caliph, and slightly lifting her veil, showed him her face, more
beautiful than ever. Haroun, with a cry of joy, was on the point of
clasping her in his arms, when he stopped suddenly, and said: ‘But thou
art now the wife of that man.’ ‘Not so, great Caliph!’ exclaimed the
Vizier who rose to his feet, now that there was no longer any need to
affect illness; ‘from the day that she entered my house, I have never
seen her face. By the beard of the Prophet, she is not less pure than
she is wise. It is she who has made me all that I am. Obedience to her
was the seed from which the tree of my fortune has grown.’ Zubeydeh then
knelt at the Caliph’s feet, and said: ‘O Commander of the Faithful,
restore me to the light of your favor. I swear to you that I am not
less your wife than when the cloud of your anger overshadowed me. This
honorable man has never ceased to respect me. My thoughtless words led
you to send me forth to take the place of the serpent, but I have now
shown you that a wife may also be to her husband as the staff, whereon
he leans for support; as the camel, which bringeth him riches; as the
tent, which shelters and protects him; as the bath, which maketh him
comely, and as the lamp, whereby his steps are enlightened.’

“Haroun Al-Raschid had long since bitterly repented of his rashness and
cruelty. He now saw in what had happened, the hand of Allah, who had
turned that which he had intended as a punishment, into a triumph. He
restored Zubeydeh at once to his favor, and to the wood-cutter, whom
he still retained as Vizier, he gave his eldest daughter in marriage.
All the citizens of Baghdad took part in the festivities, which lasted
two weeks, and the Caliph, to commemorate his gratitude, built a superb
mosque, which is called the Mosque of the Restoration to this very day.
The Vizier nobly requited all the pains which the Sultana Zubeydeh had
taken with his education, and showed so much wisdom and justice in
his administration of the laws, that the Caliph never had occasion to
be dissatisfied with him. Thus they all lived together in the utmost
happiness and concord, until they were each, in turn, visited by the
Terminator of Delights and the Separator of Companions.”

So ended Achmet’s story; but without the moonlight, the tall
Ethiopian palms and the soothing pipe, as accessories, I fear that
this reproduction of it retains little of the charm which I found in
the original. It was followed by other and wilder tales, stamped in
every part with the unmistakable signet of the Orient. They were all
characterized by the belief in an inevitable Destiny, which seems to
be the informing soul of all Oriental literature. This belief affords
every liberty to the poet and romancer, and the Arabic authors have not
scrupled to make liberal use of it. There is no hazard in surrounding
your hero with all sorts of real and imaginary dangers, or in heaping
up obstacles in the path of his designs, when you know that his destiny
obliges him to overcome them. He becomes, for the time, the impersonation
of Fate, and circumstances yield before him. You see, plainly, that he
was chosen, in the beginning, to do the very thing which he accomplishes,
in the end. If a miracle is needed for his success, it is not withheld.
Difficulties crowd upon him to the last, only that the final triumph
may be more complete and striking. Yet with all these violations of
probability, the Oriental tales exhibit a great fertility of invention
and sparkle with touches of genuine human nature. The deep and absorbing
interest with which the unlettered Arabs listen to their recital—the hold
which they have upon the popular heart of the East—attests their value,
as illustrations of Eastern life.

From Poetry we frequently passed to Religion, and Achmet was astonished
to find me familiar not only with Mohammed, but with Ali and Abdullah
and Abu-talib, and with many incidents of the Prophet’s life, which were
new to him. The Persian chronicles were fresh in my memory, and all the
wonders related of Mohammed by that solemn old biographer, Mohammed
Bekr, came up again as vividly as when I first read them. We compared
notes, he repeated passages of the Koran, and so the Giaour and the True
Believer discussed the nature of their faith, but always ended by passing
beyond Prophet and Apostle, to the one great and good God, who is equally
merciful to all men. I could sincerely adopt the first article of his
faith: “_La illah il’ Allah!_” “There is no God but God,” while he was
equally ready to accept the first commandment of mine.

CHAPTER XX.

FROM SHENDY TO KHARTOUM.

The morning after visiting the ruins of Meroë I reached the old
Ethiopian town of Shendy. It lies about half a mile from the river, but
the massive fort and palace of the Governor are built on the water’s
edge. Several spreading sycamore trees gave a grace to the shore, which
would otherwise have been dull and tame. Naked Ethiopians were fishing
or washing their clothes in the water, and some of them, as they held
their long, scarlet-edged mantles above their heads, to dry in the wind
and sun, showed fine, muscular figures. The women had hideous faces,
but symmetrical and well developed forms. A group of Egyptian soldiers
watched us from the bank before the palace, and several personages on
horseback, one of whom appeared to be the Governor himself, were hailing
the ferry boat, which was just about putting off with a heavy load of
natives.

We ran the boat to the shore, at a landing-place just above the palace.
The banks of the river were covered with fields of cucumbers and beans,
the latter brilliant with white and purple blossoms and filled with
the murmuring sound of bees. Achmet, the raïs and I walked up to the
capital—the famous Shendy, once the great mart of trade for the regions
between the Red Sea and Dar-Fūr. On the way we met numbers of women with
water-jars. They wore no veils, but certainly needed them, for their
faces were of a broad, semi-negro character, and repulsively plain. The
town is built in a straggling manner, along a low, sandy ridge, and is
upwards of a mile in length, though it probably does not contain more
than ten thousand inhabitants. The houses are mud, of course, but rough
and filthy, and many of them are the same circular _tokuls_ of mats
and palm-sticks as I had already noticed in the smaller villages. The
only decent dwelling which I saw had been just erected by a Dongolese
merchant. There was a mosque, with a low mud minaret, but neither in
this nor in any other respect did the place compare with El Mekheyref.
The bazaar resembled a stable, having a passage through the centre,
shaded with mats, and stalls on either side, some of which contained
donkeys and others merchants. The goods displayed were principally blue
and white cotton stuffs of coarse quality, beads, trinkets and the like.
It was market-day, but the people had not yet assembled. A few screens
of matting, erected on sticks, were the only preparations which had
been made. The whole appearance of the place was that of poverty and
desertion. Beyond the clusters of huts, and a mud wall, which ran along
the eastern side of the town, the Desert extended to the horizon—a hot,
white plain, dotted with clumps of thorns. On our return to the boat, the
raïs pointed out the spot where, in 1822, Ismaïl Pasha and his soldiers
were burned to death by Mek Nemr (King Leopard), the last monarch of
Shendy. The bloody revenge taken by Mohammed Bey Defterdar (son-in-law of
Mohammed Ali), for that act, sealed the fate of the kingdom. The seat of
the Egyptian government in Soudân was fixed at Khartoum, which in a few
years became also the centre of trade, and now flourishes at the expense
of Shendy and El Metemma.

Burckhardt, who visited Shendy during the reign of King Leopard, devotes
much space to a description of the trade of the town at that time. It was
then in the height of its prosperity, and the resort of merchants from
Arabia, Abyssinia, Egypt, and even Syria and Asia Minor. It was also one
of the chief slave-marts of Central Africa, in which respect it has since
been superseded by Obeid, in Kordofan. The only commerce which has been
left to Shendy is that with Djidda and the other Arabian ports, by way
of Sowakin, on the Red Sea—a caravan journey of fourteen days, through
the country of Takka, infested by the wild tribes of the Hallengas and
Hadendoas. Mek Nemr, according to Burckhardt, was of the Djaaleyn tribe,
who are descendants of the Beni Koreish, of Yemen, and still retain the
pure Arabian features. I was afterwards, during my stay in Khartoum,
enabled to verify the declaration of the same traveller, that all the
tribes of Ethiopia between the Nile and the Red Sea are of unmixed Arab
stock.

The palace of the Governor, which was a building of considerable extent,
had heavy circular bastions, which were defended by cannon. Its position,
on the bank of the Nile, was much more agreeable than that of the city,
and the garrison had settled around it, forming a small village on its
eastern side. The white walls and latticed windows of the palace reminded
me of Cairo, and I anticipated a pleasant residence within its walls, on
my return to Shendy. As I wished to reach Khartoum as soon as possible I
did not call upon the Governor, but sent him the letter of recommendation
from Yagheshir Bey. From Shendy, one sees the group of palms which serves
as a landmark to El Metemma, the capital of a former Ethiopian Kingdom,
further up the Nile, on its opposite bank. This is the starting point
for caravans to Merawe and Dongola through the Beyooda Desert. We passed
its port about noon, and stopped a few minutes to let the raïs pay his
compliments to the owner of our vessel, who was on shore. He was a little
old man, with a long staff, and dressed like the meanest Arab, although
he was shekh of half a dozen villages, and had a servant leading a fine
Dongolese horse behind him. The boat of Khalim Bey, agent of the Governor
of Berber and Shendy, was at the landing place, and we saw the Bey, a
tall, handsome Turk in a rich blue and crimson dress, who sent a servant
to ask my name and character.

The scenery of the Nile, southward from Shendy, is again changed. The
tropical rains which fall occasionally at Abou-Hammed and scantily at
Berber, are here periodical, and there is no longer the same striking
contrast between desert and garden land. The plains extending inward from
the river are covered with a growth of bushes and coarse grass, which
also appears in patches on the sides of the mountains. The inhabitants
cultivate but a narrow strip of beans and dourra along the river, but
own immense flocks of sheep and goats, which afford their principal
sustenance. I noticed many fields of the grain called _dookhn_, of which
they plant a larger quantity than of dourra. Mutton, however, is the
Ethiopian’s greatest delicacy. Notwithstanding this is one of the warmest
climates in the world, the people eat meat whenever they can get it,
and greatly prefer it to vegetable food. The sailors and camel-drivers,
whose principal food is dourra, are, notwithstanding a certain quality
of endurance, as weak as children, when compared with an able-bodied
European, and they universally attribute this weakness to their diet.
This is a fact for the lank vegetarians to explain. My experience
coincided with that of the Ethiopians, and I ascribed no small share of
my personal health and strength, which the violent alternations of heat
and cold during the journey had not shaken in the least, to the fact of
my having fared sumptuously every day.

After leaving Shendy, the Nile makes a bend to the west, and we went
along slowly all the afternoon, with a side-wind. The shores were not
so highly cultivated as those we had passed, and low hills of yellow
sand began to show themselves on either hand. The villages were groups
of mud _tokuls_, with high, conical roofs, and the negro type of face
appeared much more frequently among the inhabitants—the result of
amalgamation with slaves. We saw numbers of young crocodiles which my
sailors delighted to frighten by shouting and throwing sticks at them, as
they sunned themselves on the sand. Wild geese and ducks were abundant,
and the quiet little coves along the shore were filled with their young
brood. During the day a large hawk or vulture dashed down to within a
yard of the deck in the attempt to snatch a piece of my black ram, which
Beshir had just killed.

The next morning we had a narrow escape from shipwreck. The wind blew
strong from the north, as we reached a twist in the river, where our
course for several miles lay to the north-west, obliging the men to take
in sail and tow the vessel. They had reached the turning-point and the
sail was blowing loose, while two sailors lay out on the long, limber
yard, trying to reef, when a violent gust pulled the rope out of the
hands of the man on shore, and we were carried into the stream. The
steersman put the helm hard up, and made for the point of an island which
lay opposite, but the current was so strong that we could not reach it.
It blew a gale, and the Nile was rough with waves. Between the island
and the southern shore lay a cluster of sharp, black rocks, and for a
few minutes we appeared to be driving directly upon them. The raïs and
sailors, with many cries of “O Prophet! O Apostle!” gave themselves up to
their fate; but the strength of the current saved us. Our bow just grazed
the edge of the last rock, and we were blown across to the opposite
shore, where we struck hard upon the sand and were obliged to remain two
hours, until the wind abated. I was vexed and impatient at first, but
remembering the effect of a pipe upon a similar occasion, I took one, and
soon became calm enough to exclaim: “it is the will of Allah!”

While the boat was making such slow headway, I went ashore and walked an
hour or two among the fields of beans and dourra. The plains for several
miles inland were covered with dry grass and thorn-trees, and only needed
irrigation to bloom as a garden. The sun was warm, the bean-fields alive
with bees, and the wind took a rich summer fragrance from the white and
purple blossoms. Near one of the huts, I accosted a woman who was weeding
among the dourra. She told me that her husband had deserted her and taken
another wife, leaving her the charge of their two children. He had also
taken her three cows and given them to his new wife, so that her only
means of support was to gather the dry grass and sell it in the villages.
I gave her a few piastres, which she received gratefully. In the
afternoon we passed the main bend of the river, and were able to make use
of the wind, which by this time was light. The sailor who had been left
ashore during the gale overtook us, by walking a distance of eight or ten
miles and swimming one of the smaller arms of the river. The western bank
of the river now became broken and hilly, occasionally overhung by bluffs
of gravelly soil, of a dark red color. On the top of one of the hills
there was a wall, which the raïs pointed out to me as _kadeem_ (ancient),
but it appeared too dilapidated to repay the trouble of a visit.

On the following day, the scenery became remarkably wild and picturesque.
After passing the village of Derreira, on the right bank, the Nile was
studded with islands of various sizes, rising like hillocks from the
water, and all covered with the most luxuriant vegetation. The mimosa,
the acacia, the palm, the sycamore and the _nebbuk_ flourished together
in rank growth, with a profusion of smaller shrubs, and all were matted
together with wild green creepers, which dropped their long streamers
of pink and purple blossoms into the water. Reefs of black rock, over
which the waves foamed impetuously, made the navigation intricate and
dangerous. The banks of the river were high and steep, and covered
with bushes and rank grass, above which the rustling blades of the
dourra glittered in the sun. The country was thickly populated, and
the inhabitants were mostly of the Shygheean tribe—from Dar Shygheea,
the region between Dongola and Berber. The sakias were tended by Dinka
slaves, as black as ebony, and with coarse, brutish faces. At one point
on the eastern shore, opposite the island of Bendi, the natives had
collected all their live stock, but for what purpose I could not learn.
The shore was covered with hundreds of camels, donkeys, sheep, cows and
goats, carefully kept in separate herds.

After threading ten miles of those island bowers, we approached Djebel
Gerri, which we had seen all day, ahead of us. The Nile, instead of
turning westward around the flank of the mountain, as I had anticipated
from the features of the landscape, made a sudden bend to the south,
between a thick cluster of islands, and entered the hills. At this point
there was a rapid, extending half-way across the river. The natives call
it a _shellàl_ (cataract), although it deserves the name no more than the
cataracts of Assouan and Wadi-Halfa. Adopting the term, however, which
has been sanctioned by long usage, this is the Twelfth Cataract of the
Nile, and the last one which the traveller meets before reaching the
mountains of Abyssinia. The stream is very narrow, compressed between
high hills of naked red sandstone rock. At sunset we were completely shut
in the savage solitude, and there we seemed likely to remain, for the
wind came from all quarters by turns, and jammed the vessel against the
rocks more than once.

The narrow terraces of soil on the sides of the mountains were covered
with dense beds of long, dry grass, and as we lay moored to the rocks, I
climbed up to one of these, in spite of the raïs’s warnings that I should
fall in with lions and serpents. I lay down in the warm grass, and
watched the shadows deepen in the black gorge, as the twilight died away.
The _zikzak_ or crocodile-bird twittered along the shore, and, after it
became quite dark, the stillness was occasionally broken by the snort of
a hippopotamus, as he thrust his huge head above water, or by the yell
of a hyena prowling among the hills. Talk of the pleasure of _reading_ a
traveller’s adventures in strange lands! There is no pleasure equal to
that of _living_ them: neither the anticipation nor the memory of such a
scene as I witnessed that evening, can approach the fascination of the
reality. I was awakened after midnight by the motion of the vessel, and
looking out of my shelter as I lay, could see that we were slowly gliding
through the foldings of the stony mountains. The moon rode high and
bright, over the top of a peak in front, and the sound of my prow, as it
occasionally grated against the rocks, alone disturbed the stillness of
the wild pass. Once the wind fell, and the men were obliged to make fast
to a rock, but before morning we had emerged from the mountains and were
moored to the bank, to await daylight for the passage of the last rapid.

In the mouth of the pass lies an island, which rises into a remarkable
conical peak, about seven hundred feet in height. It is called the
_Rowyàn_ (thirst assuaged), while a lofty summit of the range of Gerri
bears the name of _Djebel Attshàn_ (the Mountain of Thirst). The latter
stands on a basis of arid sand, whence its name, but the Rowyàn is
encircled by the arms of the Nile. In the Wady Beit-Naga, some three or
four hours’ journey eastward from the river, are the ruined temples of
Naga and Mesowuràt, described by Hoskins. The date of their erection has
been ascertained by Lepsius to be coeval with that of Meroë. We here saw
many crocodiles, basking on the warm sand-banks. One group of five were
enormous monsters, three of them being at least fifteen, and the other
two twenty feet in length. They lazily dragged their long bodies into the
water as we approached, but returned after we had passed. The zikzaks
were hopping familiarly about them, on the sand, and I have no doubt that
they do service to the crocodiles in the manner related by the Arabs.

The river was still studded with islands—some mere fragments of rock
covered with bushes, and some large level tracts, flourishing with rich
fields of cotton and dourra. About noon, we passed a village on the
eastern bank, and I sent Ali and Beshir ashore to procure supplies, for
my ram was finished. Ali found only one fowl, which the people did not
wish to sell, but, Turk-like, he took it forcibly and gave them the usual
price. Beshir found some _mareesa_, a fermented drink made of dourra,
and for two piastres procured two jars of it, holding two gallons each,
which were brought down to the boat by a pair of sturdy Dinka women,
whose beauty was almost a match for Bakhita. The mareesa had an agreeable
flavor and very little intoxicating property. I noticed, however, that
after Beshir had drunk nearly a gallon, he sang and danced rather more
than usual, and had much to say of a sweetheart of his, who lived in
El-Metemma, and who bore the charming name of Gammerò-Betahadjerò.
Bakhita, after drinking an equal portion, complained to me bitterly of my
white sheep, which had nibbed off the ends of the woolly twists adorning
her head, but I comforted her by the present of half a piastre, for the
purpose of buying mutton-fat.

As the wind fell, at sunset, we reached a long slope of snowy sand, on
the island of Aūssee. Achmet went to the huts of the inhabitants, where
he was kindly received and furnished with milk. I walked for an hour
up and down the beautiful beach, breathing the mild, cool evening air,
heavy with delicious odors. The glassy Nile beside me reflected the last
orange-red hues of sunset, and the evening star, burning with a white,
sparry lustre, made a long track of light across his breast. I remembered
that it was my birth-day—the fourth time I had spent my natal anniversary
in a foreign land. The first had been in Germany, the second in Italy,
the third in Mexico, and now the last, in the wild heart of Africa. They
were all pleasant, but this was the best of all.

When I returned to the vessel, I found my carpet and cushions spread
on the sand, and Ali waiting with my pipe. The evening entertainment
commenced: I was listening to an Arabian tale, and watching the figures
of the boatmen, grouped around a fire they had kindled in a field of
dookhn, when the wind came up with a sudden gust and blew out the folds
of my idle flag. Instantly the sand was kicked over the brands, the
carpet taken up, all hands called on board, and we dashed away on the
dark river with light hearts. I rose before sunrise the next morning, and
found the wind unchanged. We were sailing between low shores covered with
grain-fields, and a sandy island lay in front. The raïs no sooner saw me
than he called my attention to the tops of some palm-trees that appeared
on the horizon, probably six or eight miles distant. They grew in the
gardens of Khartoum! We reached the point of the broad, level island
that divides the waters of the two Niles, and could soon distinguish the
single minaret and buildings of the city. A boat, coming down from the
White Nile, passed us on the right, and another, bound for Khartoum, led
us up the Blue Nile. The proper division between the two rivers is the
point of land upon which Khartoum is built, but the channel separating
it from the island opposite is very narrow, and the streams do not fully
meet and mingle their waters till the island is passed.

The city presented a picturesque—and to my eyes, accustomed to the
mud huts of the Ethiopian villages—a really stately appearance, as we
drew near. The line of buildings extended for more than a mile along
the river, and many of the houses were embowered in gardens of palm,
acacia, orange and tamarind trees. The Palace of the Pasha had a certain
appearance of dignity, though its walls were only unburnt brick, and his
_hareem_, a white, two-story building, looked cool and elegant amid the
palms that shaded it. Egyptian soldiers, in their awkward, half-Frank
costume, were lounging on the bank before the Palace, and slaves of inky
blackness, resplendent in white and red livery, were departing on donkeys
on their various errands. The slope of the bank was broken at short
intervals by water-mills, and files of men with skins, and women with
huge earthen jars on their heads, passed up and down between the water’s
edge and the openings of the narrow lanes leading between the gardens
into the city. The boat of the Governor of Berber, rowed by twelve black
slaves, put off from shore, and moved slowly down stream, against the
north wind, as we drew up and moored the America below the garden of
the Catholic Mission. It was the twelfth of January; I had made the
journey from Assouan to Khartoum in twenty-six days, and from Cairo in
fifty-seven.

CHAPTER XXI.

LIFE IN KHARTOUM.

At the time of my arrival in Khartoum, there were not more than a dozen
vessels in port, and the only one which would pass for respectable in
Egypt was the Pasha’s dahabiyeh. I had but an open merchant-boat, yet my
green tent and flag gave it quite a showy air, and I saw that it created
some little sensation among the spectators. The people looked at the flag
with astonishment, for the stars and stripes had never before been seen
in Khartoum. At the earnest prayer of the raïs, who was afraid the boat
would be forcibly impressed into the service of the Government, and was
anxious to get back to his sick family in El Metemma, I left the flag
flying until he was ready to leave. Old Bakhita, in her dumb, ignorant
way, expressed great surprise and grief when she learned that Achmet and
I were going to desert the vessel. She had an indefinite idea that we
had become part and parcel of it, and would remain on board for the rest
of our lives.

I took Achmet and started immediately in search of a house, as in those
lands a traveller who wishes to be respectable, must take a residence on
arriving at a city, even if he only intends to stay two or three days.
Over the mud walls on either side of the lane leading up from the water,
I could look into wildernesses of orange, date, fig, and pomegranate
trees, oleanders in bloom and trailing vines. We entered a tolerable
street, cleanly swept, and soon came to a coffee-house. Two or three
persons were standing at the door, one of whom—a fat, contented-looking
Turk—eyed Achmet sharply. The two looked at each other a moment in mutual
doubt and astonishment, and then fell into each other’s arms. It was a
Syrian merchant, whom Achmet had known in Cairo and Beyrout. “O master!”
said he, his dark face radiant with delight, as he clasped the hand of
the Syrian: “there never was such a lucky journey as this!”

The merchant, who had been two years in Khartoum, accompanied us in our
search. We went first to the residence of the shekh of the quarter,
who was not at home. Two small boys, the sons of one of a detachment
of Egyptian physicians, who had recently arrived, received me. They
complained bitterly of Soudân, and longed to get back again to Cairo. We
then went to the Governor of the city, but he was absent in Kordofan.
Finally, in wandering about the streets, we met a certain Ali Effendi,
who took us to a house which would be vacant the next day. It was a large
mud palace, containing an outer and inner divan, two sleeping-rooms, a
kitchen, store-rooms, apartments for servants, and an inclosed court-yard
and stables, all of which were to be had at one hundred piastres a
month—an exorbitant price, as I afterwards learned. Before engaging it,
I decided to ask the advice of the Austrian Consular Agent, Dr. Reitz,
for whom I had letters from the English and Austrian Consuls in Cairo. He
received me with true German cordiality, and would hear of nothing else
but that I should immediately take possession of an unoccupied room in
his house. Accordingly the same day of my arrival beheld me installed in
luxurious quarters, with one of the most brave, generous and independent
of men as my associate.

As the Consul’s residence was the type of a house of the best class in
Khartoum, a description of it may give some idea of life in the place,
under the most agreeable circumstances. The ground-plot was one hundred
and thirty paces square, and surrounded by a high mud wall. Inside of
this stood the dwelling, which was about half that length, and separated
from it by a narrow garden and court-yard. Entering the court by the
gate, a flight of steps conducted to the divan, or reception-room, in the
second story. From the open ante-chamber one might look to the south over
the gray wastes of Sennaar, or, if the sun was near his setting, see a
reach in the White Nile, flashing like the point of an Arab spear. The
divan had a cushioned seat around three sides, and matting on the floor,
and was really a handsome room, although its walls were mud, covered
with a thin coating of lime, and its roof palm-logs overlaid with coarse
matting, on which rested a layer of mud a foot thick. In the second
story were also the Consular Office and a sleeping-room. The basement
contained the kitchen, store-rooms, and servants’ rooms. The remainder
of the house was only one story in height, and had a balcony looking on
the garden, and completely embowered in flowering vines. The only rooms
were the dining-hall, with cushioned divans on each side and a drapery
of the Austrian colors at the end, and my apartment, which overlooked a
small garden-court, wherein two large ostriches paced up and down, and a
company of wild geese and wild swine made continual discord. The court at
the entrance communicated with the stables, which contained the Consul’s
horses—a white steed, of the pure Arabian-blood of Nedjid, and the red
stallion appropriated to my use, which was sent by the King of Dar-Fūr to
Lattif Pasha, and presented by him to the Consul. A _hejin_, or trained
dromedary, of unusual size, stood in the court, and a tame lioness was
tied to a stake in the corner. She was a beautiful and powerful beast,
and I never passed her without taking her head between my knees, or
stroking her tawny hide until she leaned against me like a cat and licked
my hand.

Passing through a side-door into the garden, we came upon a whole
menagerie of animals. Under the long arbors, covered with luxuriant
grape-vines, stood two surly hyenas, a wild ass from the mountains of
the Atbara, and an Abyssinian mule. A tall marabout (a bird of the crane
species, with a pouch-bill) stalked about the garden, occasionally
bending a hinge in the middle of his long legs, and doubling them
backwards, so that he used half of them for a seat. Adjoining the stable
was a large sheep-yard, in which were gathered together gazelles, strange
varieties of sheep and goats from the countries of the White Nile, a
virgin-crane, and a large _antilopus leucoryx_, from Kordofan, with
curved horns four feet in length. My favorite, however, was the leopard,
which was a most playful and affectionate creature except at meal-time.
He was not more than half grown, and had all the wiles of an intelligent
kitten, climbing his post and springing upon me, or creeping up slyly and
seizing my ankle in his mouth. The garden, which was watered by a well
and string of buckets turned by an ox, had a rich variety of fruit-trees.
The grape season was just over, though I had a few of the last bunches;
figs were ripening from day to day, oranges and lemons were in fruit
and flower, bananas blooming for another crop, and the pomegranate and
_kiskteh_, or custard-apple, hung heavy on the branches. There was also a
plantation of date-trees and sugar-cane, and a great number of ornamental
shrubs.

In all these picturesque features of my residence in Khartoum, I fully
realized that I had at last reached Central Africa. In our mode of life,
also, there was a rich flavor of that barbaric pomp and state which one
involuntarily associates with the name of Soudân. We arose at dawn, and
at sunrise were in the saddle. Sometimes I mounted the red stallion, of
the wild breed of Dar-Fūr, and sometimes one of the Consul’s tall and
fleet dromedaries. Six dark attendants, in white and scarlet dresses,
followed us on dromedaries and two grooms on foot ran before us, to
clear a way through the streets. After passing through Khartoum, we
frequently made long excursions up the banks of the two Niles, or out
upon the boundless plain between them. In this way, I speedily became
familiar with the city and its vicinity, and as, on our return, I always
accompanied the Consul on all his visits to the various dignitaries,
I had every opportunity of studying the peculiar life of the place,
and gaining some idea of its governing principles. As the only city of
Central Africa which has a regular communication with the Mediterranean
(by which it occasionally receives a ray of light from the civilized
world beyond), it has become a capital on a small scale, and its society
is a curious compound of Christian, Turk and Barbarian. On the same day,
I have had a whole sheep set before me, in the house of an Ethiopian
Princess, who wore a ring in her nose; taken coffee and sherbet with the
Pasha; and drank tea, prepared in the true English style, in the parlor
of a European. When to these remarkable contrasts is added the motley
character of its native population, embracing representatives from almost
every tribe between Dar-Fūr and the Red Sea, between Egypt and the Negro
kingdoms of the White Nile, it will readily be seen how rich a field of
observation Khartoum offers to the traveller. Nevertheless, those who
reside there, almost without exception, bestow upon the city and country
all possible maledictions. Considered as a place of residence, other
questions come into play, and they are perhaps not far wrong.

Khartoum is the most remarkable—I had almost said the only example of
physical progress in Africa, in this century. Where, thirty years ago,
there was not even a dwelling, unless it might be the miserable _tokul_,
or straw hut of the Ethiopian Fellah, now stands a city of some thirty
or forty thousand inhabitants, daily increasing in size and importance,
and gradually drawing into its mart the commerce of the immense regions
of Central Africa. Its foundation, I believe, is due to Ismaïl Pasha (son
of Mohammed Ali), who, during his conquests of the kingdoms of Shendy
and Sennaar, in the years 1821 and 1822, recognized the importance, in a
military and commercial sense, of establishing a post at the confluence
of the two Niles. Mohammed Bey Defterdar, who succeeded him, seconded
the plan, and ere long it was determined to make Khartoum, on account
of its central position, the capital of the Egyptian pashalik of Soudân.
Standing at the mouth of the Blue Nile, which flows down from the gold
and iron mountains of Abyssinia, and of the White Nile, the only avenue
to a dozen Negro kingdoms, rich in ivory and gum, and being nearly
equidistant from the conquered provinces of Sennaar, Kordofan, Shendy and
Berber, it speedily outgrew the old Ethiopian cities, and drew to itself
the greater part of their wealth and commercial activity. Now it is the
metropolis of all the eastern part of Soudân, and the people speak of it
in much the same style as the Egyptians speak of their beloved Cairo.

The town is larger, cleaner and better built than any of the cities of
Upper Egypt, except perhaps Siout. It extends for about a mile along
the bank of the Blue Nile, facing the north, and is three-quarters of a
mile in its greatest breadth. The part next the river is mostly taken up
with the gardens and dwellings of Beys and other government officers,
and wealthy merchants. The gardens of the Pasha, of Moussa Bey, Musakar
Bey and the Catholic Mission are all large and beautiful, and towards
evening, when the north wind rises, shower the fragrance of their orange
and mimosa blossoms over the whole town. The dwellings, which stand in
them, cover a large space of ground, but are, for the most part, only one
story in height, as the heavy summer rains would speedily beat down mud
walls of greater height. The Pasha’s palace, which was built during the
year previous to my visit, is of burnt brick, much of which was taken
from the ancient Christian ruins of Abou-Haràss, on the Blue Nile. It is
a quadrangular building, three hundred feet square, with a large open
court in the centre. Its front formed one side of a square, which, when
complete, will be surrounded by other offices of government. For Soudân,
it is a building of some pretension, and the Pasha took great pride in
exhibiting it. He told me that the Arab shekhs who visited him would not
believe that it was the work of man alone. Allah must have helped him to
raise such a wonderful structure. It has an inclosed arched corridor in
front, in the Italian style, and a square tower over the entrance. At the
time of my visit Abdallah Effendi was building a very handsome two-story
house of burnt brick, and the Catholic priests intended erecting another,
as soon as they should have established themselves permanently. Within a
few months, large additions had been made to the bazaar, while the houses
of the slaves, on the outskirts of the city, were constantly springing up
like ant-hills.

There is no plan whatever in the disposition of the buildings. Each man
surrounds his property with a mud wall, regardless of its location with
respect to others, and in going from one point to another, one is obliged
to make the most perplexing zigzags. I rarely ventured far on foot, as I
soon became bewildered in the labyrinth of blank walls. When mounted on
the Consul’s tallest dromedary, I looked down on the roofs of the native
houses, and could take my bearings without difficulty. All the mysteries
of the lower life of Khartoum were revealed to me, from such a lofty
post. On each side I looked into pent yards where the miserable Arab
and Negro families lazily basked in the sun during the day, or into the
filthy nests where they crawled at night. The swarms of children which
they bred in those dens sat naked in the dust, playing with vile yellow
dogs, and sometimes a lean burden camel stood in the corner. The only
furniture to be seen was a water-skin, a few pots and jars, a basket or
two, and sometimes an _angareb_, or coarse wooden frame covered with a
netting of ropes, and serving as seat and bed. Nearly half the population
of the place are slaves, brought from the mountains above Fazogl, or from
the land of the Dinkas, on the White Nile. One’s commiseration of these
degraded races is almost overcome by his disgust with their appearance
and habits, and I found even the waste plain that stretches towards
Sennaar a relief after threading the lanes of the quarters where they
live.

Notwithstanding the nature of its population, Khartoum is kept
commendably neat and clean. It will be a lucky day for Rome and Florence
when their streets exhibit no more filth than those of this African
city. The bazaars only are swept every morning, but the wind performs
this office for the remainder of the streets. The _soog_, or market, is
held in a free space, opening upon the inland plain, where the country
people bring their sheep, fowls, camels, dourra, vegetables and other
common products. The slaughtering of animals takes place every morning
on the banks of the Blue Nile, east of the city, which is thus entirely
free from the effluvia arising therefrom. Here the sheep, cows, goats
and camels are killed, skinned and quartered in the open air, and it
is no unusual thing to see thirty or forty butchers at work on as many
different animals, each surrounded by an attendant group of vultures,
hawks, cranes, crows and other carnivorous birds. They are never molested
by the people, and we sometimes rode through thousands of them, which had
so gorged themselves that they scarcely took the trouble to move out of
our way.

The place labors under the disadvantage of being the most unhealthy part
of one of the most unhealthy regions in the world. From the southern
frontier of Nubia, where the tropical rains begin to fall, to the
table-land of Abyssinia on the south, and as far up the White Nile as has
yet been explored, Soudân is devastated by fevers of the most malignant
character. The summers are fatal to at least one-half of the Turks,
Egyptians and Europeans who make their residence there, and the natives
themselves, though the mortality is not so great among them, rarely pass
through the year without an attack of fever. I arrived during the most
healthy part of the year, and yet of all the persons I saw, three-fourths
were complaining of some derangement of the system. The military
hospital, which I visited, was filled with cases of fever, dysentery and
small-pox. I was in such good bodily condition from my journey through
the Desert that I could scarcely conceive the sensation of sickness, and
the generous diet and invigorating exercise I enjoyed secured me from
all fear of an attack. Travellers are not agreed as to the cause of this
mortality in Soudân. Some attribute it to the presence of infusoriæ in
the water; yet we drank the pure, mountain-born flood of the Blue Nile,
and filtered it beforehand. I am disposed to side with Russegger, who
accounts for it entirely by the miasma arising from decayed vegetation,
during the intense heats. The country around Khartoum is a dead level;
the only mountain to be seen is the long ridge of Djebel Gerrari, twelve
miles to the north. Behind the town, the White Nile curves to the east,
and during the inundation his waters extend even to the suburbs, almost
insulating the place. The unusual sickness of the winter of 1852 might
be accounted for by the inundation of the previous summer, which was so
much higher than ordinary that the people were obliged to erect dykes
to keep the water out of the streets. The opposite bank of the river
is considered more healthy; and in the town of Halfay, only ten miles
distant, the average mortality is much less.

I was fortunate in reaching Khartoum at a very interesting period. All
the principal shekhs of the different tribes between the Nile and the Red
Sea were then collected there, and as Dr. Reitz was on friendly terms
with all of them, I had the opportunity of making their acquaintance, and
could have readily procured a safe-conduct through their territories, if
I had been disposed to make explorations in that direction.

During the summer there had been trouble in the neighborhood of Sennaar,
and a general movement against the Egyptian rule was feared. In October
and November, however, Moussa Bey made a campaign in the regions about
and beyond the Atbara, and returned with the chief malcontents in chains.
They were afterwards liberated, but had been retained in Khartoum
until some disputed questions should be settled. On the night of my
arrival, the Consul received a visit of ceremony from the two principal
ones: Hamed, the chief shekh of the Bishàrees, and Owd-el-Kerim, son
of the great shekh of the Shukorees, which inhabit the wide territory
between the Atbara and the Blue Nile. They were accompanied by several
attendants, and by Mohammed Kheyr, the commander of the Shygheean cavalry
employed in the late expedition. The latter was a fierce-looking black in
rich Turkish costume.

Hamed was a man of middle size, black, but with straight features and a
mild, serious expression of face. He was dressed in white, as well as
his attendant whose bushy hair was twisted into countless strings and
pierced with a new wooden skewer. The Shukoree shekh arrived last. We
were seated on the divan, and all rose when he entered. He was a tall,
powerful man, with large, jet-black eyes and a bold, fierce face. He
wore a white turban and flowing robes of the same color, with a fringe
and stripe of crimson around the border. The Consul advanced to the edge
of the carpet to meet him, when the shekh opened his arms and the two
fell upon each other’s necks. Coffee and pipes were then served, and
water was brought for the washing preparatory to dinner. Hamed and the
Shygheean captain washed only their hands, but the great Owd-el-Kerim
washed his hands, face and feet, and occupied nearly a quarter of an hour
at his devotions, bowing his head many times to the earth and repeating
the name of Allah with deep emphasis. We passed through the garden to
the dining-room, where the shekhs were greatly amazed at seeing a table
set in European style. They all failed in managing the knives and forks,
except Owd-el-Kerim, who watched the Consul and myself, and did his part
with dignity. Achmet had made a vermicelli soup, which they eyed very
suspiciously, and did not venture to take more than a few mouthfuls. They
no doubt went away with the full belief that the Franks devour worms.
They were at a loss how to attack the roast mutton, until I carved it
for them, but did such execution with their fingers among the stews and
salads that the dishes were soon emptied.

After they had again partaken of coffee and pipes in the divan, the
Consul ordered two or three rockets, which had been left from his
Christmas celebration, to be sent up in order to satisfy the curiosity
of his guests, who had heard much of those wonderful fires, which had
amazed all Khartoum, three weeks before. The shekhs and attendants were
grouped on the balcony, when the first rocket-shot hissing into the
air, drew its fiery curve through the darkness, and burst into a rain
of yellow stars. “_Wallah!_” and “_Mashallah!_” were echoed from mouth
to mouth, and the desert chiefs could scarcely contain themselves, from
astonishment and delight. The second rocket went up quite near to us, and
sooner than was expected. Hamed, the Bishàree shekh, was so startled that
he threw both his arms around the Consul and held fast for dear life, and
even the great Owd-el-Kerim drew a long breath and ejaculated, “God is
great!” They then took their leave, deeply impressed with the knowledge
and wisdom of the Franks.

CHAPTER XXII.

VISITS IN KHARTOUM.

On the day of my arrival, Dr. Reitz proposed a visit to Dr. Knoblecher,
the Apostolic Vicar of the Catholic Missions in Central Africa, who had
returned to Khartoum about twenty days previous. The Vicar’s name was
already familiar to me, from the account of his voyage up the White Nile
in 1850, which was published in the German journals during his visit to
Europe, and it had been my design to propose joining his party, in case
he had carried out his plan of making a second voyage in the winter of
1852. He ascended as far as lat. 4° north, or about sixty miles beyond
the point reached by D’Arnaud and Werne, and therefore stands at the head
of Nilotic explorers.

Preceded by two attendants, we walked through the town to the Catholic
Mission, a spacious one-story building in a large garden near the river.
Entering a court, in the centre of which grew a tall tamarind tree, we
were received by an Italian monk, in flowing robes, who conducted us
into a second court, inclosed by the residence of the Vicar. Here we met
two other priests, a German and a Hungarian, dressed in flowing Oriental
garments. They ushered us into a large room, carpeted with matting, and
with a comfortable divan around the sides. The windows looked into a
garden, which was filled with orange, fig and banana trees, and fragrant
with jasmine and mimosa blossoms. We had scarcely seated ourselves, when
the monks rose and remained standing, while Dr. Knoblecher entered. He
was a small man, slightly and rather delicately built, and not more than
thirty-five years of age. His complexion was fair, his eyes a grayish
blue, and his beard, which he wore flowing upon his breast, a very
decided auburn. His face was one of those which wins not only kindness
but confidence from all the world. His dress consisted of a white
turban, and a flowing robe of dark purple cloth. He is a man of thorough
cultivation, conversant with several languages, and possesses an amount
of scientific knowledge which will make his future explorations valuable
to the world. During my stay in Khartoum I visited him frequently, and
derived from him much information concerning the countries of Soudân and
their inhabitants.

On our return we called upon Moussa Bey, the commander of the expedition
sent into the lands of the Shukorees and the Hallengas, the foregoing
summer. He was then ill of a fever and confined to his bed, but we
entered the room without ceremony, and found with him the new Governor of
Berber and Abd-el-Kader Bey, the Governor of Kordofan, besides several
secretaries and attendants. Moussa Bey was a Turk, perhaps fifty years
of age, and had a strong, sturdy, energetic face. Several Arab shekhs,
some of whom had been taken prisoners in the late expedition, were
lounging about the court-yards.

The day after my arrival, Dr. Reitz presented me to Lattif Pasha,
the Governor of Soudân. The Egyptian officials in Khartoum generally
consider themselves as exiles, and a station in Soudân carries with it a
certain impression of disgrace. For the Pasha, however, it is an office
of great importance and responsibility, and its duties are fully as
arduous as those of the Viceroy of Egypt himself. The provinces under
his rule constitute a territory of greater extent than France, and
there are as many factions among the native tribes as parties among the
French politicians. It is moreover, in many respects, an independent
sovereignty. Its great distance from the seat of authority, and the
absence of any regular means of communication except the government post,
gives the Pasha of Soudân opportunities of which he never fails to avail
himself. Achmet Pasha at one time so strengthened himself here that he
defied even Mohammed Ali, and it is still whispered that foul means were
used to get rid of him. Since then, rotation in office is found to be
good policy, and the Egyptian Government is careful to remove a Pasha
before he has made himself dangerous. From the Turks and Europeans in
Khartoum, I heard little good of Lattif Pasha. His character was said to
be violent and arbitrary, and several most savage acts were attributed
to him. One thing, however, was said in favor of him, and it was a great
redeeming trait in those lands: he did not enrich himself by cheating the
government. At the time of my visit it was understood that he had been
recalled, and was to be superseded by Rustum Pasha.

We found the Pasha seated on his divan, with a secretary before him,
reading a file of documents. The guards at the door presented arms as
we entered, and the Pasha no sooner saw us than he rose, and remained
standing till we came up. The Consul presented me, and we seated
ourselves on the divan, separated from him by a pair of cushions. Pipes
were brought to us by black slaves, and after a few common-places, he
turned again to his business. The Secretary was reading despatches to
the different provinces of Soudân. As fast as each was approved and laid
aside, a Memlook slave of fifteen, who appeared to fill the office of
page, stamped them with the Pasha’s seal, in lieu of signature. When
the affairs were concluded, the Pasha turned to us and entered into
conversation. He was a man of forty-five years of age, of medium height,
but stoutly built, and with regular and handsome features. His complexion
was a pale olive, his eyes large and dark, and he wore a black beard and
moustaches, very neatly trimmed. His mouth was full, and when he smiled,
showed a perfect set of strong white teeth, which gave a certain grimness
to his expression. His manner was refined, but had that feline smoothness
which invariably covers sharp claws. If I had met him in London or Paris,
in Frank costume, I should have set him down as the _primo basso_ of the
Italian Opera. He was plainly dressed in a suit of dark-blue cloth, and
wore a small tarboosh on his head.

Our conversation first turned upon America, and finally upon steam
navigation and maritime affairs in general. He took an interest in such
subjects, as he was formerly Admiral in the navy of Mohammed Ali. An
engraving of the Turkish frigate _Sultan Mahmoud_, which was built by the
American Eckford, hung on the wall opposite me. Over the divan was a
portrait of Sultan Abdul-Medjid, and on each side two Arabic sentences,
emblazoned on a ground of blue and crimson. The apartment was spacious
and lofty; the ceiling was of smooth palm-logs, and the floor of cement,
beaten hard and polished with the trowel. I expressed my surprise to the
Pasha that he had erected such a stately building in the short space of
nine months, and he thereupon proposed to show it to me more in detail.
He conducted us to a reception-room, covered with fine carpets, and
furnished with mirrors and luxurious divans; then the dining-room, more
plainly furnished, the bath with Moorish arches glimmering in steamy
twilight, and his private armory, the walls of which were hung with a
small but rich assortment of Turkish and European weapons. The doors of
the apartments were made of a dark-red wood, of very fine grain, closely
resembling mahogany. It is found in the mountains of Fazogl, on the
south-western border of Abyssinia. It is susceptible of a fine polish,
and the Pasha showed me a large and handsome table made from it.

The Pasha then led us into the court-yard, where the workmen were still
busy, plastering the interior of the corridors surrounding it. A large
leopard and a lion-whelp of six months old, were chained to two of the
pillars. A younger whelp ran loose about the court, and gave great
diversion to the Pasha, by lying in wait behind the pillars, whence
he pounced out upon any young boy-slave, who might pass that way. The
little fellow would take to his heels in great terror, and scamper across
the court, followed by the whelp, who no sooner overtook him than he
sprang with his fore-paws against the boy’s back, threw him down, and
then ran off, apparently very much delighted with the sport. He had
the free range of the palace, but spent the most of his time in the
kitchen where he would leap upon a table, deliberately lie down, and
watch the movements of the cooks with great interest. The Pasha told us
that this whelp had on one occasion found his way to the harem, where
his presence was first proclaimed by the screams of the terrified women.
The leopard was a large and fierce animal, but the other lion was a
rough, good-humored fellow, turning over on his back to be played with,
and roaring frequently, with a voice that resembled the low notes of a
melancholy trombone. From this court we passed into the outer corridor
fronting the square, when the jewelled shebooks were again brought, and
the Pasha discoursed for some time on the necessity of controlling one’s
passions and preserving a quiet temperament under all circumstances. When
we rose to depart, he invited us to return and dine with him next day.

Towards sunset the horses were got ready; Dr. Reitz donned his uniform,
and I dressed myself in Frank costume, with the exception of the
tarboosh, shawl and red slippers. We called at the Catholic Mission on
our way to the Palace, and while conversing with the monks in the garden,
a message came from the Pasha requesting Aboona Suleyman—(Padre Solomon,
as Dr. Knoblecher was called by the Copts and Mussulmans in Khartoum)—to
accompany us. We therefore set out on foot with the Vicar, with the
grooms leading the horses behind us. The Pasha received us at the
entrance of his reception-room, and then retired to pray, before further
conversation. The divan at the further end of the room was divided in the
centre by a pile of cushions, the space on the right hand being reserved
for the Pasha alone. The Consul, being the second independent power,
seated himself on the left hand, Dr. Knoblecher modestly took the corner,
and I drew up my legs beside him, on the side divan. After a short
absence—during which, we also were supposed to have said our prayers—the
Pasha returned, saluted us a second time, and seated himself. Four slaves
appeared at the same moment, with four pipes, which they presented to us
in the order of our rank, commencing with the Pasha.

When the aroma of the delicate Djebeli tobacco had diffused a certain
amount of harmony among us, the conversation became more animated. The
principal subject we discussed was the _coup d’étât_ of Louis Napoleon,
the news of which had just arrived by dromedary post, in twenty-four days
from Cairo. The Pasha said it was precisely the thing which he had long
ago predicted would come to pass. Louis Napoleon, he said, would behead
Thiers, Cavaignac, Lamoricière and the others whom he had imprisoned,
and make, if necessary, twenty coups d’étât, after which, France would
begin to prosper. The French, he said, must be well beaten, or it is
impossible to govern them. The conversation had hardly commenced, when a
slave appeared, bearing a silver tray, upon which were four tiny glasses
of mastic cordial, a single glass of water, and saucers which contained
bits of orange and pomegranate. The Pasha was always served first. He
drank the cordial, took a sip of water, and then each of us in turn,
drinking from the same glass. At intervals of about five minutes the same
refreshment appeared, and was served at least ten times before dinner was
announced.

Presently there came a band of musicians—five Egyptian boys whom the
Pasha had brought with him from Cairo. We had also two additions to the
company of guests: Rufaā Bey, an intelligent Egyptian, who was educated
in France, and had been principal of a native college in Cairo, under
Mohammed Ali, and Ali Bey Khasib, the late Governor of Berber, who had
been deposed on account of alleged mal-practices. The latter was the
son of a water-carrier in Cairo, but was adopted by the widow of Ismaïl
Pasha, who gave him a superior education. Other accounts represented him
to be the illegitimate son of either Ismaïl or Ibrahim Pasha, and this
surmise was probably correct. He was a bold, handsome man of thirty, and
was said to be the most intelligent of all the officials in Soudân.

After some little prelude, the musicians commenced. The instruments were
a _zumarra_, or reed flute, a dulcimer, the wires of which were struck
with a wooden plectrum, held between the first and middle fingers, and a
tambourine, two of the boys officiating only as singers. The airs were
Arabic and Persian, and had the character of improvisations, compared
with the classic music of Europe. The rhythm was perfect, and the parts
sustained by the different instruments arranged with considerable skill.
The Egyptian officers were greatly moved by the melodies, which, in their
wild, passionate, barbaric cadences, had a singular charm for my ear. The
songs were principally of love, but of a higher character than the common
songs of the people. The Pasha translated a brace for us. One related to
the loves of a boy and maiden, the former of whom was humble, the latter
the daughter of a Bey. They saw and loved each other, but the difference
in their stations prevented the fulfilment of their hopes. One day, as
the girl was seated at her window, a funeral passed through the street
below. She asked the name of the dead person, and they answered “Leyl,”
the name of her beloved, whom the violence of his passion had deprived
of life. Her lamentations formed the theme of a separate song, in which
the name of Leyl was repeated in one long, continued outcry of grief and
love. The second song was of a widow who had many wooers, by whom she was
so beset, that she finally appointed a day to give them her decision. The
same day her son died, yet, because she had given her word, she mastered
her grief by a heroic resolution, arrayed herself in her finest garments,
received her suitors, and sang to her lute the song which would best
entertain them. At the close of the festival she announced her loss in a
song, and concluded by refusing all their offers.

At last, dinner was announced. The Pasha led the way into the
dining-room, stopping in an ante-chamber, where a group of slaves were
ready with pitchers, ewers and napkins, and we performed the customary
washing of hands. The Pasha then took his seat at the round table, and
pointed out his place to each guest. Dr. Knoblecher and myself sat on his
right, Dr. Reitz and Rufaā Bey on his left, and Ali Bey Khasib opposite.
There were no plates, but each of us had a silver knife, spoon and fork,
and the arrangement was so far in Frank style that we sat upon chairs
instead of the floor. The only ceremony observed was, that the Pasha
first tasted each dish as it was brought upon the table, after which the
rest of us followed. We all ate soup from the same tureen, and buried
our several right hands to the knuckles in the fat flesh of the sheep
which was afterwards set before us. Claret was poured out for the Franks
and Rufaā Bey (whose Moslem principles had been damaged by ten years
residence in Paris), the Pasha and Ali Bey alone abstaining. There were
twenty courses in all and the cookery was excellent Besides the delicate
Turkish compounds of meat and vegetables, delicious fish from the White
Nile and fruits from the Pasha’s garden, we had blanc mange and several
varieties of French _patisserie_. At the close of the repast, a glass
bowl containing a cool drink made from dried figs, quinces and apricots,
was placed upon the table. The best possible humor prevailed, and I
enjoyed the dinner exceedingly, the more so because I had not expected to
find such a high degree of civilization in Soudân.

We had afterwards coffee and pipes in the reception-room, and about
ten in the evening took leave of the Pasha and walked home, preceded
by attendants carrying large glass lanterns. After accompanying Dr.
Knoblecher to the gate of the Mission, Ali Bey Khasib took my hand, Rufaā
Bey that of the Consul, and we walked to the residence of the Bey, who
detained us an hour by the narration of the injuries and indignities
which had been inflicted upon him by order of Abbas Pasha. The latter,
on coming into power, took especial care to remove all those officers
who had been favorites of Mohammed Ali. Many of them were men of high
attainments and pure character, who had taken an active part in carrying
out the old Pasha’s measures of reform. Among them was Rufaā Bey, who,
with several of his associates, was sent to Khartoum, ostensibly for the
purpose of founding a College there, but in reality as a banishment from
Egypt. He had been there a year and a half at the time of my visit, yet
no order had been received from Cairo relative to the College. This state
of inaction and uncertainty, combined with the effect of the climate, had
already terminated the lives of two of his fellow professors, and it
was no doubt the design of Abbas Pasha to relieve himself of all of them
by the same means. When I heard this story, the truth of which Dr. Reitz
confirmed, I could readily account for the bitterness of the curses which
the venerable old Bey heaped upon the head of his tyrannical ruler.

The Frank population of Khartoum was not large, consisting, besides Dr.
Reitz and the priests of the Catholic Mission, of Dr. Péney, a French
physician, Dr. Vierthaler, a German, and an Italian apothecary, the two
former of whom were in the Egyptian service. Dr. Péney had been ten years
in Soudân, and knew the whole country, from the mountains of Fazogl to
the plains of Takka, on the Atbara River, and the Shangalla forests on
the Abyssinian frontier. He was an exceedingly intelligent and courteous
person, and gave me much interesting information, concerning the regions
he had visited and the habits of the different tribes of Soudân. I had
afterwards personal opportunity of verifying the correctness of many of
his statements. There were a few Coptic merchants in the place, and on
the second day after my arrival I had an opportunity of witnessing the
New-Year ceremonies of their Church, which, like the Greek, still retains
the old style. The service, which was very similar to a Catholic mass,
was chanted in musical Arabic, and at its close we were presented with
small cakes of unleavened flour, stamped with a cross. At the conclusion
of the ceremonies coffee was given to us in an outer court, with the
cordial “_Haneean!_” (a wish equivalent to the Latin prosit, or “may it
benefit you!”)—to which we replied: “_Allah Haneek!_” (may God give you
benefit!)

Dr. Reitz took me one day to visit the celebrated Sitteh (Lady) Nasra,
the daughter of the last King of Sennaar and brother of the present
Shekh of that province. She is a woman of almost masculine talent and
energy, and may be said to govern Sennaar at present. All the Arab
shekhs, as well as the population at large, have the greatest respect
for her, and invariably ask her advice, in any crisis of affairs. Her
brother, Idris Wed Adlan, notwithstanding his nominal subjection to
Egypt, still possesses absolute sway over several hundred villages, and
is called King of Kulle. The Lady Nasra retains the title of Sultana,
on account of her descent from the ancient royal house of Sennaar. She
has a palace at Soriba, on the Blue Nile, which, according to Lepsius,
exhibits a degree of wealth and state very rare in Soudân. She was then
in Khartoum on a visit, with her husband, Mohammed Defalleh, the son of a
former Vizier of her father, King Adlan.

We found the Lady Nasra at home, seated on a carpet in her audience-hall,
her husband and Shekh Abd-el-Kader—the Shekh of Khartoum, who married her
daughter by a former husband—occupying an adjacent carpet. She gave the
Consul her hand, saluted me, as a stranger, with an inclination of her
head, and we seated ourselves on the floor opposite to her. She was about
forty-five years old, but appeared younger, and still retained the traces
of her former beauty. Her skin was a pale bronze color, her eyes large
and expressive, and her face remarkable for its intelligence and energy.
All her motions were graceful and dignified, and under more favorable
circumstances she might have become a sort of Ethiopian Zenobia. She wore
a single robe of very fine white muslin, which she sometimes folded so
as nearly to conceal her features, and sometimes allowed to fall to her
waist, revealing the somewhat over-ripe charms of her bosom. A heavy ring
of the native gold of Kasan hung from her nose, and others adorned her
fingers. Dr. Reitz explained to her that I was not a Frank, but came from
a great country on the other side of the world. She spoke of the visit
of Dr. Lepsius, at Soriba, and said that he was the only far-travelled
stranger she had seen, except myself. I took occasion to say that I had
frequently heard of her in my native land; that her name was well-known
all over the world; and that the principal reason of my visit to Soudân,
was the hope of seeing her. She was not in the least flattered by these
exaggerated compliments, but received them as quietly as if they were her
right. She was a born queen, and I doubt whether any thing upon the earth
would have been able to shake her royal indifference.

Her slaves were all girls of twelve to fourteen years of age, naked
except the _ràhad_, or girdle of leathern fringe about the loins. They
had evidently been chosen for their beauty, and two of them, although
as black as cast-iron statues, were incomparable for the symmetry of
their forms and the grace of their movements. They brought us pipes
and coffee, and when not employed, stood in a row at the bottom of the
room, with their hands folded upon their breasts. Dinner was just ready,
and we were invited to partake of it. The Sultana had already dined
in solitary state, so her husband, Shekh Abd-el-Kader, the Consul and
I, seated ourselves cross-legged on the floor, around the huge bowl
containing an entire sheep stuffed with rice. We buried our fingers in
the hot and smoking flesh and picked the choicest pieces from the ribs
and flank, occasionally taking a handful of rice from the interior. The
only additional dish was a basket of raw onions and radishes. Before each
of us stood a slave with a napkin and a large glass of _om bilbil_—the
“mother of nightingales.” After drinking we returned the glass to the
slave’s hand, she standing all the while immovable as a statue. After we
had eaten our fill of roast mutton and raw onions, they brought a dish
of prepared dourra, called _abri_, which strongly resembles the _pinole_
of Mexico. The grain is pounded very fine, sifted, mixed with a little
sugar and water, and made into thin, dry leaves, as white and delicate as
cambric. It is considered very nourishing, especially on a journey, for
which purpose it is used by the rich shekhs of Soudân.

As we took our leave, the Sultana, observing that our cane batons, which
we had just purchased in the bazaar, were of very indifferent quality,
ordered two others to be brought, of a fine yellow wood, resembling box,
which is found in the mountains on the Abyssinian frontier, and gave them
to us.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE COUNTRIES OF SOUDÂN.

Until within a recent period, but little has been known of the geography
and topography of the eastern portion of Central Africa. Few English
travellers have made these regions the subject of their investigation,
their attention having been principally directed towards the countries
on the western coast. The Niger, in fact, has been for them a more
interesting problem than the Nile. The German travellers Rüppell and
Russegger, however, by their explorations within the last twenty-five
years, have made important contributions to our knowledge of Eastern
Soudân, while D’Arnaud, Werne, and more than all, Dr. Knoblecher, have
carried our vision far into the heart of the mysterious regions beyond.
Still, the results of these explorations are far from being generally
known, or even represented upon our maps. Geographical charts are
still issued, in which the conjectured Mountains of the Moon continue
to stretch their ridges across the middle of Africa, in latitudes
where the latest travellers find a plain as level as the sea. A few
words, therefore, concerning the character and relative position of the
different countries of which I have occasion to speak, may make these
sketches of African life and landscapes more intelligible to many readers.

As far as southern Nubia, with the exception of the Oases in the Libyan
Desert, the Nile is the only agent of productiveness. Beyond the narrow
limits of his bounteous valley, there is little except red sand and
naked rock, from the Red Sea to the Atlantic. On reaching lat. 19°,
however, a change takes place in the desert landscapes. Here the tropical
rains, which are unknown in Egypt and Northern Nubia, fall every summer,
though in diminished quantity. The dry, gravelly plains, nevertheless,
exhibit a scattering growth of grass and thorny shrubs, and springs are
frequently found among the mountain ranges. As we proceed southward, the
vegetation increases in quantity; the grass no longer keeps the level of
the plain, but climbs the mountain-sides, and before reaching Khartoum,
in lat. 15° 40′ north, we have passed the limit of the Desert. The wide
plains stretching thence eastward to the Atbara, and westward beyond
Kordofan, are savannas of rank grass, crossed here and there by belts
of the thorny mimosa, and differing little in aspect from the plains
of California during the dry season. The Arabs who inhabit them are
herdsmen, and own vast flocks of camels and sheep. The Nile here is no
longer the sole river, and loses his title of “The Sea,” which he owns in
Egypt. The Atbara, which flows down to him from the Abyssinian Alps, has
many tributaries of its own; the Blue Nile, between Khartoum and Sennaar
receives the large streams of the Ràhad and the Dender; and the White
Nile, though flowing for the greater part of his known course through
an immense plain, boasts two important affluents—the Sobat and the Bahr
el-Ghazàl. The soil, climate, productions and character of the scenery of
this region are therefore very different from Egypt.

Before the conquest of Soudân by Mohammed Ali, little was known of the
country between the Ethiopian Nile and the Red Sea, or of Central Africa
south of the latitude of Kordofan and Sennaar. The White Nile, it is
true, was known to exist, but was considered as a tributary stream. It
was extremely difficult and dangerous to proceed beyond Nubia, and then
only in company with the yearly caravans which passed between Assouan
and Sennaar. Ibrahim Pasha, Ismaïl Pasha, and Mohammed Bey Defterdar,
between the years 1820 and 1825, gradually subjugated and attached to
the rule of Egypt the countries of Berber, Shendy and Sennaar, as far
as the mountains of Fazogl, in lat. 11°, on the south-western frontier
of Abyssinia, the wild domains of the Shukorees, the Bishàrees, the
Hallengas and Hadendoas, extending to the Red Sea, and embracing the
seaport of Sowakin, and the kingdom of Kordofan, west of the Nile, and
bounded by the large and powerful negro kingdom of Dar-Fūr. The Egyptian
possessions in Soudân are nearly as extensive as all Egypt, Nubia not
included, and might become even richer and more flourishing under a just
and liberal policy of government. The plains on both sides of the Nile
might be irrigated to a much greater extent than in Egypt, and many vast
tracts of territory given up to the nomadic tribes, could readily be
reclaimed from the wilderness. The native inhabitants are infinitely more
stupid and degraded than the Fellahs of Egypt, but that they are capable
of great improvement is shown by the success attending the efforts of the
Catholic priests in Khartoum, in educating children. The terrible climate
of Soudân will always be a drawback to its physical prosperity, yet even
this would be mitigated, in some measure, were the soil under cultivation.

As I followed the course of the Nile, from the northern limit of the
tropical rains to Khartoum, my narrative will have given some idea of
the country along his banks. The territory to the east, towards and
beyond the Atbara, is still in a great measure unexplored. Burckhardt
was the first European who visited it, but his route lay among the
mountain-ranges near and parallel to the coast of the Red Sea. The long
chain of Djebel Langay, which he crossed, is three to five thousand feet
in height, and, like the mountain-spine of the island of Ceylon, never
has the same season on both sides at once. When it rains on the eastern
slopes, the western are dry, and the contrary. There is another and still
higher chain near the coast, but the greater part of this region consists
of vast plains, tenanted by the Arab herdsmen, and rising gradually
towards the south into the first terraces of the table-land of Abyssinia.
The land of the Shukorees and the Hallengas, lying on both sides of the
Atbara, is called _Belad el Takka_. Dr. Reitz visited it during the
summer of 1851, in company with the military expedition under Moussa Bey,
and travelled for three or four weeks through regions where no European
had been before him.

Leaving the town of Shendy, he travelled eastward for nine days over
unbroken plains of grass, abounding with gazelles and hyenas, to a
village called Goz Radjeb, on the Atbara River. This belongs to the
Shukorees, against whom the expedition was in part directed. He then
crossed the river, and travelled for two or three weeks through a broken
mountain country, inhabited by the wandering races of the Hallenges and
Hadendoas. The mountains, which were from two to three thousand feet in
height, were crested with walls of naked porphyry rock, but their lower
slopes were covered with grass and bushes, and peopled by myriads of
apes. Between the ranges were many broad and beautiful valleys, some
of which were inhabited. Here the vegetable and animal world was far
richer than on the Nile. The Consul was obliged to follow the movements
of the expedition, and therefore could not trace out any regular plan of
exploration. After seeing just enough to whet his curiosity to penetrate
further, Moussa Bey returned to Goz Radjeb. His route then followed the
course of the Atbara, for a distance of one hundred and twenty miles,
to the town of Sofie, on the Abyssinian frontier. The river, which is a
clear and beautiful stream, has a narrow border of trees and underwood,
and flows in a winding course through a region of low, grassy hills.
By using the water for irrigation, the country, which is now entirely
uncultivated, might be made very productive. The Shukorees possess
immense herds of camels, and a _hegin_, or trained dromedary, which the
Consul purchased from them, was one of the strongest and fleetest which I
saw in Africa.

Near Sofie the savannas of grass give place to dense tropical forests,
with a rank undergrowth which is often impenetrable. Here, in addition
to the lion and leopard, which are common to all Soudân, the expedition
saw large herds of the elephant and rhinoceros. The woods were filled
with birds of brilliant plumage, and the vegetable world was rich and
gorgeous beyond description. The Consul remained but a short time here,
and then travelled westward to the town of Abou-Haràss on the Blue Nile,
visiting on the way a curious isolated mountain, called Djebel Attesh.
Near Abou-Haràss are the ruins of an ancient Christian town, probably
dating from the fourth or fifth century, about which time Christianity,
previously planted in Abyssinia, began to advance northward towards
Nubia. The Consul obtained from the Governor of Abou-Haràss three iron
crosses of a peculiar form, a number of beads which had belonged to a
rosary, and a piece of incense—all of which were found in removing the
bricks used to build the Pasha’s palace and other edifices in Khartoum.
The room which I occupied during my stay in Khartoum was paved with the
same bricks. These remains are in curious contrast with the pyramids of
Meroë and the temples of Mesowuràt. The Christian and Egyptian Faiths,
advancing towards each other, almost met on these far fields.

The former kingdom of Sennaar included the country between the two
Niles—except the territory of the Shillooks—as far south as lat. 12°.
It is bounded by Abyssinia on the east, and by the mountains of the
savage Galla tribes, on the south. The _Djezeereh_ (Island) _el Hoye_,
as the country between the rivers is called, is for the most part a
plain of grass. Towards the south, there are some low ranges of hills,
followed by other plains, which extend to the unknown mountain region,
and abound with elephants and lions. The town of Sennaar, once the
capital of this region and the residence of its Meks or Kings, is now of
little importance. It was described to me as a collection of mud huts,
resembling Shendy. The Egyptian rule extends ten days’ journey further,
to Fazogl, where the fine timber in the mountains and the gold-bearing
sands of Kasan have given rise to the establishment of a military post
Sennaar, as well as Kordofan, Berber and Dongola, is governed by a Bey,
appointed by the Pasha of Soudân. It is only two weeks’ journey thence to
Gondar, the capital of Amhara, the principal Abyssinian kingdom. I was
told that it is not difficult for merchants to visit the latter place,
but that any one suspected of being a person of consequence is detained
there and not allowed to leave again. I had a strong curiosity to see
something of Abyssinia, and had I been quite sure that I should not be
taken for a person of consequence, might have made the attempt to reach
Gondar.

Kordofan lies west of the White Nile, and consists entirely of great
plains of grass and thorns, except in the southern part, where there is a
mountain range called Djebel Dyer, inhabited by emigrants from Dongola.
It is not more than two hundred miles in breadth, from east to west. Its
capital, Obeid, lies in lat. 13° 12′ north, and is a mere collection of
mud huts. Mr. Peterick, the English Vice-Consul for Soudân, to whom I
had letters from Mr. Murray, the English Consul-General in Cairo, had
taken up his residence in Obeid. The soil of Kordofan is sterile, and
the water is considered very unhealthy for foreigners. Capt. Peel gave
me such a description of its endless thickets of thorns, its miserable
population and its devastating fevers, that I lost all desire to visit
it. The Governor, Abd-el-Kader Bey, was in Khartoum, and Dr. Reitz
intended making a journey through the country in company with him. There
is a caravan route of twenty days between Obeid and Dongola, through a
wild region called the Beyooda, or Bedjuda. A few degrees further north,
it would be a barren desert, but here it is an alternation of _wadys_, or
valleys, with ranges of porphyry mountains, affording water, trees, and
sufficient grass for the herds of the wandering Arabs. It is inhabited by
two tribes—the Kababish and the Howoweet, who differ strongly from the
Arabs east of the Nile, in their appearance and habits. The latter, by
their superior intelligence and their remarkable personal beauty, still
attest their descent from the tribes of Hedjaz and Yemen. The tribes in
the western desert are more allied to the Tibboos, and other tenants of
the Great Zahara. The caravans on this road are exposed to the danger of
attacks from the negroes of Dar-Fūr, who frequently waylay small parties,
murder the individuals and carry off the camels and goods.

The great kingdom of Dar-Fūr offers a rich field for some future
explorer. The extensive regions it incloses are supposed to furnish
the key to the system of rivers and mountain-chains of Central Africa.
Through the fear and jealousy of its rulers, no stranger has been allowed
to pass its borders, since the visit of Mr. Browne, half a century ago.
Of late, however, the relations between the Egyptian rulers in Soudân and
the Sultan of Dar-Fūr have been quite amicable, and if nothing occurs to
disturb this harmony there is some hope that the ban will be removed.
Lattif Pasha informed me that he had written to the Sultan on behalf of
Capt. Peel, who wished to pass through Dar-Fūr and reach Bornou. He had
at that time received no answer, but it had been intimated, unofficially,
that the Sultan would reply, giving Capt. Peel permission to enter the
country and travel in it, but not to pass beyond it. There is an almost
continual war between the Sultans of Bornou and Dar-Fūr, and the Pasha
was of the opinion that it would be impossible to traverse Africa from
east to west, in the line of those states.

A circumstance occurred lately, which may help to open Dar-Fūr to
Europeans. The Sitteh (Lady) Sowakin, the aunt of Sultan Adah, the
present monarch of that kingdom, is a zealous Moslem, and lately
determined to make a pilgrimage to the grave of the Prophet. She arrived
in Khartoum in August, 1851, attended by a large retinue of officers,
attendants and slaves, and after remaining a few days descended the
Nile to El Mekheyref, crossed the Desert to Sowakin, on the Red Sea,
and sailed thence for Djidda, the port of Mecca. During her stay Lattif
Pasha was exceedingly courteous to her, introducing her to his wives,
bestowing upon her handsome presents, and furnishing her with boats and
camels for her journey. Dr. Reitz availed himself of the occasion to make
the people of Dar-Fūr better acquainted with Europeans. All the Frank
residents assembled at his house, in Christian costume, and proceeded
to the residence of the Lady Sowakin. They found her sitting in state,
with two black slaves before her on their hands and knees, motionless
as sphinxes. On each side stood her officers and interpreters. She was
veiled, as well as her female attendants, and all exhibited the greatest
surprise and curiosity at the appearance of the Franks. The gifts they
laid before her—silks, fine soaps, cosmetics, bon-bons, &c.—she examined
with childish delight, and when the Consul informed her that the only
object of the Europeans in wishing to enter Dar-Fūr was to exchange such
objects as these for gum and elephants’ teeth, she promised to persuade
Sultan Adah to open his kingdom to them.

The next day her principal officers visited the Consul’s house, and
spent a long time examining its various wonders. The pictures, books and
furniture filled them with astonishment, and they went from one object to
another, like children, uttering exclamations of surprise and delight.
What most startled them was a box of lucifer matches, which was entirely
beyond their comprehension. They regarded the match with superstitious
awe, and seemed to consider that the fire was produced by some kind of
magic. Their relation of what they saw so excited the curiosity of the
Lady Sowakin, that she came on the following day, with her women. She was
no less astonished than her attendants had been, but was most attracted
by the Consul’s large mirror. She and her women spent half an hour before
it, making gestures, and unable to comprehend how they were mimicked by
the reflected figures. As she was unacquainted with its properties, she
threw back her veil to see whether the image would show her face. The
Consul was standing behind her, and thus caught sight of her features;
she was black, with a strongly marked but not unpleasant countenance,
and about forty-five years of age. He had a breakfast prepared for the
ladies, but on reaching the room the attendants all retired, and he was
informed that the women of rank in Dar-Fūr never eat in the presence of
the men. After they had finished the repast, he observed that they had
not only partaken heartily of the various European dishes, but had taken
with them what they could not eat, so that the table exhibited nothing
but empty dishes. When they left, the Lady reiterated her promise, and
added that if the Consul would visit Dar-Fūr, the Sultan would certainly
present him with many camel-loads of elephants’ teeth, in consideration
of his courtesy to her.

To the westward of Dar-Fūr, and between that country and Bornou, lies
the large kingdom of Waday, which has never been visited by a European.
I learned from some Kordofan merchants, who had visited the frontiers of
Dar-Fūr on their trading expeditions, that Sultan Adah had conquered a
great part of Waday, and would probably soon become involved in war with
the Sultan of Bornou. It is said that there is in the country of Waday
a lake called Fittre, which is a hundred and fifty miles in length, and
receives several rivers. At the south-western extremity of Dar-Fūr, in
lat. 6° N. there is a small country, called Fertit. I often heard it
mentioned by the Ethiopian traders, one of whom showed me a snuff-box,
which he had bought of a native of the country. It was made from the hard
shell of a fruit about the size of an orange, with a stopper roughly
wrought of silver. Almost the entire region south of lat. 10° N. and
lying between the White Nile and the Gulf of Guinea is unknown ground,
and presents a rich field for future explorers.

The difficulties and dangers which have hitherto attended the path
of African discovery, are rapidly diminishing, and the time is not
far distant when every mystery, hidden in the heart of that wonderful
Continent, will be made clear. Where a traveller has once penetrated, he
smoothes the way for those who follow, and that superior intelligence
which renders the brute creation unable to bear the gaze of a human
eye, is the defence of the civilized man against the barbarian. Bruce,
journeying from Abyssinia to Egypt, in the year 1772, was beset by
continual dangers, and even Burckhardt, in 1814, though successfully
disguised as a Mussulman shekh, or saint, was obliged to keep his journal
by stealth. At present, however, a Frank may travel in comparative
safety, from Cairo to the borders of Dar-Fūr and Abyssinia, while the
White Nile and its tributaries afford avenues to the very heart of the
unexplored regions beyond. The climate is the greatest obstacle in the
way of discovery, and the traveller whose temperament is best adapted
for the heats of the inter-tropical zone, possesses the best chance of
success.

CHAPTER XXIV.

EXCURSIONS AND PREPARATIONS.

My morning rides with Dr. Reitz, around Khartoum, gradually extended
themselves into the neighboring country, within the limits which a
fast dromedary could reach in two hours’ travel. In this way I became
familiar with the scenery along the banks of both Niles, and the broad
arid plains between them. As I rarely appeared in public except in the
Consul’s company, and attended with all the state which his household
could command, I was looked upon by the inhabitants as a foreign prince
of distinguished rank. The Pasha’s soldiers duly presented arms, and the
people whom I met in the streets stopped and saluted me profoundly, as
I passed. The Consul had succeeded in making a strong impression of his
own power and importance, and this was reflected upon his guest. One
morning, as we were riding towards the palace, a man cried out: “May God
prolong your days, O Consul! and the days of the strange lord,—for you
make a grand show with your horses, every day!”

There was one of our rides which I never call to mind without a leap
of the heart. The noble red stallion which I usually mounted had not
forgotten the plains of Dar-Fūr, where he was bred, and whenever we came
upon the boundless level extending southward from the town, his wild
blood was aroused. He pricked up his ears, neighed as grandly as the
war-horse of Job, champed furiously against the restraining bit, and
ever and anon cast a glance of his large, brilliant eye backward at me,
half in wonder, half in scorn, that I did not feel the same desire. The
truth is, I was tingling from head to foot with equal excitement, but
Dr. Reitz was a thorough Englishman in his passion for trotting, and was
vexed whenever I rode at any other pace. Once, however, the sky was so
blue, the morning air so cool and fresh, and the blood so lively in my
veins, that I answered the fierce questioning of Sultan’s eye with an
involuntary shout, pressed my knees against his sides and gave him the
rein. O Mercury, what a rush followed! We cut the air like the whizzing
shaft from a Saracen cross-bow; Sultan stretched out until his powerful
neck was almost on a level with his back, and the glorious rhythm of his
hoofs was accompanied by so little sense of effort, that it seemed but
the throbbing of his heart, keeping time with my own. His course was as
straight as a sunbeam, swerving not a hair’s-breadth to the right or
left, but forward, forward into the freedom of the Desert. Neck and neck
with him careered the Consul’s milk-white stallion, and I was so lost
in the divine excitement of our speed, that an hour had passed before
I was cool enough to notice where we were going. The Consul finally
called out to me to stop, and I complied, sharing the savage resistance
of Sultan, who neighed and plunged with greater ardor than at the start.
The minarets of Khartoum had long since disappeared; we were in the
centre of a desolate, sandy plain, broken here and there by clumps of
stunted mimosas—a dreary landscape, but glorified by the sunshine and the
delicious air. We rode several miles on the return track, before we met
the pursuing attendants, who had urged their dromedaries into a gallop,
and were sailing after us like a flock of ostriches.

A few days after my arrival, we had the dromedaries saddled and rode to
Kereff, a village on the Blue Nile, about two leagues distant. The path
was over a wide plain, covered with dry grass, and resembling an Illinois
prairie after a long drought. In the rainy season it is green and
luxuriant with grass and a multitude of flowers. The only trees were the
savage white thorn of the Desert, until we approached the river, where
we found forests of the large euphorbia, which I had first noticed as a
shrub in Upper Egypt. It here became a tree, upwards of twenty feet in
height. The branches bent over my head, as I rode through on the Consul’s
tallest dromedary. The trees were all in blossom, and gave out a subtle,
sickening odor. The flowers appear in whorls around the stem, at the base
of the leaves; the corolla is entire, but divided into five points, white
in the centre, with a purple stain at the extremity. The juice of this
plant is viscid and milky, and the Arabs informed me that if a single
drop of it gets into the eye it will produce instant blindness.

Beyond these thickets extended patches of wheat and cotton to the banks
of the Blue Nile, where the hump-backed oxen of Sennaar were lazily
turning the creaking wheels of the _sakies_. The river had here a breadth
of more than half a mile, and shone blue and brilliant in the morning
sun. Before reaching Kereff, we visited five villages, all built of mats
and clay. The inhabitants were warming themselves on the sunny side of
the huts, where they still shivered in the cold north-wind. At Kereff,
two men brought a large gourd, filled with sour milk, which was very cool
and refreshing. The principal wealth of the people consists in their
large flocks of sheep and goats. They cultivate barely sufficient wheat
and dourra to supply them with a few cakes of coarse bread, and their
favorite beverage of _om bilbil_.

On our return we passed the grave of a native saint, which was decorated
with rows of pebbles and a multitude of white pennons, fluttering from
the tops of poles stuck in the ground. Several women were seated at
the head, apparently paying their devotions to the ghost of the holy
man. The older ones were unveiled and ugly, but there was a damsel of
about eighteen, who threw part of her cotton mantle over her face, yet
allowed us to see that she was quite handsome. She had a pale yellow
complexion, showing her Abyssinian descent, large, almond-shaped eyes,
and straight black hair which diffused an odor of rancid butter. I found
it most agreeable to admire her beauty from the windward side. An old
beggar-woman, whose gray hair, skinny face and bleared eyes, flashing
from the bottom of deep sockets, made her a fitting picture of a Lapland
witch, came up and touched our hands, which she could barely reach as
we sat on the dromedaries, which saved us the horror of having her kiss
them. We gave her a backsheesh, which she took as if it had been her
right. After invoking the name of Allah many times, she went to the grave
and brought each of us a handful of dirt, which we carefully put into our
pockets, but as carefully emptied out again after we had reached home.

The next morning I rode with the Consul to the junction of the two Niles,
about a mile and a half to the west of Khartoum. The land all around is
low, and the two rivers meet at right angles, but do not mingle their
waters till they have rolled eight or ten miles in their common bed.
The White Nile is a light-brown, muddy color, the Blue Nile a dark
bluish green. Both rivers are nearly of equal breadth at the point of
confluence, but the current of the latter is much the stronger. There is
a low green island, called Omdurman, in the White Nile, at its junction.
The ferry-boat had just brought over a party of merchants from Kordofan,
with their packages of gum. A number of large vessels, belonging to the
government, were hauled up on the bank, and several Arabs, under the
direction of a Turkish ship-builder, were making repairs. We rode a short
distance up the White Nile, over a beach which was deeply printed with
the enormous footprints of a whole herd of hippopotami, and then home
through the fields of blossoming beans.

The Nile was to me a source of greater interest than all the negro
kingdoms between Khartoum and Timbuctoo. There, two thousand miles
from his mouth, I found his current as broad, as strong, and as deep
as at Cairo, and was no nearer the mystery of his origin. If I should
ascend the western of his two branches, I might follow his windings
twelve hundred miles further and still find a broad and powerful stream,
of whose source even the tribes that dwell in those far regions are
ignorant. I am confident that when the hidden fountains shall at last be
reached, and the problem of twenty centuries solved, the entire length
of the Nile will be found to be not less than _four thousand miles_,
and he will then take his rank with the Mississippi and the Amazon—a
sublime trinity of streams! There is, in some respects, a striking
resemblance between the Nile and the former river. The Missouri is the
true Mississippi, rolling the largest flood and giving his color to the
mingled streams. So of the White Nile, which is broad and turbid, and
pollutes the clear blue flood that has usurped his name and dignity.
In spite of what geographers may say—and they are still far from being
united on the subject—the Blue Nile is not the true Nile. There, at the
point of junction, his volume of water is greater,[4] but he is fresh
from the mountains and constantly fed by large, unfailing affluents,
while the White Nile has rolled for more than a thousand miles on nearly
a dead level, through a porous, alluvial soil, in which he loses more
water than he brings with him.

The Blue Nile, whose source the honest, long-slandered Bruce did actually
discover, rises near lat. 11° N. in the mountains of Godjam, on the
south-western frontier of Abyssinia. Thence it flows northward into the
great lake of Dembea, or Tzana, near its southern extremity. The lake
is shallow and muddy, and the river carries his clear flood through it
without mixing. He then flows to the south and south-east, under the
name of Tzana, along the borders of the kingdom of Shoa, to between
lat. 9° and 10°, whence he curves again to the north and finds his way
through the mountains of Fazogl to the plains of Sennaar. His entire
length cannot be less than eight hundred miles. The stream is navigable
as far as the mountains, about three hundred miles from Khartoum, where
it is interrupted by rapids. The Arabic name _El-bahr el-Azrek_, means
rather “black” than “blue,” the term _azrek_ being used with reference to
objects of a dark, blue-black color; and besides, it is called _black_,
in contradistinction to the _Bahr el-Abiad_, the _white_ Nile. The
boatmen here also frequently speak of the black river as _he_, and the
white as _she_. When I asked the reason of this, they replied that it was
because the former had a stronger current. It is remarkable that the name
“Nile,” which is never heard in Egypt, (where the river is simply called
_el-bahr_, “the sea,”) should be retained in Ethiopia. There the boatmen
speak of “_el-bahr el-Nil_,” which name they also sometimes apply to the
Blue Nile. It is therefore easy to understand why the latter river should
have been looked upon as the main current of the Nile.

After I had been eight or ten days in Khartoum, I began to think of
penetrating further into the interior. My intention, on leaving Cairo,
was to push on as far as my time and means would allow, and the White
Nile was the great point of attraction. The long journey I had already
made in order to reach Soudân only whetted my desire of seeing more
of the wild, barbaric life of Central Africa, and, owing to the good
luck which had saved me from any delay on the road, I could spare three
or four weeks for further journeys, before setting out on my return
to Egypt. Some of my friends in Khartoum counselled one plan and some
another, but after distracting myself in a maze of uncertainties, I
returned to my first love, and determined to make a voyage up the
White Nile. There was little to be gained by visiting Kordofan, as I
had already seen Central African life to better advantage in Khartoum.
Sennaar is now only interesting as a station on the way to Abyssinia or
the mountains of Fazogl, and in the wild regions along the Atbara it
is impossible to travel without an armed escort. As it is exceedingly
dangerous for a single boat to pass through the extensive negro
kingdoms of the Shillooks and the Dinkas, I had hoped to accompany Dr.
Knoblecher’s expedition some distance up the river and then take my
chance of returning. The boat belonging to the Catholic Mission, however,
had not arrived from Cairo, and the season was so far advanced that the
expedition had been postponed until the following November. At the time
of my visit, nevertheless, a Maltese trader named Lattif Effendi, was
fitting up two large vessels which were shortly to leave on a trading
voyage which he intended pushing as far as the Bari country. I could have
made arrangements to accompany him, but as he could not return before
some time in June, I should have been obliged, in that case, to pass the
sickly season in Soudân—a risk scarcely worth the profit, as, with the
best possible good luck, I might barely have reached the point attained
by Dr. Knoblecher. The Consul proposed my going with Lattif Effendi until
I should meet the yearly expedition on its return, and then come down
the river with it. This would have enabled me to penetrate to lat. 9°,
or perhaps 8°, but after passing the islands of the Shillooks, one sees
little except water, grass and mosquitoes, until he reaches the land of
the Kyks, in lat. 7°. After weighing carefully all the arguments on both
sides, I decided to take a small boat and ascend as far as the islands.
Here the new and rich animal and vegetable world of the magnificent river
begins to unfold, and in many respects it is the most impressive portion
of his stream.

I was fortunate in finding a small vessel, of the kind called
_sandal_—the only craft in port, except the Pasha’s dahabiyeh, which
would have answered my purpose. It belonged to a fat old Turk, named
Abou-Balta, from whom I engaged it for three hundred and twenty-five
piastres. The crew consisted of a raïs, five strong Dongolese sailors,
and a black female slave, as cook. The raïs knew the river, but
positively refused to take me further than the island of Aba, somewhere
between lat. 12° and 13°, on account of the danger of venturing among the
Shillooks, without an armed force. I named the boat the _John Ledyard_,
in memory of the first American traveller in Africa. The name was none
the less appropriate, since Ledyard was buried beside the Nile, at
the outset of a journey undertaken for the purpose of discovering its
sources. Dr. Reitz gave me two sheep as provision for the voyage, and the
remainder of my outfit cost me about a hundred and twenty piastres in the
bazaars of Khartoum.

I reached Khartoum at a favorable season for making the voyage.
Formerly, it had been very difficult for any European to obtain
permission to sail on the White Nile, owing to the trade of the river
having been completely monopolized by the Pasha of Soudân, in defiance
of the Treaty of 1838, which made the river free to merchants of all
nations. No later than the previous winter, Count Dandolo, an Italian
traveller who visited Khartoum, encountered much opposition before he
succeeded in obtaining a boat for the Islands of the Shillooks. Owing
to the vigorous efforts of Dr. Reitz, the monopoly had at last been
broken down, and the military guard formerly stationed at the confluence
of the two rivers, no longer existed I did not even inform the Pasha
of my intention to make the voyage until after I had taken the boat
and completed my preparations. I then paid him a visit of ceremony,
in company with the Consul. He was very affable, and insisted on our
remaining for dinner, although we had invited two friends to help
us eat a roasted ram. We urged this in excuse, but he cut us off by
exclaiming: “I am ruler here, and my commands dare not be disobeyed,”
and immediately sent a servant to order our guests, in his name, to eat
the ram themselves. He then despatched messengers for Abd-el-Kader Bey,
Governor of Kordofan, and Rufaā Bey, who were brought to the palace in
the same arbitrary manner. Having thus secured his company, he retired
for the usual prayers before dinner, leaving us to enjoy the preparatory
pipe. Among the manifold dishes served at dinner, were three or four
kinds of fish from the White Nile, all of them of excellent flavor. The
Pasha continued his discussion of Louis Napoleon’s _coup d’étât_, taking
delight in recommending a sanguinary policy as the only course, and could
not enough praise Sultan Mahmoud I. for his execution of forty thousand
Janissaries in one day.

Finally, on the morning of the 22d of January, my effects were all on
board, and my raïs and sailors in readiness. Achmet and Ali preceded me
to the boat with many misgivings, for we were now going into regions
where the Pasha’s name was scarcely known—where the Egyptian sway had
never reached—a land of _kaffirs_, or infidels, who were supposed to be
nearly related to the terrible “Nyàm-Nyàms,” the anthropophagi of Central
Africa. Achmet could not comprehend my exhilaration of spirits, and in
reply to my repeated exclamations of satisfaction and delight, observed,
with a shake of the head: “If it were not that we left Cairo on a lucky
day, O my master! I should never expect to see Khartoum again.” Fat
Abou-Balta, who had promised to accompany me as far as the first village
on the White Nile, did not make his appearance, and so we pushed off
without him. Never was name more wrongly applied than that of Abou-Balta
(the “father of hatchets”), for he weighed three hundred pounds, had a
face like the full moon, and was the jolliest Turk I ever saw. Dr. Reitz,
whose hospitality knew no bounds, sent his dromedaries up the river the
day previous, and accompanied me with his favorite servants—two ebony
boys, with shining countenances and white and scarlet dresses.

[Illustration: The White Nile.]

CHAPTER XXV.

VOYAGE UP THE WHITE NILE.

“At night he heard the lion roar
And the hyena scream,
And the river-horse as he crushed the reeds
Beside some hidden stream;
And it passed like a glorious roll of drums
Through the triumph of his dream.”—LONGFELLOW.

The men pushed away from shore with some difficulty, as a violent
north-wind drove the boat back, but the sail once unfurled, we shot like
an arrow between the gardens of Khartoum and the green shores of the
island of Tuti. Before reaching the confluence of the rivers, a jut of
land obliged the sailors again to take to their poles and oars, but a
short time sufficed to bring us to the turning-point. Here the colors of
the different streams are strongly marked. They are actually blue and
white, and meet in an even line, which can be seen extending far down
the common tide. We tossed on the agitated line of their junction, but
the wind carried us in a few minutes past the island of Omdurman, which
lies opposite. The first American flag that ever floated over the White
Nile, fluttered gayly at the mast-head, pointing to the south—to those
vast, mysterious regions out of which the mighty stream finds its way. A
flock of the sacred ibis alighted on the sandy shore of the island, where
the tall king-heron, with his crest of stately feathers, watched us as
he walked up and down. In front, over the island of Moussa Bey, a broad
mirage united its delusive waters with those of the true river and lifted
the distant shores so high above the horizon that they seemed floating in
the air. The stream, which is narrow at its junction with the Blue Nile,
expanded to a breadth of two miles, and the shores ahead of us were so
low that we appeared to be at the entrance of a great inland sea. Our
course swerved to the eastward, so that we were in the rear of Khartoum,
whose minaret was still visible when we were ten miles distant. The low
mud dwellings of the town were raised to twice their real height, by the
effect of the mirage. The shores on either side were sandy tracts, almost
uncultivated, and covered with an abundant growth of thorns, mimosas and
a small tree with thick green foliage. By twelve o’clock we reached the
point where Dr. Reitz had sent his dromedaries, which were in readiness,
kneeling on the beach. We could not approach the shore, on account of
the mud, but the sailors carried us out on their shoulders. I rode with
him to a small Arab hamlet, scattered among the thorny thickets. There
were but two mud houses, the other dwellings being merely rude tents of
grass matting; few of the inhabitants were at home, but those few were
peaceable and friendly. As the Consul had a ride of four or five hours
before him, he wished me good luck and set off northward, while the
sailors, who were in waiting, carried me back to the boat.

All the afternoon I sped before a strong wind up the magnificent river.
Its breadth varied from two to three miles, but its current was shallow
and sluggish. The shores were sandy, and covered with groves of the
gum-producing mimosa, which appeared for the first time in profusion.
About four o’clock I passed a low, isolated hill on the eastern bank,
which the sailors called _Djàr en-nebbee_, and near sunset, a long ridge
on the right, two miles inland, broke the dead level of the plains of
Kordofan. The sand-banks were covered with wild geese and ducks in
myriads, and here and there we saw an enormous crocodile lounging on
the edge of the water. The sun went down; the short twilight faded, and
I was canopied by a superb starlit heaven. Taurus, Orion, Sirius and
the Southern Cross sparkled in one long, unbroken galaxy of splendor.
The breeze was mild and light, and the waves rippled with a pleasant
sound against the prow. My sailors sat on the forward deck, singing
doleful songs, to which the baying of dogs and the yells of hyenas made
a fit accompaniment. The distant shores of the river were lighted with
the fires of the Mohammediyeh Arabs, and we heard the men shouting to
each other occasionally. About nine o’clock we passed their principal
village, and approached the territories of the Hassaniyehs.

The wind fell about ten o’clock, and the boat came to anchor. I awoke an
hour or two after midnight and found it blowing again fresh and strong;
whereupon I roused the raïs and sailors, and made them hoist sail. We
gained so much by this move, that by sunrise we had passed the village
of Shekh Moussa, and were entering the territories of the Hassaniyeh
Arabs; the last tribe which is subject to the Pasha of Soudân. Beyond
them are the primitive Negro Kingdoms of Central Africa, in almost the
same condition now as they have been for thousands of years past. About
sunrise the raïs ordered the sails to be furled, and the vessel put
about. The men were rowing some time before I discovered the cause.
Whilst attempting to hoist my flag, one of them let it fall into the
water, and instead of jumping in after it, as I should have done had I
seen it, suffered the vessel to go some distance before he even announced
the loss. We were then so far from the spot, that any attempt to recover
it would have been useless, and so the glorious stars and stripes which
had floated thus far triumphantly into Africa, met the fate of most
travellers in those regions. They lay imbedded in the mud of the White
Nile, and I sailed away from the spot with a pang, as if a friend had
been drowned there. The flag of one’s country is never dearer to him than
when it is his companion and protector in foreign lands.

During the whole forenoon we sailed at the rate of six or seven miles
an hour, in the centre of the river, whose breadth varied from two to
three miles. The shores no longer presented the same dead level as on the
first day. They were banks of sandy soil, ten or twelve feet in height,
and covered with forests of the gum-bearing mimosa, under which grew
thickets of a dense green shrub, mixed with cactus and euphorbia. The gum
is a tree from twenty to thirty feet in height, with a thick trunk and
spreading branches, and no Italian oak or chestnut presents a greater
variety of picturesque forms to the painter’s eye. The foliage is thin,
allowing the manifold articulations of the boughs and twigs to be seen
through it. It was most abundant on the Kordofan side, and the greater
proportion of the gum annually exported to Egypt comes from that country.
The broad tide of the river and the wild luxuriance of the continuous
forests that girdled it, gave this part of its course an air of majesty,
which recalled the Mississippi to my mind. There was not a single feature
that resembled Egypt.

Towards noon we reached the more thickly populated districts of the
Hassaniyeh. The town of Damas, on the east, and Tura, on the west,
not very distant from each other, were the first I saw since leaving
Khartoum. They were merely clusters of _tokuls_, or the straw huts of
the natives, built in a circular form, with a conical roof of matting,
the smoke escaping through an opening in the top. At both these places,
as well as at other points along the river, the natives had ferries, and
appeared to be busy in transporting men, camels and goods from one bank
to the other. On account of the breadth of the river the passage was
long, and the boatmen eased their labor by making a sail of their cotton
mantles, which they fastened to two upright sticks. The shores were
crowded with herds of sheep and goats, and I saw near Damas a large drove
of camels which were waiting an opportunity to cross. The Hassaniyehs
own no camels, and this was probably a caravan from Khartoum, bound
for Kordofan. In some places the people brought donkeys laden with
water-skins, which they filled from the river. I noticed, occasionally,
a small patch of beans, but nothing that looked like a regular system
of cultivation. The Hassaniyehs are yellow, with straight features, and
resemble the Fellahs of Lower Egypt more than any other Central-African
tribe. Those whom we saw at a distance from the villages retreated with
signs of fear as my vessel approached the shore. Dr. Péney, the Medical
Inspector of Soudân, described to me, while in Khartoum, some singular
customs of these Arabs. The rights of women, it appears, are recognized
among them more thoroughly than among any other savage people in the
world. When a woman is married, her father states that one fourth of her
life thenceforth is reserved for her own use, and the husband is obliged
to respect this reservation. Every fourth day she is released from the
marriage vow, and if she loves some one else better than her husband, he
can dwell in her tent that day, obliging the husband himself to retire.
Their hospitality is such, moreover, that if a stranger visits one of
their settlements they furnish him, for four days, with a tent and a
wife. They should add a family of children, and then their hospitality
would be complete. No reproach whatever attaches to the woman, on account
of this temporary connection. The Hassaniyeh, in other respects, are not
more immoral than other tribes, and these customs appear to be connected
with their religious faith.

After passing Tura (the terminus of a short caravan route of four days to
Obeid, the capital of Kordofan), a mountain range, some distance from the
river, appeared on the right bank. The peaks were broken and conical in
form, and their pale-violet hue showed with fine effect behind the dark
line of the gum forests. With every hour of our progress, the vegetation
grew more rank and luxuriant. On the eastern bank the gum gave place to
the flowering mimosa, which rose in a dense rampart from the water’s edge
and filled the air with the fragrance of its blossoms. Myriads of wild
geese, ducks, cranes, storks, herons and ibises sat on the narrow beaches
of sand or circled in the air with hoarse clang and croaking. Among them
I saw more than one specimen of that rare and curious water-bird, whose
large, horny bill curves upward instead of downward, so that it appears
to have been put on the wrong way. As he eats nothing but small fish,
which he swallows with his head under water, this is not such a great
inconvenience as one would suppose. The bars which occasionally made
out into the current served as a resting-place for crocodiles, which
now began to appear in companies of ten or fifteen, and the forests
were filled with legions of apes, which leaped chattering down from the
branches to look at us. A whole family of them sat on the bank for some
time, watching us, and when we frightened them away by our shouts, it
was amusing to see a mother pick up her infant ape, and scamper off with
it under her arm. The wild fowl were astonishingly tame, and many of
them so fat that they seemed scarcely able to fly. Here and there, along
the shore, large broods of the young were making their first essays in
swimming. The boatmen took great delight in menacing the old birds with
pieces of wood, in order to make them dive under water. There were some
superb white cranes, with a rosy tinge along the edges of their wings,
and I saw two more of the crested king-herons.

After passing the island of Tshebeshi, the river, which still retains
its great breadth, is bordered by a swampy growth of reeds. It is filled
with numerous low islands, covered with trees, mostly dead, and with
waste, white branches which have drifted down during the inundation. In
the forests along the shore many trees had also been killed by the high
water of the previous summer. There are no habitations on this part of
the river, but all is wild, and lonely, and magnificent. I had seen no
sail since leaving Khartoum, and as the sun that evening threw his last
red rays on the mighty flood, I felt for the first time that I was alone,
far in the savage heart of Africa. We dashed along at a most exciting
rate of speed, brushing the reeds of the low islands, or dipping into
the gloom of the shadows thrown by the unpruned forests. The innumerable
swarms of wild birds filled the air with their noise, as they flew to
their coverts, or ranged themselves in compact files on the sand. Above
all their din, I heard at intervals, from the unseen thickets inland, the
prolonged snarling roar of some wild beast. It was too deep-toned and
powerful for a leopard, and we all decided that it was a lion. As I was
watching the snowy cranes and silvery herons that alighted on the boughs
within pistol-shot, my men pointed out a huge hippopotamus, standing in
the reeds, but a short distance from the vessel. He was between five
and six feet high, but his head, body and legs were of enormous bulk.
He looked at us, opened his great jaws, gave his swine-like head a toss
in the air, and plunged hastily into the water. At the same instant an
immense crocodile (perhaps twenty feet in length) left his basking-place
on the sand and took refuge in the river. Soon afterwards two hippopotami
rose in the centre of the stream, and, after snorting the water from
their nostrils, entertained us with a peculiar grunting sound, like the
lowest rumbling note of a double-bass. The concert was continued by
others, and resumed from time to time through the night. This was Central
Africa as I had dreamed it—a grand though savage picture, full of life
and heat, and with a barbaric splendor even in the forms of Nature.

As the new moon and the evening star went down together behind the mimosa
forests on the western bank, we reached the island of Hassaniyeh, having
sailed upward of one hundred and forty miles since the evening before.
I had every prospect of reaching my destination, the island of Aba, in
the archipelago of the Shillooks, before noon the next day, or in two
days from Khartoum—a distance of more than two hundred and fifty miles!
Better sailing than this was never made on the Nile. Four more days of
such wind would have taken me to the Bahr el-Ghazàl, in lat. 9°—the land
of lions, elephants, and giraffes, where the Nile becomes a sea of grass.
It became more difficult for me to return, the further I advanced. At
nine o’clock we passed the island of Hassaniyeh, and saw the fires of the
Shillook negroes burning brightly on the western bank. The wind blew more
briskly than ever, and I dashed onward in the starlight with the painful
knowledge that I was fast approaching the point beyond which I dared not
go.

CHAPTER XXVI.

ADVENTURES AMONG THE SHILLOOK NEGROES.

We sailed nearly all night with a steady north-wind, which towards
morning became so strong that the men were obliged to take in sail and
let us scud under bare poles. When I rose, in the gray of early dawn,
they were about hoisting the little stern-sheet, which alone sufficed
to carry us along at the rate of four miles an hour. We had passed the
frontier of Egyptian Soudân soon after sunset, and were then deep in the
negro kingdom of the Shillooks. The scenery had changed considerably
since the evening. The forests were taller and more dense, and the
river more thickly studded with islands, the soil of which was entirely
concealed by the luxuriant girdle of shrubs and water-plants, in which
they lay imbedded. The _ambak_, a species of aquatic shrub, with leaves
resembling the sensitive plant and winged, bean-like blossoms of a
rich yellow hue, grew on the edge of the shore, with its roots in the
water and its long arms floating on the surface. It formed impenetrable
ramparts around the islands and shores, except where the hippopotamus and
crocodile had trodden paths into the forests, or the lion and leopard
had come down to the river’s margin to drink. Behind this floating hem
of foliage and blossoms appeared other and larger shrubs, completely
matted together with climbing vines, which covered them like a mantle
and hung from their branches dangling streamers of white and purple and
yellow blossoms. They even stretched to the boughs of the large mimosa,
or sont trees, which grew in the centre of the islands, thus binding
all together in rounded masses. Some of the smaller islands resembled
floating hills of vegetation, and their slopes and summits of impervious
foliage, rolling in the wind, appeared to keep time with the rocking of
the waves that upheld them. The profusion of vegetable life reminded
me of the Chagres River. If not so rich and gorgeous, it was on a far
grander scale. The river had still a breadth of a mile and a half,
where his current was free, but where island crowded on island in a
vast archipelago of leafy shores, he took a much wider sweep. The waves
danced and glistened in the cool northern wind, as we glided around his
majestic curves, and I stood on deck watching the wonderful panorama
unfold on either side, with a feeling of exultation to which I gave free
vent. In no other river have I seen landscapes of larger or more imposing
character.

All the rich animal world of this region was awake and stirring before
the sun. The wild fowls left their roosts; the _zikzaks_ flew twittering
over the waves, calling up their mates, the sleepy crocodiles; the herons
stretched their wings against the wind; the monkeys leaped and chattered
in the woods, and at last whole herds of hippopotami, sporting near the
shore, came up spouting water from their nostrils, in a manner precisely
similar to the grampus. I counted six together, soon after sunrise, near
the end of an island. They floundered about in the shallows popping up
their heads every few minutes to look at us, and at last walked out
through the reeds and stood upon the shore. Soon afterwards five more
appeared on the other side of the river, and thenceforth we saw them
almost constantly, and sometimes within fifty yards. I noticed one which
must have been four feet in breadth across the ears, and with a head
nearly five feet long. He opened his mouth wide enough to show two round,
blunt tusks, or rather grinders, one on each side. They exhibited a great
deal of curiosity, and frequently turned about after we had passed, and
followed for some time in our wake.

Soon after sunrise the raïs observed some Shillooks in the distance,
who were sinking their canoes in the river, after which they hastily
retreated into the woods. We ran along beside the embowering shores,
till we reached the place. The canoes were carefully concealed and
some pieces of drift wood thrown over the spot, as if left there by
the river. The raïs climbed to the mast-head and called to the people,
assuring them that there was no danger, but, though we peered sharply
into the thickets, we could find no signs of any human being. The river
here turned to the south, disclosing other and richer groups of islands,
stretching beyond one another far into the distance. Directly on our left
was the northern point of the island of Aba, our destination. As the
island is six or eight miles in length, I determined to make the most of
my bargain, and so told the raïs that he must take me to its further end,
and to the villages of the Shillooks, whom I had come to see. Abou-Hammed
was small in body, but had a stout heart. The Consul and fat Abou-Balta
had given him special instructions to keep me out of danger, yet he could
not refuse my demands. We sailed two or three miles along the shore of
Aba, looking into the depths of its ambak forests for traces of the
Shillooks, who, according to the raïs, had a village on the island. On
our right extended a chain of smaller islands—bowery masses of leaves and
blossoms—and beyond them the wild forests of the western bank. Glorious
above description was that world of waves and foliage—of wood, water and
sky.

At last, on rounding one of the coves of Aba, we came upon a flock of
sheep, feeding along the shore. A light thread of smoke arose from among
some dead, fallen trees, a few paces in the forest, but no person was
to be seen. The boat was run to the shore, and we landed and examined
the spot. The natives had evidently just left, for the brands were
burning, and we saw the prints of their long feet in the ashes. The raïs
and sailors walked on tiptoe through the woods, looking for the hidden
inhabitants. The mimosas, which here grow to the height of fifty feet,
met above our heads and made a roof, against the sun. Some large gray
apes, startled by our visit, leaped with wonderful dexterity from tree to
tree. I found several abandoned fire-places during my walk, and near the
shore saw many footprints in the soft soil. The forest was quite clear
of underwood, but the ground was cumbered with the trunks of dead trees.
There were but few flowering plants, and I was too much interested in
the search for the Shillooks to examine them.

The raïs finally descried the huts of the village at a distance, near
the extremity of the island. We returned to the vessel, and were about
putting off in order to proceed thither, when a large body of men, armed
with spears, appeared in the forest, coming towards us at a quick pace.
The raïs, who had already had some intercourse with these people and knew
something of their habits, advanced alone to meet them. I could see,
through the trees, that a consultation was held, and shortly, though
with some signs of doubt and hesitation, about a dozen of the savages
advanced to within a short distance of the vessel, while the others sat
down on the ground, still holding the spears in their hands. The raïs
now returned to the water’s edge, and said that the Shillooks had come
with the intention of fighting, but he had informed them that this was
a visit from the Sultan’s son, who came to see them as a friend, and
would then return to his father’s country. Thereupon they consented
to speak with me, and I might venture to go on shore. I landed again,
with Achmet, and walked up with the raïs to the spot where the men were
seated. The shekh of the island, a tall, handsome man, rose to greet me,
by touching the palm of his right hand to mine and then raising it to his
forehead. I made a like salutation, after which he sat down. The vizier
(as he called himself), an old man excessively black in complexion, then
advanced, and the other warriors in succession, till all had saluted
me. The conversation was carried on in the Arabic jargon of Soudân,
which the shekh and some of his men spoke tolerably well, so that I
could understand the most of what was said. “Why don’t you bring the
Sultan’s carpet that he may rest?” said the shekh to one of my sailors.
The carpet and pillows were immediately brought, and I stretched myself
out in front of the shekh and vizier, who sat upon a fallen tree, while
the others squatted upon the ground. The shekh at first took no part in
the conversation, but sat looking at me steadily, from under his heavy
eyebrows. Our negotiations were conducted in genuine diplomatic style.
Whenever His Majesty of the Shillooks had any thing to say, he mentioned
it to his vizier, who addressed Achmet, my vizier, who communicated it to
me, the Sultan. The spectators observed the most profound silence, and
nothing could surpass the gravity and solemnity of the scene.

In the mean time the other warriors had come up and taken their
seats around us, each one greeting me before he sat down, with
“_ow-wow-wobba!_” (probably a corruption of the Arabic “_mar-habba?_”
“how d’ye do?”) The vizier, addressing me through Achmet, said: “Tell us
what you want; if you come to fight, we are ready for you.” I assured
the shekh through him that I came as a friend, and had no intention of
molesting them, but he was not satisfied, and repeated three or four
times, drawing a mark between us on the ground: “if you are really
friends, we will be friends with you; but if you are not, we are ready
to fight you.” Achmet at last swore by the Prophet Mohammed, and by the
wisdom of Allah, that we had come in peace; that the Sultan wished to
pay him a visit, and would then return home. At the request of the raïs
we had come on shore unarmed, but it had not the anticipated effect.
“Why have you no arms?” said the shekh; “are you afraid of us?” I told
him that it was in order to show that I had no hostile intentions, but
the people seemed to consider it as mark of either treachery or fear. I
brought some tobacco with me; which I gave to the shekh, but he received
it coldly, and said: “Where is the dress which the Sultan has brought for
me?” This reminded me that I had entirely neglected to provide myself in
Khartoum with muslin and calico, for presents. I remedied the deficiency,
however, by going on board and taking one of my shirts and a silk
handkerchief, as well as some beads and ear-rings for the wives of the
two dignitaries. Achmet added a shirt and a pair of Turkish drawers, and
brought a fresh supply of tobacco for the warriors. The shekh took the
presents with evident gratification, and then came the work of clothing
him. He was entirely at a loss how to put on the garments, but Achmet and
the raïs unwound the cotton cloth from his loins, stuck his legs into
the drawers, his arms into the shirt-sleeves, and tied the handkerchief
about his head. Once clothed, he gave no more attention to his garments,
but wore them with as much nonchalance as if he had never possessed a
scantier costume. The vizier, who had shown manifest ill-humor at being
passed by, was quieted by the present of a shirt, which was put upon his
shoulders in like manner. He gave me his name as _Adjeb-Seedoo_ (“He
pleases his Master”), a most appropriate name for a vizier. The shekh’s
name, _Abd-en-noor_ (“the Slave of Light”), was hardly so befitting, for
he was remarkably dark. I was much amused at my servant Ali, who had
shown great terror on the first appearance of the savages. He had already
become so familiar, that when the shekh did not seem to understand the
use of the beads and ear-rings, Ali pinched his ears very significantly,
and took hold of his neck to show how they must be worn.

By this time coffee had been prepared and was brought to them. But
they had been so accustomed to inhumanity and deception on the part of
the Turks, that they still mistrusted us and no one would drink, for
fear that it contained poison. To quiet them, therefore, I drank a cup
first, after which they took it readily, but many of them, who then
tasted coffee for the first time, did not seem to relish it. A drove
of sheep happening to pass by, the shekh ordered one of the rams to be
caught and put on board the vessel, for the Sultan’s dinner. The men soon
began to demand tobacco, clothes, and various other things, and grew so
importunate that Achmet became alarmed, and even the raïs, who was a
man of some courage, seemed a little uneasy. I thought it time to give
a change to affairs, and therefore rose and told the shekh I was ready
to visit his village. We had intended returning on board and sailing to
the place, which was at the southern extremity of the island, about a
mile distant, but reflecting that this might occasion mistrust, and that
the best way of avoiding danger is to appear unconscious of it, I called
Achmet and the raïs to accompany me on foot. While these things were
transpiring, a number of other Shillooks had arrived, so that there were
now upwards of fifty. All were armed—the most of them with iron-pointed
spears, some with clubs, and some with long poles, having knobs of hard
wood on the end. They were all tall, strong, stately people, not more
than two or three under six feet in height, while the most of them were
three or four inches over that standard. Some had a piece of rough cotton
cloth tied around the waist or thrown over the shoulders, but the most
of them were entirely naked. Their figures were large and muscular,
but not symmetrical, nor was there the least grace in their movements.
Their faces resembled a cross between the Negro of Guinea and the North
American Indian, having the high cheek-bones, the narrow forehead and
pointed head of the latter, with the flat nose and projecting lips of the
former. Their teeth were so long as to appear like tusks, and in most
of them one or two front teeth were wanting, which gave their faces a
wolfish expression. Their eyes were small and had an inflamed look, which
might have been occasioned by the damp exhalations of the soil on which
they slept. Every one wore an armlet above the elbow, either a segment
of an elephant’s tusk, or a thick ring of plaited hippopotamus hide. The
most of them had a string of glass beads around the neck, and the shekh
wore a necklace of the large white variety, called “pigeon eggs” by the
traders on the White Nile. They had no beards, and their hair was seared
or plucked out on the forehead and temples, leaving only a circular crown
of crisp wool on the top of the head. Some had rubbed their faces and
heads with red ashes, which imparted a livid, ghastly effect to their
black skins.

The shekh marched ahead, in his white garments and fluttering head-dress,
followed by the warriors, each carrying his long spear erect in his
hand. We walked in the midst of them, and I was so careful to avoid all
appearance of fear that I never once looked behind, to see whether the
vessel was following us. A violent dispute arose among some of the men in
front, and from their frequent glances towards us, it was evident that we
were in some way connected with the conversation. I did not feel quite
at ease till the matter was referred to the shekh, who decided it in a
way that silenced the men, if it did not satisfy them. As we approached
the village, good-humor was restored, and their demeanor towards us was
thenceforth more friendly. They looked at me with curiosity, but without
ill-will, and I could see that my dress interested them much more than
my person. Finally we reached the village, which contained about one
hundred tokuls of straw, built in a circular form, with conical roofs.
They were arranged so as to inclose a space in the centre, which was
evidently intended as a fold for their sheep, as it was further protected
by a fence of thorns. Guards were stationed at intervals of about twenty
yards, along the side fronting the river, each leaning back against his
spear, with one of his legs drawn up, so that the foot rested against the
opposite knee. At the principal entrance of the village, opposite which
I counted twenty-seven canoes drawn up against the shore, we made halt,
and the shekh ordered a seat to be brought. An _angareb_, the frame of
which was covered with a net-work of hippopotamus thongs, was placed in
the shade of a majestic mimosa tree, and the shekh and I took our seats.
Another angareb was brought and placed behind us, for our respective
viziers. The warriors all laid aside their spears and sat on the ground,
forming a semicircle in front of us. A swarm of naked boys, from eight
to twelve years of age, crept dodging behind the trees till they reached
a convenient place in the rear, where they watched me curiously, but
drew back in alarm whenever I turned my head. The village was entirely
deserted of its inhabitants, every one having come to behold the strange
Sultan. The females kept at a distance at first, but gradually a few
were so far overcome by their curiosity that they approached near enough
for me to observe them closely. They were nude, except a small piece of
sheepskin around the loins, and in their forms were not very easy to
distinguish from the men, having flat, masculine breasts and narrow
hips. They were from five feet eight inches to six feet in height. The
raïs informed me that the Shillooks frequently sell their women and
children, and that a boy or girl can be bought for about twenty measures
of dourra.

After undergoing their inspection half an hour, I began to get tired
of sitting in state, and had my pipe brought from the boat. I saw by
an occasional sidelong glance that the shekh watched me, but I smoked
carelessly until the tobacco was finished. Some of the men were already
regaling themselves with that which I had given them. They had pipes
with immense globular bowls of clay, short, thick stems of reed, and
mouth-pieces made of a variety of wild gourd, with a long, pointed neck.
A handful of tobacco was placed in the bowl and two or three coals laid
upon it, after which the orifice was closed with clay. The vizier,
Adjeb-Seedoo, who had something of the Yankee in his angular features and
the shrewd wrinkles about the corners of the eyes, chewed the tobacco and
squirted out the saliva between his teeth in the true Down-East style. I
bargained for his pipe at two piastres, and one of the ivory arm-rings
at five, but as I had no small silver money (the only coin current
among them), did not succeed in getting the former article. I obtained,
however, two of the arm-rings of hippopotamus hide. While these things
were going on, the shekh who had been observing me closely, saw the chain
of my watch, which he seized. I took out the watch and held it to his
ear. He started back in surprise, and told the men what he had heard,
imitating its sound in a most amusing manner. They all crowded around to
listen, and from their looks and signs seemed to think the case contained
some bird or insect. I therefore opened it, and showed them the motion
of the balance-wheel and of the hand on the smaller dial of the face.
Their astonishment was now changed to awe and they looked at it silently,
without daring to touch it.

I profited by this impression to make a move for starting, before their
greed for presents should grow into a resolve to rob us by force. I had
asked the shekh two or three times to have a cup of water brought for
me, but he seemed to pay no attention to the request. Soon, however, one
of the men brought a large earthen jar, stopped with clay, and placed it
at my feet. Thereupon the shekh turned to me, saying: “There is plenty
of water in the river, and here I give you honey to mix with it.” The
jar was taken on board, and contained, in fact, nearly a gallon of wild
honey, which had a rich, aromatic taste, like the odor of the mimosa
flowers. The trading-vessels on the White Nile purchase this honey, but
as the natives, in their hatred of the Turks, frequently mix with it the
juice of poisonous plants, they are obliged to taste it themselves before
they can sell it. I did not require this proof at their hands, preferring
to trust them unreservedly, at least in my demeanor. Trust always begets
a kindred trust, and I am quite sure that my safety among those savages
was owing to my having adopted this course of conduct.

I went on board to get the money for the arm-rings, and after Achmet
had paid the men, directed him and the raïs to return. Several of the
Shillooks followed, offering articles for sale, and the vizier, who had
waded out, holding up his new shirt so that it might not be wet, climbed
upon the gunwale of the boat and peered into the cabin. I changed my
position so as to stand between him and the door, gave him two onions
which he saw on deck and had an appetite for, and hurried him away.
The shekh and all the warriors had come down to the shore, but without
their spears, and were seated on the ground, holding a consultation. By
this time, however, the raïs was at the helm, and the sailors had begun
to shove the bow of my boat into the stream. I called out: “O Shekh
Abd-en-noor!” in a familiar way, and waved my hand as a token of parting.
He rose, returned the salute, made a gesture to his men, and they all
went slowly back to the village. As we were leaving, the sailors informed
me that one of the Shillooks, who had come down to the boat while I was
seated with the shekh on shore, took a fancy to the fat black slave who
cooks for them, and expressed his determination to take her. They told
him she was one of the Sultan’s wives, and that as His Majesty was now
the shekh’s friend, he dare not touch her. “Oh,” said the Shillook, “if
she is the Sultan’s wife, that is enough;” and he immediately returned
to the shore. I forgave the impertinence of the sailors in passing
off such a hideous creature as _one_ of my wives, in consideration of
the adroitness with which they avoided what might have been a serious
difficulty.

The Shillooks have not the appearance of men who are naturally malicious.
The selfish impudence with which they demand presents, is common to all
savage tribes. But the Turks and even the European merchants who take
part in the annual trading expeditions up the river, have dealt with
them in such a shameful manner that they are now mistrustful of all
strangers, and hence it is unsafe to venture among them. I attribute the
friendly character of my interview with them as much to good luck as
to good management. The raïs afterwards informed me that if the shekh
had not been satisfied with the dress I gave him, he would certainly
have attempted to plunder the vessel. He stated that the Shillooks
are in the habit of going down the river as far as the country of the
Hassaniyehs, sinking their boats and concealing themselves in the woods
in the day-time, while by night they venture into the villages and rob
the people of their dourra, for which they have a great fondness. They
cultivate nothing themselves, and their only employment is the chase of
the elephant, hippopotamus and other wild beasts. All the region east of
the river abounds with herds of elephants and giraffes, but I was not
fortunate enough to get sight of them.

Here is the true land of the lotus, and the Shillooks, if not the
_lotophagoi_ of the Greeks, are, with the exception of the Chinese, the
only modern eaters of the plant. I was too late to see it in blossom,
and there were but few specimens of it among these islands; but not far
beyond Aba it appears in great profusion, and both the seeds and roots
are eaten by the natives. Dr. Knoblecher, who ate it frequently during
his voyage, informed me that the root resembles the potato in consistence
and taste, with a strong flavor of celery. These islands are inhabited
only by the hunters and fishers of the tribe, who abandon them in summer,
when they are completely covered by the inundation. At lat. 12°, or
about thirty miles south of Aba, both banks of the river are cultivated,
and thence, for upwards of two hundred miles, the villages are crowded
so close to each other all along the shores, that they almost form two
continuous towns, fronting each other. This part of the White Nile is the
most thickly populated region in Africa, and perhaps in the world, China
alone excepted. The number of the Shillooks is estimated at between two
and three millions, or equal to the population of all Egypt.

As we weighed anchor, I found that the men had taken down both sails and
shipped the oars for our return to Khartoum. We had reached the southern
point of the island, in about lat. 12° 30′ north, and the north-wind
was still blowing strongly. The rounded tops of the mimosa forests bent
southward as they tossed; the flowery arms of the ambak-trees waved to
the south, trailing against the current, and my heart sank within me at
the thought of retracing my steps. We had sailed two hundred and fifty
miles in forty-eight hours; the gateway to the unknown South was open,
and it seemed a treason against Fortune to turn my face towards the
Mediterranean. “Achmet!” said I, “tell the men to set the _trinkeet_
again. We will sail to the Bahr el-Ghazàl.” The Theban’s face became
ghastly at the bare idea. “O Master!” he exclaimed, “are you not
satisfied with your good fortune? We are now nearly at the end of the
earth, and if we go further, it will be impossible to return.” Raïs
Abou-Hammed declared that he had kept his word, and that he should now
return, as it had been agreed, before we left Khartoum. I knew there was
certain danger in going further, and that I had no right to violate my
agreement and peril others as well as myself; but there lay the great
river, holding in his lap, to tempt me on, isles of brighter bloom and
spreading out shores of yet richer foliage. I was in the centre of the
Continent. Beyond me all was strange and unknown, and the Gulf of Guinea
was less distant than the Mediterranean, which I left not three months
before. Why not push on and attempt to grasp the Central African secret?
The fact that stronger, braver and bolder men had failed, was one lure
the more. Happily for me, perhaps, my object on commencing the voyage
had been rest and recreation, not exploration. Had I been provided with
the necessary means and scientific appliances for making such an attempt
useful, it would have been impossible to turn back at that point.

I climbed to the mast-head and looked to the south, where the forest
archipelago, divided by glittering reaches of water, wove its labyrinth
in the distance. I thought I saw—but it may have been fancy—beyond the
leafy crown of the farthest isles, the faint blue horizon of that sea of
water and grass, where the palm again appears and the lotus fringes the
shores. A few hours of the strong north-wind, now blowing in our faces,
would have taken me there, but I gave myself up to Fate and a pipe, which
latter immediately suggested to me that though I was leaving the gorgeous
heart of Africa, I was going back to Civilization and Home.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE WHITE NILE.

Let me here pause a moment, at the turning-point of my journey, and
cast a glance up the grand and wonderful vista which the White Nile
opened to my view. The exploration of this river within the last fifteen
years constitutes the most interesting chapter in the annals of African
Discovery. It has been ascended to lat. 4° north, eight degrees of
latitude, or four hundred and eighty geographical miles—and at least
eight hundred miles, following the course of the stream—beyond the
island of Aba. Of the Europeans who at different times accompanied the
exploring fleets of Mohammed Ali or the annual trading expeditions, three
kept journals and made scientific observations, and two—D’Arnaud and
Werne—have published accounts of the voyage. Werne’s book, however, is
taken up with peevish comments on the conduct of D’Arnaud and Sabatier,
and the report of the former, as I learned from Dr. Knoblecher himself,
is incorrect in many particulars. The most satisfactory account is that
of Dr. Knoblecher, who ascended about fifty miles beyond the point
reached by previous expeditions. During my stay in Khartoum, I received
from him full particulars of his adventures, and was allowed to inspect
his journals and sketch-books. His reports are exceedingly curious and
interesting, and I herewith present a brief outline of them.

Dr. Knoblecher was specially educated, in the Propaganda at Rome, as a
missionary for Central Africa. After studying the Arabic language for
a year in Syria, he proceeded to Khartoum, where a Catholic Mission
had already been established. There, however, the Mission found its
sphere of operations circumscribed by the jealousy of the government,
as all attempts to make proselytes of Mussulmen are forbidden, and
the highest ambition of the slaves who are brought from the interior
is to be considered faithful followers of the Prophet. Dr. Knoblecher
was therefore directed to accompany the annual trading expedition up
the White Nile, for the purpose of ascertaining the practicability of
establishing a missionary station among some of the native negro tribes
near the Equator. He experienced much difficulty at the outset, on
account of the jealousy of the Egyptian traders, who find the company
of a European a restraint upon their violent and lawless practices, but
through the influence of the Pasha, who was at last brought to give his
consent, the missionaries secured a place in the expedition, and on the
13th of November, 1849, set sail from Khartoum. There were seven vessels
in the flotilla, and that of Dr. Knoblecher, though the smallest, proved
to be the best sailer and usually kept the lead. He had on board a
faithful and experienced Nubian pilot, named Suleyman Abou-Zeid.

After fourteen days’ sailing, the expedition passed the islands of the
Shillooks and reached that part of the river where the banks are covered
with continuous villages. The number of these is estimated at seven
thousand. It is worthy of notice that their circular tokuls of mud and
reeds are precisely similar in form and construction to those of the
tribes on the Niger and Senegal Rivers, with whom the Shillooks have
no communication, and from whom they differ in language, appearance
and character. While threading the mazes of the archipelago, a violent
whirlwind passed over the river and completely dismasted one of the
boats. Beyond the islands the river expands so that the marshy shores
are barely visible in some places. The lotus grows abundantly in the
shallows, and the appearance of the thousands of snowy blossoms as they
flash open at sunrise, is described as a scene of vegetable pomp and
splendor, which can be witnessed in no other part of the world. The
forests of sont trees which cover the islands give place to doum-palms
and immense tamarinds, and beyond lat. 10°, in the land of the Dinkas,
the beautiful dhelleb-palm is first seen. It has a tall, graceful trunk,
thick in the middle, but tapering towards the top and bottom, and a rich
crown of large, fan-like leaves.

On the twenty-eighth of November the expedition succeeded, after
some difficulty, in establishing an intercourse with the Dinkas and
Shillooks, who inhabited the opposite banks of the river. The latter in
consideration of some colored glass beads, furnished a number of oxen
for provisions. Dr. Knoblecher described their running, when they drove
the cattle together, as resembling that of the gazelle; they leap high
into the air, drawing up their long legs as they rise, and clear the
ground at a most astonishing speed. The next day the vessels reached a
large town called Vav, where the people received them without the least
appearance of fear, and brought quantities of elephants’ tusks to trade
for beads. Herds of wild elephants and giraffes were now frequently
seen on the banks of the river, and the former sometimes threw up their
trunks and spirted water into the air when they saw the vessels. Numbers
of white herons were perched composedly upon their backs and heads. The
giraffes, as they gazed with wonder at the fleet, lifted their heads
quite above the tops of the mimosa trees. On the second of December, the
expedition passed the mouth of the Sobat River, the only tributary stream
which comes to the White Nile from the east. Its source is supposed to be
in the country of the Gallas, south of the kingdom of Shoa. Its breadth,
at its entrance into the Nile, is six hundred and fifty feet. Werne, who
ascended it about eighty miles, with D’Arnaud’s expedition, states that
its shores are higher than those of the Nile, and that the surface of the
country became more elevated as he ascended, whence he infers that the
White Nile, as far as it has been explored, flows in a depressed basin of
the table-land of Central Africa.

From lat. 9° 26′ to 6° 50′ N. there is a complete change in the scenery.
The magnificent forests disappear, and the shores become marshy and
unhealthy, covered with tall grass, whose prickly stalks render landing
difficult, and embarrass the navigation of the shallows. The air is
heavy with noxious miasmas and filled with countless swarms of gnats
and mosquitoes. The water of the river is partially stagnant, and green
with vegetable matter, occasioning serious disorders to those who drink
it. Dr. Knoblecher clarified it by means of alum, and escaped with a sore
mouth. In order to sleep, however, he was obliged to wear thick gloves
and muffle up his face, almost to suffocation. The _Bahr el-Ghazàl_, or
Gazelle Lake, lies in lat. 9° 16′ N. It is thus named from the Gazelle
River, which flows into it on the western side, and which has never
yet been explored. Its depth is about nine feet, but the reeds and
water-plants with which it is filled reach to the surface, and render
the navigation difficult. Its shores are inhabited by the Nuehr negroes,
a stupid, imbruted race, many of whom are frequently carried off by the
traders and sold as slaves. For this reason it is now very difficult to
procure elephants’ teeth from them.

After leaving the Gazelle Lake, the course of the White Nile becomes
exceedingly tortuous, and its current sluggish. Innumerable estuaries,
or blind channels, which lose themselves among the reeds, perplexed the
pilots, and delayed the progress of the expedition. The land of the
Kyks succeeded to that of the Nuehrs, which terminated about the eighth
parallel of latitude. The former are a race of herdsmen, who have great
numbers of cattle and sheep. Dr. Knoblecher found them exceedingly shy,
on account of the threats of one of their _kogiurs_, or soothsayers, who
had warned them against holding any intercourse with the traders. On the
twenty-second of December they reached the village of Angwen, where the
King of the Kyks resided. The monarch received them with great kindness,
and paid distinguished homage to Padre Angelo Vinco, Dr. Knoblecher’s
companion, whom, on account of his spectacles and gray beard, he
took to be a magician. He begged the Padre to grant him four favors,
viz:—abundance of children; the death of the enemy who had slain his
father; victory in all his fights, and a cure for the wound in his head.
The latter gift was easily bestowed, by means of a plaster, but he was
not satisfied until an image of the Virgin had been hung around his neck.

South of the Kyks dwell the Elliàbs, who are less timid than the southern
tribes, because they come less frequently into contact with the traders.
In their country the White Nile divides into two branches, and here the
expedition separated, each division taking a different channel. The water
was so low that the vessels stuck fast in the mud, but were relieved by
the friendly natives, who dragged them through the shallows by means
of long tow-ropes. For this service they were paid in glass beads. The
further the vessels went into regions where intercourse with the Egyptian
traders is rare, and therefore fewer outrages are perpetrated, the more
friendly, confiding and unconcerned was the behavior of the natives.

On the thirty-first of December the expedition reached the country of the
Zhirs. The people came down to the water’s edge to greet them, the women
clapping their hands and singing a song of welcome. On the second of
January, 1850, Dr. Knoblecher saw in the south-east the granite mountain
of Nierkanyi, which lies in the Bari country, in about the fifth degree
of north latitude. It was the first elevation he had seen since leaving
Djebel Defafangh, in the country of the Dinkas, in lat. 10° 35′. All the
intervening space is a vast savannah, interspersed with reedy swamps of
stagnant water. The Zhirs own numerous flocks and herds, and cultivate
large fields of sesamè and dourra. They are very superior to the Nuehrs
and Kyks in stature, symmetry of form and their manners toward strangers.
In all these tribes, the men go entirely naked, while the women wear a
narrow girdle of sheepskin around the loins. Dr. Knoblecher, however,
confirmed the statement of Werne as to the modesty of their demeanor and
the evident morality of their domestic life.

After leaving the Zhirs the expedition entered the country of the Baris,
and on the fourteenth of January reached the rapids of the White Nile,
at the island of Tsanker, in 4° 49′ N. This was the farthest point
reached by all previous expeditions, as they found it impossible to
advance further with their vessels. The Nubian pilot, Suleyman Abou-Zeid,
determined to make the attempt, and on the following day, aided by a
strong north-wind, stemmed the rapid and reached the broad, lake-like
expanse of river above it. Continuing his voyage, Dr. Knoblecher sailed
sixteen miles further, to the Bari village of Tokiman. The country was
exceedingly rich and beautiful, abounding in trees, and densely peopled.
The current of the river was more rapid, its waters purer, and the
air seemed to have entirely lost the depressing miasmatic exhalations
of the regions further north. The inhabitants of Tokiman showed great
astonishment at the sight of the vessels and their white occupants.
Nothing, however, affected them so much as the tones of a harmonica,
played by Dr. Knoblecher. Many of the people shed tears of delight,
and the chief offered the sovereignty of his tribe in exchange for the
wonderful instrument.

On the sixteenth, the expedition reached the village of Logwek, which
takes its name from a solitary granite peak, about six hundred feet
high, which stands on the left bank of the Nile. It is in lat. 4° 10′
N., and this is the most southern point which has yet been reached on
the White Nile. Dr. Knoblecher ascended the mountain, which commanded a
view of almost the entire Bari country. Towards the south-west the river
wound out of sight between the mountains Rego and Kidi, near which is
the mountain of Kereg, containing rich iron mines which are worked by
the natives. Towards the south, on the very verge of the horizon, rose a
long range of hills, whose forms could not be observed with exactness,
owing to the great distance. Beyond the Logwaya range, which appeared
in the east, dwell the Berri tribes, whose language is distinct from
the Baris, and who are neighbors of the Gallas—that warlike race, whose
domain extends from Abyssinia to the wilds of Mozambique, along the great
central plateau of Uniamesi. The natives of Logwek knew nothing whatever
of the country to the south. The farthest mountain-range was probably
under the parallel of lat. 3° N., so that the White Nile has now been
traced nearly to the Equator. At Logwek, it was about six hundred and
fifty feet wide, and from five to eight feet deep, at the time of Dr.
Knoblecher’s visit, which was during the dry season. Such an abundance of
water allows us to estimate with tolerable certainty the distance to its
unknown sources, which must undoubtedly lie beyond the Equator.

The great snow mountain of Kilimandjarò, discovered in 1850 by Dr.
Krapf, the German missionary, on his journey inland from Mombas, on the
coast of Zanzibar, has been located by geographers in lat. 3° S. It is
therefore most probable that the source of the White Nile will be found
in the range of mountains, of which Kilimandjarò is the crowning apex.
The geographer Berghaus, in a long and labored article, endeavors to
prove that the Gazelle River is the true Nile, and makes it rise in the
great lake N’Yassi, in lat. 13° S. Dr. Knoblecher, however, who examined
the Bahr el-Ghazàl at its mouth, says it is an unimportant stream, with
a scarcely perceptible current. He considers the White Nile as being,
beyond all question, the true river. He also informed me, that, while at
Logwek, some of the natives spoke of people white like himself, who lived
far towards the south. I do not believe in the fable of a white civilized
race in the interior of Africa, and consider this rather as referring to
the Portuguese settlements on the coast of the Indian Ocean, reports of
which would readily be carried inland, from one tribe to another. Dr.
Knoblecher is of the opinion that no exploring expedition from Khartoum
will be successful; that the traveller must first stop in the Bari
country long enough to gain some knowledge of its people, and then, with
a company of the natives as his attendants, make that his starting point.

The shortness of Dr. Knoblecher’s stay among the Baris did not permit
him to obtain much information concerning them. They appeared to be
worshippers of trees, like the Dinkas and Shillooks, but to have a
glimmering idea of the future existence of the soul. They are brave and
fearless in their demeanor, yet cheerful, good-natured and affectionate
towards each other. Werne frequently observed the men walking along the
shore with their arms around each other’s necks. They are even more
colossal in their stature than the Shillooks, many of them reaching
a height of seven feet. Their forms are well-knit, symmetrical, and
indicate great strength and activity. In smelting and working up the
iron ore of Mount Kereg they show a remarkable skill. Many of the spears
in Dr. Knoblecher’s possession are as elegantly formed and as admirably
tempered as if they had come from the hands of a European blacksmith.
They also have war-clubs of ebony, which are nearly as hard and heavy as
iron. One end is of a sloping, oval form, and the other sharp, and they
are said to throw them a distance of fifty or a hundred yards with such
precision that the sharp point strikes first and the club passes through
the body like a lance. I have in my possession some of these clubs, which
were presented to me by Dr. Knoblecher.

On the seventeenth of January the expedition left Logwek on its return
to Khartoum, the traders having procured all the ivory which the natives
had collected since the previous year. The Missionaries were prevented
from accomplishing their object by the jealousy of the traders, who
persuaded the Bari chiefs that they were magicians, and that if they were
allowed to remain, they would bewitch the country, prevent the rains from
falling and destroy the crops of dourra. In consequence of these reports
the chiefs and people, who had been on the most friendly terms with Dr.
Knoblecher and Padre Angelo, suddenly became shy and suspicious, and
refused to allow the latter to take up their residence among them. The
design of the mission was thus frustrated, and the Vicar returned with
the expedition to Khartoum. He designed leaving for the Bari country
in November, 1852, but up to the present moment[5] no account has been
received of the fulfilment of his plans.

The pictures which these recent explorations present to us, add to the
stately and sublime associations with which the Nile is invested, and
that miraculous flood will lose nothing of his interest when the mystery
which veils his origin shall be finally dispelled. Although in standing
upon the threshold of his vast central realms, I felt that I had realized
a portion of my dream, I could not turn away from the vision of those
untrodden solitudes, crowned by the flashing snows of Kilimandjarò,
the monarch of African mountains, without a keen pang of regret. Since
Columbus first looked upon San Salvador, the Earth has but one emotion
of triumph left in her bestowal—and that she reserves for him who shall
first drink from the fountains of the White Nile, under the snow-fields
of Kilimandjarò.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE HASSANIYEH ARABS.

After we parted from the Shillooks the men rowed lustily, and, taking
to the western side of the river, soon put an island between us and
the village. It was about two o’clock when we left, and the wind fell
sufficiently before night to allow them to make considerable progress. We
swept along, under the lee of the islands, brushing the starry showers
of yellow blossoms that trailed in the water, and frightening the ibises
and herons from their coverts among the reeds. The hippopotami snorted
all around us, and we had always a convoy of them following in our wake.
The sun sank, and a moon, four days old, lighted the solitude of the
islands, but the men still rowed vigorously, until we had passed the
spot where the Shillooks buried their canoes in the morning. They then
deemed it safe to come to anchor in the middle of the stream, though the
watch-fires of the savages were still blazing brightly in the distance.
During the night the wind blew violently, and the river was rough and
agitated. We all went to sleep, therefore, feeling certain that no
predatory canoes would venture to follow us.

In the morning there was a strong head-wind, and the temperature was
so cold that I was obliged to wear my thick capote of camel’s hair
while I sat on deck, looking regretfully at the beautiful islands I was
leaving behind me. Achmet heated and strained the honey given me by the
Shillooks, which yielded between three and four quarts of rich liquid.
While the men made fast to the bank for breakfast, I went on shore to get
a glimpse of the country behind the forests. Paths trodden by wild beasts
led through the walls of tangled vines that elsewhere were impenetrable,
and I crept along them, under the boughs of strange trees and through
thickets of luxuriant shrubs. At length I reached an open patch of grass
four or five feet in height, and so dry and yellow that it snapped like
glass under my feet. It was dotted with clumps of high shrubs, knotted
all over with wild, flowering vines, which formed admirable lairs for the
lions and leopards. There was a strong smell of lions about the place,
and I deemed it prudent not to venture far, since the rank animal odor
peculiar to that beast grew more marked the further I went. The jungle
in which I stood covered a tongue of land inclosed between two coves of
the river, and through the openings in the thickets I saw that it led to
other open tracts further inland. The wind was blowing towards the river,
and as I stood in the midst, contemplating the wild, lawless grouping of
the different trees and shrubs some imp of darkness whispered in my ear
“What a magnificent conflagration this would make! and then, perhaps, you
might have the satisfaction of burning out a brace of lions!” Without
more ado, I whipped out a box of matches, and struck fire in one of the
thickest tufts.

The effect was instantaneous, and so was my repentance. There was a
crack and a crash, like the explosion of powder, and a sheet of red
flame leaped into the air. In a few seconds it had spread to a broad
swath of fire, rolling rapidly before the wind, and leaving the earth
behind it as bare as the palm of my hand. The rank grass roared and
snapped as the terrible power I had so thoughtlessly awakened, licked
it away; and not the grass alone. It seized on the vines and tore them
down, swung itself by them into the boughs of the trees, and found richer
aliment in their gums and juices. It spread on both sides and against
the wind, and soon the long spires of scarlet flame, twisting in the
air, rose high and hot above the dome-like tops of the mimosa forests.
Before we left the place, the volumes of smoke reached nearly to the
other side of the Nile. As I heard its relentless feet trampling down
the thickets, I tormented myself with pictures of the evil which I had
perhaps originated. I fancied it spreading from day to day, lapping the
woods in coils of flame and flinging their burning boughs from island to
island, till of all the glory of vegetation which had filled me with such
rapture, there was nothing but a few charred trunks standing in beds of
ashes. I saw the natives with their flocks and herds flying before it,
the wild beasts leaping into the flood for refuge from its red fangs, and
all that glorious region given up to terror and desolation. As we moved
slowly away, against the wind, I watched its progress with a troubled
conscience and an anxious heart. Now it paused and I flattered myself
that there was the end, but the next moment the black clouds rolled up
denser than ever. Thus it wavered for some time, but at last, thank God!
it seemed to fade gradually away, and I gave myself the hope that it had
not extended beyond the jut of land whereon it was kindled.

At noon we passed the locality marked on D’Arnaud’s map as El-Ais, but
there was no sign of habitation. The raïs said there had been a town some
distance inland, but it is now deserted. The river here makes a curve to
the west, and our small stern-sail was bound to the foremast, in order
to use the side-wind. My sailors were unremitting in their labors, and
rowed, poled and tracked the whole day. I sat in the sun all the while,
looking on the incomparable shores. We saw multitudes of gazelles along
the water’s edge, on both sides. They were in companies of forty or
fifty, and so little shy, that they often allowed us to approach within
fifty yards. Wild fowl were as abundant as ever, and I greatly regretted
having brought no rifle and fowling-piece. When we reached the northern
extremity of Hassaniyeh, at sunset, I went ashore on the eastern bank,
hoping to find a gazelle. The thickets were almost impenetrable, and
I made my way with difficulty into a more open space, where the trees
grew in clumps and the lion-paths had broken a way between them. Each of
these clumps was woven into a single mass with vines, forming coverts
of deepest shade, wherein a beast might crouch unobserved, even at
mid-day. The ground was covered with dry bur-grass, whose heads pierced
through my clothes. One of the sailors accompanied me with a club, but
was in such deadly fear of lions that he obliged me to return to the
shore. Certainly, this is the paradise of wild beasts. Such convenient
lairs they can find in no other part of the world, and the thousands of
gazelles and antelopes that range through the wilderness furnish them
with a choice bill of fare. The trees and vines were nearly all new to
me. I noticed in particular, a succulent vine, resembling the cactus and
cereus families, but with square, fluted joints. It grew so thickly as
frequently to conceal entirely the tree that supported it. I also saw a
shrub with leaves like the ivy, but a large, purple, bell-shaped flower,
and another with delicate, fern-like leaves of a dark-green color, and
white, fragrant blossoms. There was a greater variety in the vegetable
world than I had yet seen. What must be the splendor of the land during
the rainy season! I found a peculiar fascination in tracing the wild
paths through the thickets. It was a labyrinth to which there was no
end, and the sense of danger gave a spice to its richness and novelty.
Occasionally, I saw large holes in the ground, which my attendant said
were those of serpents. No gazelle was to be seen, and when I reached the
shore again, the wild geese had left. The wind fell at sunset, and the
sailors rowed cheerily down stream, singing the while a barbaric chorus,
which they had learned from the slaves brought from Fazogl.

The sun, next morning, showed us a very different landscape from that
of the previous two days. The river was broader, but the shores were
clothed with a more scanty vegetation, and the few islands in the stream
were but beds of sand. When the men stopped for breakfast we were in
the neighborhood of a village of Hassaniyehs, as I had previously
conjectured, from the camels and donkeys grazing among the thorns.
Leaving the sailors to kill one of our sheep, I took Achmet and the raïs,
and followed the paths inland through a wood of scattering mimosas. After
a walk of ten minutes we came to the village, or rather encampment, since
the dwellings were mere tents of sticks and reeds. They were barely
large enough to cover the two or three angarebs, which served as a bed
for the whole family. Although the sun was an hour high, not more than
half the inhabitants were stirring. The others, men and women, thrust
their heads from under their dirty cotton mantles and looked at us with
astonishment not unmixed with fear. The women who had already risen sat
on the ground kindling the fires, or spinning with a rude distaff the raw
cotton which these people cultivate. We found two or three men, whom we
saluted with the usual “Peace be with you!” and the raïs informed them
that the Sultan’s son, returning from a visit to the Shillooks, with
whom he had made a treaty of peace, had come to see them. Thereupon one
of them brought an angareb and set it in the shade for me, while another
caught a she-goat that was browsing among the bushes, and soon returned
with a gourd half full of warm milk, which he gave me. As sour milk is
considered a great delicacy among these people, a gourd of it was also
procured for me. The woman who brought it knelt and placed it at my
feet, but as I could not drink it and did not wish to refuse their gift,
I asked one of the men to take it to the boat. He hesitated, evidently
afraid to trust himself with us, whereupon the woman said: “I am not
afraid to go with the Sultan; I will take it.” As we started to return,
the man, whose sense of bravery, and perhaps his jealousy also, was
touched by this remark, came likewise and accompanied us to the river.
When we reached the vessel I sent the milk on board for the sailors use,
and gave the woman two piastres in copper money and a handful of tobacco.
She immediately put her hand to her mouth and uttered a piercing,
prolonged cry, which the raïs said was intended as an expression of great
joy. After repeating this two or three times she dropped on her knees,
and before I could divine her intention, kissed my red slipper.

In a short time I received word that the women of the village would come
to perform a dance of welcome and salutation, if I would allow them. As
the wind was blowing strongly against us and the sailors had not finished
skinning the sheep, I had my carpet spread on the sand in the shade of
a group of mimosas, and awaited their arrival. Presently we heard a
sound of shrill singing and the clapping of hands in measured beat, and
discerned the procession advancing slowly through the trees. They came
two by two, nearly thirty in all, singing a shrill, piercing chorus,
which sounded more like lamentation than greeting. When they had arrived
in front of me, they ranged themselves into a semicircle with their faces
towards me, and, still clapping their hands to mark the rhythm of the
song, she who stood in the centre stepped forth, with her breast heaved
almost to a level with her face, which was thrown back, and advanced with
a slow, undulating motion till she had reached the edge of my carpet.
Then, with a quick jerk, she reversed the curve of her body, throwing her
head forward and downward, so that the multitude of her long twists of
black hair, shining with butter, brushed my cap. This was intended as a
salutation and sign of welcome. I bowed my head at the same time, and she
went back to her place in the ranks. After a pause the chorus was resumed
and another advanced, and so in succession, till all had saluted me, a
ceremony which occupied an hour. They were nearly all young, between the
ages of fourteen and twenty, and some were strikingly beautiful. They had
the dark-olive Arab complexion, with regular features, teeth of pearly
whiteness, and black, brilliant eyes. The coarse cotton robe thrown over
one shoulder left free the arms, neck and breasts, which were exquisitely
moulded. Their bare feet and ankles were as slender as those of the Venus
of Cleomenes. Owing to the skirts worn by the American women I have no
recollection of ever having seen an entire foot belonging to them, and
therefore can make no comparison; but I doubt if one in a thousand stands
on so light and beautiful a pedestal as those wild African girls. There
were two or three old women in the company, but they contented themselves
with singing and did not venture into the lists with the younger ones.

Several of the men, who had followed in the rear of the women, came
and sat near us, on the sand. They were all evidently delighted with
the occasion, and encouraged the more timid of the dancers by their
words. One of them was an old man, with a long gray moustache and beard,
carrying in his hand a spear, pointed with iron. My raïs and sailors were
on the ground, and one of the latter, a splendid fellow, whose form was
almost perfect in its manly strength, took his station among the women
and acted as master of the ceremonies. He drew a line in the sand down
the centre of the ring, and another along the edge of my carpet, and she
who did not dance down the line until the final toss of her head threw
her hair over the Sultan’s cap, was obliged to perform her part over
again. My sailor clapped his hands, joined in the song, and moved with
such entire and absolute grace in the dance, that he almost drew away my
attention from the women. He was of the Djaaleyn tribe, and therefore of
pure Arabian blood. As the ceremony was prolonged, they accompanied the
dance with a hard, guttural breathing, in time with the music, and some
of the old women, in their anxiety to encourage the younger and more
timid dancers, leaned forward with eager eyes, uttering short, quick
screams at intervals. It was a most remarkable scene; the figures and
the dancers were unlike any thing I ever witnessed. For the first time,
in fact—perhaps because I had hitherto seen few women unveiled—I found
undoubted beauty in the Arab female countenance.

The last dancer was the wife of the Shekh, who came towards the close,
with two negro slaves behind her. She was a woman of twenty, and the
most beautiful of the group. Making allowance for the difference in
complexion, she had a strong resemblance to the Cleopatra of Guido. Her
eyes were large, black and lustrous; her face the full, ripe oval of the
South, with a broad, round forehead, perfect lips and a most queenly
neck and chin. She wore a diadem of white beads, under which her thick
hair—unfortunately plastered with butter—hung to her shoulders in at
least fifty slender braids. She went through the monotonous movement of
the dance with the stately ease of a swan gliding down a stream, and so
delighted my sailors and the men who had come down from the village, that
she was obliged to repeat her salutation several times. I bowed lower to
her than to the others, but took care to keep her unctuous braids from
touching my face. When all was concluded, I directed Achmet to distribute
a few handfuls of copper money among them, whereupon they returned to
the village, uttering sharp yells of joy as they went. After they had
left, I asked the men whether what I had heard in Khartoum, concerning
the peculiar conjugal customs of the tribe, was true, and they replied
that it was.

As we were about leaving, one of the shekhs, or holy men of the tribe,
came down to greet me. He was an old man in a blue cotton mantle, and had
with him two attendants. After touching my hand twice and asking many
times for my health, he commenced singing passages of the Koran, in a
loud, resonant, and not unmusical tone, somewhat resembling the sunset
cry of the muezzin from his minaret. The two others responded, and thus
this religious entertainment was kept up for some time. But the raïs was
at his post and the wind had fallen, so I acted my despotic character of
Sultan, by leaving the holy man in the midst of his chanting and going on
board. When we left he was still standing under the mimosas, singing of
Mohammed, the Prophet of God.

We made but little headway during the afternoon, although the men worked
faithfully. Djebel Deyoos, whose loose cluster of peaks is seen for a
great distance over the plains of Kordofan, still kept us company, and
did not pass out of our horizon until the next evening. The men towed for
several hours, and as the shore was flat and the river very shallow they
were obliged to walk in the water. While Achmet was preparing dinner, a
fish about the size of a herring vaulted upon deck and fell at his feet.
He immediately clapped it into the frying-pan and presented me with an
acceptable dish. To his unbounded astonishment and my great satisfaction,
the same thing happened three days in succession, at precisely the same
hour. “Wallah, master!” he exclaimed: “it is wonderful! I never knew
such a thing to happen in Egypt, and it must certainly be a sign of
good fortune. If you were not a lucky man, the fish would never offer
themselves for your dinner in this way.”

By night the men could make no headway against the wind, which continued
unabated nearly all the next day. They worked hard, stimulated by the
promise of an abundant supply of mareesa at the next Hassaniyeh village.
In the afternoon we passed Tura, which I recognized by the herds of
camels on shore and the ferry-boats passing back and forth across the
broad stream. I walked an hour or two while the men were towing, but was
obliged to keep to the shore, on account of the burr-grass which covered
all the country inland. This part of the river is thickly settled by the
Hassaniyehs, whose principal wealth appears to consist in their sheep,
goats and camels. They complained very much of the Shillooks, who come
down the river on predatory incursions, carry off their sheep and dourra,
and frequently kill the children who tend the herds.

By dint of unremitting exertions, we reached a small village which the
raïs called Wad Shèllayeh, about two hours after sunset. The men carried
me ashore through the shallows, and I went with them to the village to
perform my promise regarding the mareesa. We extinguished the lantern
for fear of alarming the inhabitants, and walked slowly through the
wilderness of thorns. The village lay half a mile inland, between two
low hills of sand. The dwellings were mere tokuls, like those of the
Shillooks, and made of the long grass of the Desert. Each house was
surrounded with a fence of thorns. The inhabitants were sitting at the
doors in the moonlight, calling out to each other and exchanging jokes,
while herds of the slender yellow dogs of Soudân barked on all sides.
While the raïs and sailors were procuring their mareesa I entered one
of the tokuls, which was superior to those I had already seen, inasmuch
as it contained an inner chamber or tent, made of fine yellow grass,
and serving as a canopy to the family angareb. The people had kindled a
fire on the ground, and the dry mimosa branches were blazing in close
proximity to the straw walls of their dwelling. They were greatly
inferior to the Hassaniyehs of the first village, both in appearance and
courtesy of manners. The mareesa, which the raïs at last brought, was
weak, insipid stuff, and I returned to the boat, leaving the men to drain
the jars.

In the morning we reached another large Hassaniyeh village, which was
also called Wad Shèllayeh. It was the only village on the river worthy
of notice, as it had four vessels moored to the shore, and boasted a few
mud houses in addition to its array of tokuls. Several of the latter
were built in tent form and covered with a striped cloth made of camel’s
hair. I entered the residence of the shekh, who, however, was absent with
his wife to attend the funeral of a relative. The tent was thirty feet
long, with an arched top, and contained two inner chambers. The sides
were ornamented with gourds, skins and other articles, grouped with some
taste, and large quantities of the _cowries_, or small white shells,
which are used as currency in some parts of Central Africa, were sewed
upon the cloth cover, in the form of crosses and stars. I looked into the
principal chamber, which inclosed a broad and handsome angareb, made of
plaited palm-leaves. The walls were entirely concealed by the articles
hung upon them, and every thing exhibited a taste and neatness which is
rare among the Arab tribes. The tent was in charge of the shekh’s niece,
a handsome girl of about eighteen, and an old woman with three children,
the youngest of which was suckled by a black slave. He was an ebony Cupid
of a year old, rejoicing in the bunches of white shells that hung from
his neck, wrists and ankles. He exhibited a curiosity to touch me, and I
took him in my arms and addressed him in Christian nursery tongue. The
sound of my voice, however, was more horrible than the color of my skin.
He set up a yell and kicked out his little black, satin-skinned legs till
I was obliged to hand him over to the slave nurse.

From the bank on which the village is built, I could see beyond the
trees of the opposite shore, a wide stretch of the plains of Kordofan—a
level savanna of yellow grass, extending without a break to the horizon.
During the afternoon, while the men were resting from their rowing,
Bahr, the Dinka cook, got into a dispute with one of them, and finally
worked herself into such a rage that she jumped overboard with the
intention of drowning herself, and would have done so, had not one of the
sailors plunged after her and hauled her ashore, in spite of her violent
struggles and endeavors to thrust her head under water. When she found
she could not indulge in this recreation, she sat down on the ground,
burst into a paroxysm of angry tears, and in a quarter of an hour went
back to grind her dourra, in the best possible humor. Her name, Bahr,
signifies “the sea,” but she was an Undine of the Black Sea, and the
White Nile refused to receive her.

We went gloriously down stream that evening, with a light west wind
filling the little sail and the men at their oars, singing shrill
choruses in the Dongolese and Djaaleyn dialects. The White Nile, which
is here three miles broad, was as smooth as glass, and glimmered far and
bright under the moon. The shores were still, in all their dead level
expanse, and had it not been for the uneven line which their belts of
thorn-trees drew along the horizon, I could have imagined that we were
floating in mid-ocean. While the men halted for breakfast the next
morning, I landed and walked ahead, hoping to shoot a wild duck with my
pistol. Notwithstanding there were hundreds along the shore, I found
it impossible to get within shooting distance, as they invariably made
into the river on my approach. An attempt to gain something by running
suddenly towards them, terminated in my sticking fast in the mud and
losing my red slippers. I then crept through the scattering wood of
mimosas to get a chance at a pigeon, but some spirit of mistrust had
taken possession of the birds, and as long as I had a shot left there
were none within reach. When my two barrels were spent they sat on every
side in the most familiar proximity.

Notwithstanding there were very few villages on the river’s bank,
the country was thickly inhabited. The people prefer building their
dwellings a mile inland, and going to the river for water. This custom
probably originated in their fear of the Shillooks, which led them to
place their dwellings in situations most easy of defence. At one of
the fording-places I found a number of women and children filling the
water-skins and lifting them upon the backs of donkeys. Many hundreds
of the hump-backed cattle, peculiar to the country, were collected
along the shore. They have straight backs behind the hump, (which is a
projection above the shoulders, four to six inches high) clean flanks,
large, powerful necks, and short, straight horns. They eyed me with
an expression of great curiosity, and some of the bulls evidently
deliberated whether they should attack me. The people in this region were
Hassaniyehs, and the men resembled those of the first village I visited.
They were tall, with straight features and a feminine expression of
countenance, which was probably caused by their wearing their hair parted
in the middle, plaited into long braids and fastened at the back of the
head.

About noon we came in sight of Djebel Tinneh, which stands over against
the village of Shekh Moussa, and serves as a landmark to the place. At
sunset we saw the boat of Reschid Kashif, the Governor of the tributary
territories of the White Nile, anchored near the western bank. Two of
my sailors had previously been employed by him, and as they had not
received all their wages, they asked permission to cross the river and
apply for the money. This Reschid Kashif was a boy of twelve or thirteen
years of age, son of the former Governor, Suleyman Kashif, who was so
much esteemed by the tribes on the river that after his death the Pasha
invested his young child with the office. The latter was also quite
popular with the natives, who attributed to him a sagacity marvellous
for his years. He paid the men the money due them, sent his compliments
to me, and inquired why I did not visit him. It was dusk by this time,
and I did not wish to delay the boat; besides, as I was a stranger and a
Sultan, courtesy required that he should pay the first visit.

We made the remainder of the voyage without further incident than that of
slaughtering one of our sheep, near Djebel Aūllee. The wind was so light
that our progress down the stream was rapid, and at sunset on Friday,
January thirtieth, I recognized the spot where Dr. Reitz took leave of
me, on the upward voyage. The evening on the broad river was glorious;
the half-moon, being just overhead, was unseen, yet filled the air with
light, and my natal planet burned white and clear in the west. At ten
o’clock we reached the island of Omdurman, and wheeled into the Blue
Nile. The camp-fires of Kordofan merchants were gleaming on the western
bank. The barking of the dogs in Khartoum and the creaking wheels of
the sakias were welcome sounds to our ears, as we slowly glided past
the gardens. Ere long, the minaret of the city glimmered faintly in the
moonlight and we recognized the buildings of the Catholic Mission. “God
is great!” said Achmet, devoutly; “since we have been so near the end of
the world, Khartoum appears to me as beautiful as Cairo.” It was nearly
midnight when we came to anchor, having made a voyage of about five
hundred miles in nine days. My friends were all abed, and I lay down for
the night in the little cabin of my boat, exclaiming, like Achmet: “God
is great!”

CHAPTER XXIX.

INCIDENTS OF LIFE IN KHARTOUM.

I arose at sunrise, and leaving Achmet to have my baggage removed,
walked through the town to my head-quarters at the Consular residence.
I found Dr. Reitz’s horses saddled in the court, and himself walking in
the garden. He was greatly surprised to see me, not having expected me
for another week. After the first greetings were over, he informed me
that Abd-el Kader Bey, the Governor of Kordofan, was about leaving for
Obeid, and his friends intended to accompany him as far as the island
of Moussa Bey, in the White Nile. During my absence, Mohammed Kheyr had
presented Dr. Reitz with a fine Dongolese horse, which he offered to me,
that I might participate in the festivities. While I was at the Catholic
Mission, relating my adventures to Dr. Knoblecher, a messenger came to
announce that Abd-el Kader’s boat had left, and that he, with the other
chiefs of Khartoum, were ready to set out on horseback for the White
Nile. We rode at once to the house of Moussa Bey, who had quite recovered
from his illness. The company was already mounted in the square before
the house, and only awaited our arrival. We dashed through the lanes
of the slave quarter, raising such a cloud of dust that little except
red caps and horses’ tails was visible, until we came out upon the open
plain, where our cavalcade made a showy and picturesque appearance.

The company consisted of Abd-el Kader Bey, Moussa Bey, Musakar Bey, Ali
Bey Khasib, Abou-Sin and Owd-el Kerim, the Shukoree chiefs, Ali Effendi,
Mohammed Kheyr, Dr. Reitz, Dr. Péney and myself, besides a number of
inferior officers and at least fifty attendants: in short, everybody of
consequence in Khartoum except the Pasha, who was represented by one of
his Secretaries. The Beys were mounted on fine Arabian stallions, Dr.
Péney on a tall dromedary, and the Arab chiefs on mules and donkeys,
while the grooms and pipe-bearers ran behind on foot. I shall long
remember the brilliant picture of that morning. The sky was clear and
hot, and the palms rustled their shining leaves in a light wind. The
fields of beans lay spread out between us and the river, their purple
blossoms rolling in long drifts and flakes of color, and warm, voluptuous
perfume. The red caps, the green and scarlet housings of the horses,
the rich blue, brown, purple and violet dresses of the Beys, and the
snowy robes of the Arabs, with their crimson borders thrown over the
shoulder, projected against the tawny hue of the distant plains, and
the warm blue of the sky, formed a feast of color which, in its entire
richness and harmony, so charmed my eye that the sight of it became a
luxury to the sense, as palpable as that of an exquisite flavor to the
palate. Away we went at full gallop, the glittering array of colors
dancing and interchanging to the rapid music, as our horses’ hoofs tore
the bean-vines and flung their trailing blossoms into the air, until
we reached the bank of the White Nile, where the Bey’s vessel was just
coming to land. Here the Arab shekhs and the greater part of the inferior
officers embraced Abd-el Kader and returned to Khartoum.

The rest of us crossed to the island of Moussa Bey and walked over
the thick green turf to a large mimosa tree, of the variety called
_’araz_, where the carpets were spread on the ground for us and the
slaves were ready with our pipes. We lay there two or three hours, in
the pleasant shade, talking, smoking, and lazily watching the motions
of the attendants, who were scattered all over the island. An Albanian
in a scarlet dress shot a wild goose, and Dr. Reitz tried to bring down
an ibis, but failed. Finally the _showrmeh_—an entire sheep, stuffed
with rice—appeared, garnished with bread, onions, radishes and grapes.
We bared our right arms and buried our hands in the smoking flesh with
such good will, that in half an hour the dish contained nothing but a
beautiful skeleton. Abd-el Kader Bey honored me by tearing off a few
choice morsels with his own fingers and presenting them to me. A bowl of
rice cooked in milk and sweetened, completed the repast. At noon we went
on board the _sandal_, and after being shipped to the other side, took
leave of Abd-el Kader with an embrace and “God grant you a prosperous
journey!”—to which he replied: “God grant it!” He sailed off, up the
White Nile, for Tura, with a fine breeze, and we turned homewards. The
wind which blew across the plain in our faces, was as hot and dry as
the blast of a furnace, and my head reeled under the terrible intensity
of the sunshine. The Beys took every opportunity of displaying their
horsemanship, dashing over the bean-fields in wild zigzags, reining up in
mid-career, throwing their crooked canes into the air after the manner of
a jereed, and describing circles and ellipses at full gallop. The finest
of all was my handsome Albanian friend, Musakar Bey.

I called upon the Pasha the same afternoon, to give him an account of my
voyage up the White Nile, and was obliged to remain and dine with him. He
was very much interested in my adventures with the Shillooks, but gave
me to understand that the negroes had great fear of his power, and that
if they had not known I was under his protection they would certainly
have killed me. When I spoke of the giant stature of the Shillooks he
confirmed what I had already heard, that the Kyks and Baris are full
seven feet in height. He also stated that his predecessor, Achmet Pasha
Menekleh, had captured in the regions beyond Fazogl thirty blacks, who
were nine feet high and terrible to behold. They were brought to Khartoum
in chains, he said, but refused to eat, howled like wild beasts, and died
in paroxysms of savage fury. When I remembered that the Pasha had already
told me that there was a subterraneous passage from Alexandria to the
Fyoom (a distance of two hundred miles), made by Alexander the Great, and
that the Sultan at Constantinople had an ape which grew to be twenty feet
in height, I received this last communication with a grain of allowance.
He fully believed in the existence of the N’yàm-N’yàms (a horribly
suggestive name), or cannibals, who I have no doubt, are a fabulous
race. Dr. Barth heard of them in Adamowa, south of Lake Tsad, and Dr.
Knoblecher in the Bari country, but no one has ever yet seen them.

The expedition of Lattif Effendi had met with many delays, but on Monday,
the second of February, every thing was ready for its departure. It
consisted of two large _nekkers_ or trading-vessels, each armed with a
cannon, and carrying six soldiers in addition to the crew. It was also
provided with interpreters, who spoke the languages of the different
tribes. Fat Abou-Balta, who was the owner of one of the vessels, Dr.
Péney, Dr. Reitz and myself, made up a party to accompany Lattif Effendi
the first stage of his voyage. We took the same little _sandal_ in which
I had sailed, and pushed away from Khartoum at sunset, followed by the
nekkers. The relatives of the sailors were crowded on the bank to bid
them good-bye, and as the vessels weighed anchor, the women set up the
shrill “_lu-lu-lu-lu-lu_,” which they use to express all emotions, from
rapture down to despair. We had a light, but favoring wind, and at nine
o’clock reached a long, sandy beach about five miles above the mouth of
the White Nile, where we came to a halt. The vessels were moored to the
shore, fires kindled, pipes lighted and coffee made, and we gathered
into groups on the sand, in the light of the full moon. At midnight
the customary sheep made its appearance, accompanied by two bottles of
claret, whereat Abou-Balta affected to be scandalized, so long as any
Moslem attendants were in the neighborhood. When the coast was clear,
he sprawled out like another Falstaff, his jolly face beaming in the
moonlight, and took a sly taste of the forbidden beverage, which he
liked so well that he no longer resented the wicked nickname of “_gamoos
el-bahr_” (hippopotamus), which we bestowed upon him. We tried to sleep
a little, but although the sand was soft, the night air was chilly, and
I believe nobody succeeded but Abou-Balta, whose enormous belly shook
with the force of his snoring, as he lay stretched out on his back. By
three in the morning everybody was tired; the fires had burned out, the
meats of the banquet had grown cold, and the wind blew more freshly from
the north. Lattif Effendi called his sailors on board and we took leave
of him. The two nekkers spread their huge wings and sailed off in the
moonlight for the land of the Baris, while we made our slow way back to
Khartoum, where we arrived at daybreak.

During my absence there had been three distinguished arrivals—Abou-Sin,
the great shekh of the Shukorees (the father of Owd-el Kerim), Melek
Dyaab, the king of Dar El-Màhass, and Ali, shekh of the Ababdehs—all
of whom had been summoned by the Pasha, for the purpose of consulting
with them on the condition of their territories. Abou-Sin was one of the
stateliest and most dignified personages I had ever seen. He was about
seventy-five years of age, six feet six inches in height, straight as
a lance, with a keen, fiery eye, and a gray beard which flowed to his
waist. Dr. Péney, who had visited the old shekh in Takka, informed me
that he could bring into the field four thousand warriors, each mounted
on his own dromedary. The Shukorees wear shirts of chain-mail and helmets
with chain-pieces falling on each side of the face, like their Saracen
ancestors. Their weapons are still the sabre and lance, with which they
have maintained their independence against all enemies, except the cannon
of Mohammed Ali. Dr. Reitz took me to visit the Shekh, who was living in
an humble mud building, not far from the Pasha’s palace. We found him
giving audience to a number of inferior shekhs, who were seated upon the
earthen floor, below his divan. His son, Owd-el Kerim, was among them.
The Consul took his seat at the shekh’s side, and I did the same, but,
although nothing was said, I saw that those present mentally resented
our presumption, and felt that I had been guilty of a breach of decorum.
The object of our visit was to invite the shekh to dine with us, and he
graciously complied. Owd-el Kerim was included in the invitation, but he
excused himself on the ground that he did not dare to eat at the same
table with his father, I was delighted with this trait, which recalled
the patriarchal days of the Old Testament, and justified the claim of the
Arabs to the blood of Abraham.

After my return the weather had suddenly changed, and every thing denoted
the approach of the hot and sickly season. The thermometer stood at 105°
in the shade, at noon, and there was an intensely hot wind from the
south. On account of the languor and depression consequent upon such a
heat, it required an extraordinary effort to make the necessary entries
in my journal. I barely succeeded in moving about sufficiently to shake
off the feverish humors which in that climate so rapidly collect in the
system. I always placed a cool earthen jug of water at my bedside, and
when I awoke in the middle of the night with a heavy head and parched
throat, would take a full draught, which immediately threw me into a
profuse sweat, after which I slept soundly and healthily until morning.
He who lives in Khartoum in the hot season must either sweat or die.
M. Drovetti, of Alexandria (son of the French Consul Drovetti, with
whom Belzoni had so many quarrels), arrived about this time and was
immediately prostrated with fever. Many of the Franks and Egyptians were
also affected, and Achmet, who felt plethoric symptoms, must needs go to
a barber and be bled in the head. He besought me to return to Egypt, and
as I had already accomplished much more than I anticipated, I began at
once to prepare for the homeward journey.

The route which I fixed upon was that across the Beyooda Desert to
Napata, the ancient capital of Ethiopia, thence to Dongola, and through
the Nubian kingdoms to the Second Cataract of the Nile, at Wadi Haifa.
The first part of the journey, through the countries of the Kababish and
the Howoweet, was considered rather dangerous, and as a precautionary
measure I engaged three of the former tribe, as guide and camel-drivers.
I purchased two large Shukoree dromedaries for myself and Achmet, at
three hundred and two hundred and fifty piastres respectively, and hired
three others from the Kababish, at fifty piastres for the journey to
Eddabe, on the Dongolese frontier, by way of Napata. The contract was
formally made in the presence of the shekh of Khartoum and Dr. Reitz,
both of whom threatened the Arabs with destruction in case they should
not convey me safely through the Desert. The Consul also did me good
service in the negotiation of my draft on Fathalla Musallee, a Coptic
merchant, who demanded twenty per cent. for the exchange. This, as my
funds were getting low, would have been a serious loss, but by some
arithmetical legerdemain, which I could not understand, the Consul so
bewildered poor Fathalla’s brain, that he was finally made to believe
that a discount of five per cent. would somehow profit him more in
the end than one of twenty per cent. Fathalla paid the money with a
melancholy confusion of ideas, and I doubt whether he has to this day
discovered in what way he increased his profits by the operation.

My provision-chests were replenished with coffee, sugar, rice, dates
and _mishmish_ (dried apricots), from the bazaar, and Achmet worked so
cheerily with the prospect of leaving Soudân, that every thing was in
readiness at a day’s notice. Rather than wait until the following Monday,
for luck’s sake, I fixed upon Thursday, the fifth of February, for our
departure. Many of the subordinate Egyptian officers prepared letters to
their families, which they intrusted to Achmet’s care, and poor old Rufaā
Bey, more than ever disgusted with his exile, charged me with a letter
to his wife and another to Mr. Murray, through whose aid he hoped to get
permission to return to Egypt. I paid a farewell visit to the Pasha, who
received me with great courtesy, informing me (what I already knew), that
he was about to be superseded by Rustum Pasha, who, he predicted, would
not find the government of Soudân an easy one.

I was sorry to part with Vicar Knoblecher and his brethren. Those
self-sacrificing men have willingly devoted themselves to a life—if life
it can be called, which is little better than death—in the remote heart
of Africa, for the sake of introducing a purer religion among its pagan
inhabitants, and I trust they will be spared to see their benevolent
plans realized. They are men of the purest character and animated by the
best desires. Aboona Suleyman, as Dr. Knoblecher is called, is already
widely known and esteemed throughout Soudân, and although he can do but
little at present in the way of religious teaching, he has instituted
a school for the children of the Copts, which may in time reform the
(so-called) Christian society of Khartoum. If he should succeed in
establishing a mission in the country of the Baris, the result will be
not less important to Science than to Christianity, and the experiment is
one which should interest the world.

On the evening before my departure the shekhs Abou-Sin, Ali, the Ababdeh,
and Melek Dyaab came to dine with Dr. Reitz. Abou-Sin was grave and
stately as ever, and I never looked at him without thinking of his four
thousand mailed warriors on their dromedaries, sweeping over the plains
of Takka. Shekh Ali was of medium size, with a kind, amiable face, and a
touch of native refinement in his manner. King Dyaab, however, who wore
a capacious white turban and a robe of dark-blue cloth, was the “merry
monarch” of Central Africa. His large eyes twinkled with good humor and
his round face beamed with the radiance of a satisfied spirit. He brought
a black Dongolese horse as a present for Dr. Reitz, and requested me to
put him through his paces, on the plain before the house, as it would
have been contrary to African etiquette for the Doctor himself to test
the character of the gift. I complied, but the saddle was adapted only
for the short legs of the fat king, and after running a circular course
with my knees drawn up nearly to my chin, the resemblance of the scene to
the monkey-riding of the circus struck me so forcibly, that I jumped off
and refused to mount again, greatly to the monarch’s disappointment.

Shekhs Abou-Sin and Ali took their departure shortly after the disposal
of the roast sheep and salad which constituted the dinner, but King
Dyaab and Dr. Péney remained until a late hour, smoking a parting pipe
with me, and partaking of a mixture of claret, lemons, pomegranate juice
and spices which the Consul compounded into a sherbet of the most
delicious flavor. King Dyaab drank my health with a profusion of good
wishes, begging me to remain another week and accompany his caravan. His
palace in Dar El-Màhass, he said, was entirely at my disposal and I must
remain several weeks with him. But there is nothing so unpleasant to me
as to postpone a journey after all the preparations are made, and I was
reluctantly obliged to decline his invitation. I take pleasure, however,
in testifying to the King’s good qualities, which fully entitle him to
the throne of Dar El Màhass, and were I installed in his capital of
Kuke, as court-poet, I should certainly write a national ballad for the
Mahassees, commencing in this wise:

“El Melek Dyaab is a jolly old King,
And a jolly old King is he,” etc.

After the Melek had bestowed a parting embrace by throwing his arms
around my waist, and dropping his round head on my shoulder like a
sixty-eight pound shot, he was sent home in state on the back of Sultan,
the Dar-Fūr stallion. The moonlight was so beautiful that the Consul
and I accompanied Dr. Péney to his residence. The latter suggested
another pipe in the open air of his court-yard, and awoke his Shillook
slaves, who were lying asleep near the house, to perform a dance for our
amusement. There were three—two males and a female—and their midnight
dance was the most uncouth and barbaric thing I saw in Khartoum. They
brandished their clubs, leaped into the air, alighting sometimes on one
foot and sometimes on both, and accompanied their motions with a series
of short, quick howls, not unlike the laughter of a hyena. After the
dance, Dr. Reitz effected a reconciliation between one of the men and
the woman, who had been married, but were about to separate. They knelt
before him, side by side, and recounted their complaints of each other,
which were sufficiently ludicrous, but a present of three piastres
(fifteen cents!), purchased forgetfulness of the past and renewed vows
for the future.

I felt a shadow of regret when I reflected that it was my last night
in Khartoum. After we walked home I roused the old lioness in her
corner, gave her a farewell hug and sat down on her passive back until
she stretched out her paws and went to sleep again. I then visited the
leopard in the garden, made him jump upon my shoulders and play his
antics over once more. The hyenas danced and laughed fiendishly, as
usual when they saw me, but the tall Kordofan antelope came up softly
and rubbed his nose against my leg, asking for the dourra which I was
accustomed to give him. I gave him, and the gazelles, and the leopard,
each an affectionate kiss, but poked the surly hyenas until they howled,
on my way to bed.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE COMMERCE OF SOUDÂN.

Before taking a final leave of Soudân, it may be well to say a few words
concerning the trade of the country. As the Nile is the principal avenue
of communication between the Mediterranean and the eastern half of
Central Africa, Soudân is thus made a centre of commerce, the character
of which may be taken as an index to all the interior traffic of the
continent.

European goods reach Soudân through two principal channels; by the
port of Sowakin, on the Red Sea, and the caravan route up the Nile and
across the Great Nubian Desert. Of late years the latter has become the
principal thoroughfare, as winter is the commercial season, and the
storms on the Red Sea are very destructive to the small Arab craft. The
merchants leave Cairo through the autumn, principally between the first
of October and the first of December, as they travel slowly and rarely
make the journey in less than two months and a half. The great proportion
of them take the same route I followed, from Korosko to Berber, where
they ship again for Khartoum. Those who buy their own camels at Assouan,
make the whole trip by land; but it is more usual for them to buy
camels in Soudân for the return journey, as they can sell them in Upper
Egypt at advanced prices. In fact, the trade, in camels alone is not
inconsiderable. On my way to Khartoum I met many thousands, in droves of
from one to five hundred, on their way to Egypt.

The merchants who make this yearly trip to Soudân are mostly Egyptians
and Nubians. There are a number of Syrians established in the country,
but they are for the most part connected with houses in Cairo, and their
caravans between the two places are in charge of agents, natives, whose
character has been proved by long service. There were also three or
four French and Italian merchants, and one Englishman (Mr. Peterick, in
Kordofan), who carried on their business in the same manner. It is no
unusual thing for Nubians who have amassed two or three thousand piastres
by household service in Cairo, to form partnerships, invest their money
in cotton goods, and after a year or two on the journey (for time is any
thing but money to them), return to Egypt with a few hundred weight of
gum or half a dozen camels. They earn a few piastres, perhaps, in return
for the long toils and privations they have endured; but their pride is
gratified by the title of _Djellabiàt_—merchants. It is reckoned a good
school, and not without reason, for young Egyptians who devote themselves
to commerce. I met even the sons of Beys among this class. Those who are
prudent, and have a fair capital to start upon, can generally gain enough
in two or three years to establish themselves respectably in Egypt.

The goods brought into Central Africa consist principally of English
muslins and calicoes, the light red woollen stuffs of Barbary, cutlery,
beads and trinkets. Cloths, silks, powder, tobacco, and arakee, are
also brought in considerable quantities, while in the large towns there
is always a good sale for sugar, rice, coffee and spices. The Turkish
officials and the Franks are very fond of the aniseed cordial of Scio,
maraschino, rosoglio, and the other Levantine liquors; and even the
heavy, resinous wines of Smyrna and Cyprus find their way here. The
natives prefer for clothing the coarse, unbleached cotton stuffs of their
own manufacture, one mantle of which is sufficient for years. As may
readily be supposed, the market is frequently glutted with goods of this
description, whence the large houses often send money from Cairo for the
purchase of gum and ivory, in preference to running any risk. At the time
of my visit, all sorts of muslins and calicoes might be had in Khartoum
at a very slight advance on Cairo prices, and the merchants who were
daily arriving with additional bales, complained that the sale would not
pay the expenses of their journey. The remarkable success of the caravans
of the previous year had brought a crowd of adventurers into the lists,
very few of whom realized their expectations. It was the California
experience in another form. No passion is half so blind as the greed for
gain.

Khartoum is the great metropolis of all this region. Some few caravans
strike directly through the Beyooda Desert, from Dongola to Kordofan,
but the great part come directly to the former place, where they dispose
of their goods, and then proceed to Kordofan for gum, or wait the return
of the yearly expedition up the White Nile, to stock themselves with
ivory. On both these articles there is generally a good, sometimes a
great, profit. The gum comes almost entirely from Kordofan, where the
quantity annually gathered amounts to thirty thousand _contar_, or cwt.
It is collected by the natives from that variety of the mimosa called
the _ashaba_, and sold by them at from fifty-five to sixty piastres
the contar. Lattif Pasha at one time issued a decree prohibiting any
person from selling it at less than sixty piastres, but Dr. Reitz, by an
energetic protest, obtained the revocation of this arbitrary edict. The
cost of carrying it to Cairo is very nearly fifty piastres the contar,
exclusive of a government tax of twelve and a half per cent.; and as the
price of gum in Cairo fluctuates according to the demand from one hundred
and fifty to two hundred and fifty piastres, the merchant’s gain may be
as low as ten or as high as one hundred per cent. The gum brought from
Yemen and the shores of the Red Sea is considered superior in quality but
is not produced in such abundance.

The ivory is mostly obtained from the negro tribes on the White Nile.
Small quantities are occasionally brought from Dar-Fūr and the unknown
regions towards Bornou, by Arab caravans. The trading expeditions up
the White Nile, until the winter of 1851-2, were entirely under the
control of the Pasha of Soudân, in spite of the treaty of 1838, making
it free to all nations. The expedition of that winter, which sailed from
Khartoum about two months before my arrival, consisted of seven vessels,
accompanied by an armed force. The parties interested in it consisted
of the Pasha, the Egyptian merchants, and the _rayahs_, or European
merchants. The gains were to be divided into twenty-four parts, eight
of which went to the Pasha, nine to the Turks and seven to the Franks.
Dr. Reitz undertook to enforce the treaty, and actually ran two vessels
belonging to Austrian _protégés_ past the guard established at the
junction of the Niles. The Pasha thereupon had all the sailors belonging
to these vessels arrested, but after two days of violent manœuvres and
counter-manœuvres, allowed the vessels to proceed. The unjust monopoly
was therefore virtually annulled—an important fact to Europeans who may
wish to engage in the trade. The vessels take with them great quantities
of glass beads, ear, arm and nose rings, and the like, for which the
natives readily barter their elephants’ teeth. These are not found in
abundance before reaching the land of the Nuehrs and the Kyks, about lat.
7°, and the best specimens come from regions still further south. They
are sold in Khartoum at the rate of twelve hundred piastres the cwt., and
in Cairo at twenty-two hundred, burdened with a tax of twelve and a half
per cent.

The Government has done its best to cramp and injure Trade, the only life
of that stagnant land. In addition to the custom-house at Assouan, where
every thing going into Egypt must pay duty, the Pasha and his satellites
had established an illegal custom-house at Dongola, and obliged merchants
to pay another toll, midway on their journey. This was afterwards
abolished, on account of the remonstrances which were forwarded to Cairo.
I found the Pasha so uniformly courteous and affable, that at first I
rejected many of the stories told me of his oppression and cruelty, but
I was afterwards informed of circumstances which exhibited his character
in a still more hideous light. Nevertheless, I believe he was in most
respects superior to his predecessors in the office, and certainly to his
successor.

The traffic in slaves has decreased very much of late. The wealthy
Egyptians still purchase slaves, and will continue to do so, till the
“institution” is wholly abolished, but the despotic rule exercised by
the Pasha in Nubia has had the effect of greatly lessening the demand.
Vast numbers of Nubians go into Egypt, where they are engaged as domestic
servants, and their paid labor, cheap as it is, is found more profitable
than the unpaid service of negro slaves. Besides, the tax on the latter
has been greatly increased, so that merchants find the commodity less
profitable than gum or ivory. Ten years ago, the duty paid at Assouan was
thirty piastres for a negro and fifty for an Abyssinian: at present it
is three hundred and fifty for the former and five hundred and fifty for
the latter, while the tax can be wholly avoided by making the slave free.
Prices have risen in consequence, and the traffic is proportionately
diminished. The Government probably derives as large a revenue as ever
from it, on account of the increased tax, so that it has seemed to
satisfy the demands of some of the European powers by restricting the
trade, while it actually loses nothing thereby. The Government slave
hunts in the interior, however, are no longer carried on. The greater
part of the slaves brought to Khartoum, are purchased from the Galla
and Shangalla tribes on the borders of Abyssinia, or from the Shillooks
and Dinkas, on the White Nile. The captives taken in the wars between
the various tribes are invariably sold. The Abyssinian girls, who are
in great demand among the Egyptians, for wives, are frequently sold by
their own parents. They are treated with great respect, and their lot
is probably no worse than that of any Arab or Turkish female. The more
beautiful of them often bring from two hundred to five hundred dollars.
Ordinary household servants may be had from one to two thousand piastres.
My dragoman, Achmet, purchased a small girl for twelve hundred piastres,
as a present for his wife. He intended making her free, which he declared
to be a good thing, according to his religion; but the true reason, I
suspect, was the tax at Assouan.

The Egyptians rarely maltreat their slaves, and instances of cruelty are
much less frequent among them than among the Europeans settled here. The
latter became so notorious for their violence that the Government was
obliged to establish a law forbidding any Frank to strike his slave; but
in case of disobedience to send him before the Cadi, or Judge, who could
decide on the proper punishment. Slavery prevails throughout all the
native kingdoms of Central Africa, in more or less aggravated forms.

The Egyptian merchants who are located in Khartoum as agents for houses
in Cairo, consider themselves as worse than exiles, and indemnify
themselves by sensual indulgence for being obliged to remain in a country
which they detest. They live in large houses, keep their harems of inky
slaves, eat, drink and smoke away their languid and wearisome days. All
the material which they need for such a life is so cheap that their
love of gain does not suffer thereby. One of the richest merchants in
the place gave me an account of his housekeeping. He had a large mud
palace, a garden, and twenty servants and slaves, to maintain which cost
him eight thousand piastres (four hundred dollars) a year. He paid his
servants twenty piastres a month, and his slaves also—at least so he told
me, but I did not believe it.

As for the native Fellahs of Soudân, they are so crushed and imposed
upon, that it is difficult to judge what their natural capacities really
are. Foreigners, Frank as well as Egyptian, universally complain of
their stupidity, and I heard the Pasha himself say, that if he could
have done any thing with them Abbas Pasha might whistle to get Soudân
from him. That they are very stupid, is true, but that they have every
encouragement to be so, is equally true. Dr. Knoblecher, who, of all the
men I saw in Khartoum, was best qualified to judge correctly, assured
me that they needed only a just and paternal government, to make rapid
progress in the arts of civilization.

CHAPTER XXXI.

FROM KHARTOUM TO EL METEMMA.

The wind blew so violently on the morning of my departure from Khartoum,
that the ferry-boat which had been engaged to convey my equipage to the
Kordofan shore, could not round the point at the junction of the Niles.
My camels, with the Kababish guide and drivers, had been ferried over
the evening previous, and were in readiness to start. In this dilemma
Dr. Péney, with whom I had engaged to take a parting breakfast, kindly
gave me the use of his _nekker_ and its crew. Our breakfast was a _fête
champêtre_ under the beautiful nebbuk tree in the Doctor’s court-yard,
and consisted of a highly-spiced _salmi_ of his own compounding, a salad
of lettuce and tomatoes, and a bottle of Cyprus wine. The coolness and
force of the north-wind gave us a keen appetite, and our kind host could
not say that we slighted his culinary skill, for verily there was nothing
but empty plates to be seen, when we arose from the table. Dr. Reitz
and I hastened on board the nekker, which immediately put off. I left
Khartoum, regretting to leave a few friends behind me in that furnace of
Soudân, yet glad to escape therefrom myself. A type of the character of
the place was furnished us while making our way to Omdurman. We passed
the body of a woman, who had been strangled and thrown into the water; a
sight which the natives regarded without the least surprise. The Consul
immediately dispatched one of his servants to the Governor of the city,
asking him to have the body taken away and properly interred. It was
full two hours before we reached the western bank of the Nile, opposite
Omdurman. Achmet, who had preceded me, had drummed up the Kababish,
and they were in readiness with my camels. The work of apportioning
and loading the baggage was finished by noon, and the caravan started,
preceded by the guide, Mohammed, who shook his long spear in a general
defiance of all enemies.

Dr. Reitz and I, with our attendants, set off in advance on a quick trot.
Our path led over a bleak, barren plain, covered with thorns, through
which the wind whistled with a wintry sound. The air was filled with
clouds of sand, which gave a pale and sickly cast to the sunshine. My
friend was unwell and desponding, and after we had ridden eight miles,
he halted to rest in a deep, rocky gully, where we were sheltered from
the wind. Here we lay down upon the sand until the caravan came along,
when we parted from each other. “You are going back to Europe and
Civilization;” said he mournfully; “you have an encouraging future before
you—while I can only look forward to the prospect of leaving my bones
in this accursed land.” He then embraced me, mounted his dromedary, and
was soon lost to my sight among the sand and thorns. Little did I then
imagine that his last words were the unhappy prediction which another
year would see verified![6]

We halted for the night near the village of Gerrari. I slept but
indifferently, with the heavy head and gloomy spirits I had brought
from Khartoum; but the free life of my tent did not fail of its usual
effect, and I rose the next morning fresh, strong, and courageous. We
were obliged to travel slowly, on account of the nature of the road,
which, for the greater part of the distance to El Metemma, lay in the
Desert, just beyond the edge of the cultivated land. For the first day
or two, we rode over dry, stony plains, covered with thickets of the
small thorny mimosa and patches of long yellow grass. The country is
crossed by deep gullies, through which the streams formed by the summer
rains flow to the Nile. Their banks are lined with a thick growth of
sont, nebbuk, and other trees peculiar to Central Africa, in which many
lions make their lairs and prey upon the flocks of the Arabs. One bold,
fierce fellow had established himself on the island of Musakar Bey, just
below the junction of the Nile, and carried off nightly a sheep or calf,
defying the attempts of the natives to take him. Our view was confined
to the thorns, on whose branches we left many shreds of clothing as
mementoes of the journey, and to the barren range of Djebel Gerrari,
stretching westward into the Desert. Occasionally, however, in crossing
the low spurs which ran out from this chain, the valley of the Nile—the
one united Nile again—lay before us, far to the east and north-east, the
river glistening in the sun as he spread his arms round island after
island, till his lap could hold no more. The soil is a poor, coarse
gravel, and the inhabitants support themselves by their herds of sheep
and goats, which browse on the thorns. In places there are large thickets
of the _usher_, or euphorbia, twenty feet high. It grows about the huts
of the natives, who make no attempt to exterminate it, notwithstanding
the poisonous nature of its juice. Every mile or two we passed a large
Arab burying-ground, crowded with rough head and foot-stones, except
where white pennons, fluttering on poles, denoted a more than ordinary
sanctity in the deceased. The tomb of the Shekh, or holy man of Merreh,
was a conical structure of stones and clay, about fifteen feet in breadth
at the base, and twenty feet high. The graves are so numerous and the
dwellings so few, that one has the impression of travelling in a country
depopulated by the pestilence; yet we met many persons on the road—partly
Kababish, and partly natives of Dongola and Màhass. The men touched their
lips and foreheads on passing me, and the women greeted me with that
peculiar “_hab-bab-ba!_” which seems to be the universal expression of
salutation among the various tribes of Central Africa.

My guide, Mohammed, was a Kababish, and the vainest and silliest Arab I
ever knew. He wore his hair in long braids, extending from the forehead
and temples to the nape of the neck, and kept in their places by a layer
of mutton-fat, half an inch thick, which filled up the intervening
spaces. His hollow cheeks, deep-sunken eyes, thin and wiry beard, and
the long spear he carried in his hand made him a fair representative of
Don Quixote, and the resemblance was not diminished by the gaunt and
ungainly camel on which he jogged along at the head of my caravan. He
was very devout, praying for quite an unreasonable length of time before
and after meals, and always had a large patch of sand on his forehead,
from striking it on the ground, as he knelt towards Mecca. Both his
arms, above the elbows, were covered with rings of hippopotamus hide, to
which were attached square leathern cases, containing sentences of the
Koran, as charms to keep away sickness and evil spirits. The other man,
Saïd, was a Shygheean, willing and good-natured enough, but slow and
regardless of truth, as all Arabs are. Indeed, the best definition of an
Arab which I can give, is—a philosophizing sinner. His fatalism gives
him a calm and equable temperament under all circumstances, and “God
wills it!” or “God is merciful!” is the solace for every misfortune. But
this same carelessness to the usual accidents of life extends also to
his speech and his dealings with other men. I will not say that an Arab
never speaks truth: on the contrary, he always does, if he happens to
remember it, and there is no object to be gained by suppressing it; but
rather than trouble himself to answer correctly a question which requires
some thought, he tells you whatever comes uppermost in his mind, though
certain to be detected the next minute. He is like a salesman, who, if he
does not happen to have the article you want, offers you something else,
rather than let you go away empty-handed. In regard to his dealings,
what Sir Gardner Wilkinson says of Egypt, that “nobody parts with money
without an effort to defraud,” is equally true of Nubia and Soudân. The
people do not steal outright; but they have a thousand ways of doing it
in an indirect and civilized manner, and they are perfect masters of all
those petty arts of fraud which thrive so greenly in the great commercial
cities of Christendom. With these slight drawbacks, there is much to
like in the Arabs, and they are certainly the most patient, assiduous
and good-humored people in the world. If they fail in cheating you, they
respect you the more, and they are so attentive to you, so ready to take
their mood from yours—to laugh when you are cheerful, and be silent when
you are grave—so light-hearted in the performance of severe duties, that
if you commence your acquaintance by despising, you finish by cordially
liking them.

On a journey like that which I was then commencing, it is absolutely
necessary to preserve a good understanding with your men and beasts;
otherwise travel will be a task, and a severe one, instead of a
recreation. After my men had vainly tried a number of expedients, to get
the upper hand of me, I drilled them into absolute obedience, and found
their character much improved thereby. With my dromedary, whom I called
Abou-Sin, (the Father of Teeth), from the great shekh of the Shukoree
Arabs, to whom he originally belonged, I was soon on good terms. He was
a beast of excellent temper, with a spice of humor in his composition,
and a fondness for playing practical jokes. But as I always paid them
back, neither party could complain, though Abou-Sin sometimes gurgled
out of his long throat a string of Arabic gutturals, in remonstrance. He
came up to my tent and knelt at precisely the same hour every evening,
to get his feed of dourra, and when I was at breakfast always held his
lips pursed up, ready to take the pieces of bread I gave him. My men,
whom I agreed to provide with food during the journey, were regaled
every day with mutton and mareesa, the two only really good things to be
found in Soudân. A fat sheep cost 8 piastres (40 cents), and we killed
one every three days. The meat was of excellent flavor. Mareesa is made
of the coarse grain called dourra, which is pounded into flour by hand,
mixed with water, and heated over a fire in order to produce speedy
fermentation. It is always drunk the day after being made, as it turns
sour on the third day. It is a little stronger than small beer, and has
a taste similar to wheat bran, unpleasant on the first trial and highly
palatable on the second. A jar holding two gallons costs one piastre, and
as few families, however poor, are without it, we always found plenty of
it for sale in the villages. It is nutritious, promotive of digestion,
and my experience went to prove that it was not only a harmless but most
wholesome drink in that stifling climate. _Om bilbil_, the mother of
nightingales, which is made from wheat, is stronger, and has a pungent
flavor. The people in general are remarkably temperate, but sailors and
camel-men are often not content without arakee, a sort of weak brandy
made from dates. I have heard this song sung so often that I cannot
choose but recollect the words. It is in the Arabic jargon of Soudân:

“El-toombak sheràboo dowaïa,
Oo el karafeen ed dowa il ’es-sufaïa,
Oo el àrakee legheetoo monnaïa,
Om bilbil bukkoosoo burraïa.”

[Tobacco I smoke in the pipe; and mareesa is a medicine to the _sufaïa_;
(_i. e._ the bag of palm fibres through which it is strained), but arakee
makes me perfectly contented, and then I will not even look at bilbil].

The third day after leaving Khartoum, I reached the mountains of Gerri,
through which the Nile breaks his way in a narrow pass. Here I hailed
as an old acquaintance the island-hill of Rowyàn (the watered, or
unthirsty). This is truly a magnificent peak, notwithstanding its height
is not more than seven hundred feet. Neither is Soracte high, yet it
produces a striking effect, even with the loftier Apennines behind it.
The Rowyàn is somewhat similar to Soracte in form. There are a few trees
on the top, which shows that there must be a deposit of soil above its
barren ramparts, and were I a merchant of Khartoum I should build a
summer residence there, and by means of hydraulics create a grove and
garden around it. The _akaba_, or desert pass, which we were obliged to
take in order to reach the river again, is six hours in length, through
a wild, stony tract, covered with immense boulders of granite, hurled
and heaped together in the same chaotic manner as is exhibited in the
rocks between Assouan and Philæ. After passing the range, a wide plain
again opened before us, the course of the Nile marked in its centre by
the darker hue of the nebbuks and sycamores, rising above the long gray
belts of thorn-trees. The mountains which inclose the fallen temples of
Mesowuràt and Naga appeared far to the east. The banks of the river here
are better cultivated than further up the stream. The wheat, which was
just sprouting, during my upward journey, was now two feet high, and
rolled before the wind in waves of dark, intense, burning green. The
brilliancy of color in these mid-African landscapes is truly astonishing.

The north-wind, which blew the sand furiously in our faces during the
first three days of the journey, ceased at this point and the weather
became once more intensely hot. The first two or three hours of the
morning were, nevertheless, delicious. The temperature was mild, and
there was a June-like breeze which bore far and wide the delicate odor
of the mimosa blossoms. The trees were large and thick, as on the White
Nile, forming long, orchard-like belts between the grain-fields and the
thorny clumps of the Desert. The flocks of black goats which the natives
breed, were scattered among these trees, and numbers of the animals stood
perfectly upright on their hind legs, as they nibbled off the ends of the
higher branches.

On the morning after leaving Akaba Gerri, I had two altercations with
my men. Mohammed had left Khartoum without a camel, evidently for the
purpose of saving money. In a day or two, however, he limped so much
that I put him upon Achmet’s dromedary for a few hours. This was an
imposition, for every guide is obliged to furnish his own camel, and I
told the old man that he should ride no more. He thereupon prevailed upon
Saïd to declare that their contract was to take me to Ambukol, instead of
Merawe. This, considering that the route had been distinctly stated to
them by Dr. Reitz, in my presence, and put in writing by the _moodir_,
Abdallah Effendi, and that the name of Ambukol was not once mentioned,
was a falsehood of the most brazen character. I told the men they were
liars, and that sooner than yield to them I would return to Khartoum and
have them punished, whereupon they saw they had gone too far, and made
a seeming compromise by declaring that they would willingly take me to
Merawe, if I wished it.

Towards noon we reached the village of Derreira, nearly opposite the
picturesque rapids of the Nile. I gave Mohammed half a piastre and
sent him after mareesa, two gallons of which he speedily procured. A
large gourd was filled for me, and I drank about a quart without taking
breath. Before it had left my lips, I experienced a feeling of vigor
and elasticity throughout my whole frame, which refreshed me for the
remainder of the day. Mohammed stated that the tents of some of his tribe
were only about four hours distant, and asked leave to go and procure a
camel, promising to rejoin us at El Metemma the next day. As Saïd knew
the way, and could have piloted me in case the old sinner should not
return, I gave him leave to go.

Achmet and I rode for nearly two hours over a stony, thorny plain,
before we overtook the baggage camels. When at last we came in sight
of them, the brown camel was running loose without his load and Saïd
trying to catch him. My provision-chests were tumbled upon the ground,
the cafass broken to pieces and the chickens enjoying the liberty of the
Desert. Saïd, it seemed, had stopped to talk with some women, leaving the
camel, which was none too gentle, to take care of himself. Achmet was so
incensed that he struck the culprit in the face, whereupon he cried out,
with a rueful voice: “_ya khosara!_” (oh, what a misfortune!). After half
an hour’s labor the boxes were repacked, minus their broken crockery,
the chickens caught and the camel loaded. The inhabitants of this region
were mostly Shygheeans, who had emigrated thither. They are smaller and
darker than the people of Màhass, but resemble them in character. In one
of the villages which we passed, the _soog_, or market, was being held. I
rode through the crowd to see what they had to sell, but found only the
simplest articles: camels, donkeys, sheep, goats; mats, onions, butter,
with some baskets of raw cotton and pieces of stuff spun and woven by
the natives. The sales must be principally by barter, as there is little
money in the country.

In the afternoon we passed another akaba, even more difficult for camels
than that of Gerri. The tracks were rough and stony, crossed by frequent
strata of granite and porphyry. From the top of one of the ridges I had
a fine view of a little valley of mimosas which lay embayed in the hills
and washed by the Nile, which here curved grandly round from west to
south, his current glittering blue and broad in the sun. The opposite
bank was flat and belted with wheat fields, beyond which stretched a
gray forest of thorns and then the yellow savannas of Shendy, walled in
the distance by long, blue, broken ranges of mountains. The summit of a
hill near our road was surrounded with a thick wall, formed of natural
blocks of black porphyry. It had square, projecting bastions at regular
intervals, and an entrance on the western side. From its appearance,
form and position, it had undoubtedly been a stronghold of some one of
the Arab tribes, and can claim no great antiquity. I travelled on until
after sunset, when, as no village appeared, I camped in a grove of large
mimosas, not far from the Nile. A few Shygheean herdsmen were living in
brush huts near at hand, and dogs and jackals howled incessantly through
the night.

On the fifth day I reached the large town of El Metemma, nearly opposite
Shendy, and the capital of a negro kingdom, before the Egyptian
usurpation. The road, on approaching it, leads over a narrow plain,
covered with a shrub resembling heather, bordered on one side by the
river, and on the other by a long range of bare red sand-hills. We
journeyed for more than three hours, passing point after point of the
hills, only to find other spurs stretching out ahead of us. From the
intense heat I was very anxious to reach El Metemma, and was not a little
rejoiced when I discerned a grove of date-trees, which had been pointed
out to me from Shendy, a month before, as the landmark of the place.
Soon a cluster of buildings appeared on the sandy slopes, but as we
approached, I saw they were ruins. We turned another point, and reached
another group of tokuls and clay houses—ruins also. Another point, and
more ruins, and so for more than a mile before we reached the town, which
commences at the last spur of the hills, and extends along the plain for
a mile and a half.

It is a long mass of one-story mud buildings, and the most miserable
place of its size that I have seen in Central Africa. There is no
bazaar, but an open market-place, where the people sit on the ground
and sell their produce, consisting of dourra, butter, dates, onions,
tobacco and a few grass mats. There may be a mosque in the place, but in
the course of my ramble through the streets, I saw nothing that looked
like one. Half the houses appeared to be uninhabited, and the natives
were a hideous mixture of the red tribes of Màhass and Shygheea and the
negro races of Soudân. A few people were moving lazily through the dusty
and filthy lanes, but the greater portion were sitting in the earth, on
the shady side of the houses. In one of the streets I was taken for the
Medical Inspector of the town, a part of whose business it is to see that
it is kept free from filth. Two women came hastily out of the houses and
began sweeping vigorously, saying to me as I came up: “You see, we are
sweeping very clean.” It would have been much more agreeable to me, had
the true Inspector gone his rounds the day before. El Metemma and Shendy
are probably the most immoral towns in all Central Africa. The people
informed me that it was a regular business for persons to buy female
slaves, and hire them for the purpose of prostitution, all the money
received in this vile way going into the owner’s pocket.

I was occupied the rest of the day and the next morning in procuring
and filling additional water-skins, and preparing to cross the Beyooda.
Achmet had a quantity of bread baked, for the journey would occupy seven
or eight days, and there was no possibility of procuring provisions on
the road. Mohammed did not make his appearance at the appointed time,
and I determined to start without him, my caravan being increased by a
Dongolese merchant, and a poor Shygheean, whose only property was a
club and a wooden bowl, and who asked leave to help tend the camels for
the sake of food and water on the way. All of the Beyooda, which term
is applied to the broad desert region west of the Nile and extending
southward from Nubia to Kordofan and Dar-Fūr, is infested with marauding
tribes of Arabs, and though at present their depredations are less
frequent than formerly, still, from the total absence of all protection,
the traveller is exposed to considerable risk. For this reason, it is
not usual to find small parties traversing this route, as in the Nubian
Desert.

I added to my supplies a fat sheep, a water-skin filled with mareesa,
a sheaf of raw onions (which are a great luxury in the Desert), and
as many fowls as could be procured in El Metemma. Just as we were
loading the camels, who should come up but Beshir and two or three more
of the Mahassee sailors, who had formed part of my crew from Berber
to Khartoum. They came up and kissed my hand, exclaiming: “May God
prosper you, O Effendi!” They immediately set about helping to load the
camels, giving us, meanwhile, news of every thing that had happened.
Beshir’s countenance fell when I asked him about his Metemma sweetheart,
Gammerò-Betahadjerò; she had proved faithless to him. The _America_ was
again on her way from Berber to Khartoum, with a company of merchants.
The old slave, Bakhita, unable to bear the imputation of being a hundred
and fifty years old, had run away from the vessel. When the camels were
loaded and we were ready to mount, I gave the sailors a few piastres to
buy mareesa and sent them away rejoicing.

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE BEYOODA DESERT.

“He sees the red sirocco wheeling
Its sandy columns o’er the waste,
And streams through palmy valleys stealing,
Where the plumed ostrich speeds in haste.”—FREILIGRATH.

We left El Metemma at noon, on the tenth of February. Crossing the low
ridge of red sand, at the foot of which the town is built, the wind came
fresh to meet us, across the long, level savanna of yellow grass and
shrubs which stretched away to the west and north, without a bound. The
prospect was exhilarating, after the continual hem of thorns, which had
lined our road from Khartoum. It was a great relief to turn the eye from
the bare, scorching mud walls of the town, to the freshness and freedom
of the Desert. I took a last look at the wheat-fields of the Nile, and
then turned my face northward, towards the point where I expected to
meet his current again. The plain was very level, and the road excellent
for our camels. In places where there was a slight depression of the
soil, a long, slender species of grass grew in thick tufts, affording
nourishment to the herds of the wandering Arab tribes. There were also
narrow belts of white thorn and a curious shrub, with leaves resembling
the jasmine. In two hours we reached a well, where some Kababish were
drawing water for their goats and asses. It was about twenty feet deep,
and the water was drawn in skins let down with ropes. We kept on until
sunset, when we encamped in an open, gravelly space, surrounded with
patches of grass, on which the camels browsed. The hot weather of the
past two or three days had called into life a multitude of winged and
creeping insects, and they assailed me on all sides.

The next morning, after travelling more than two hours over the plain, we
reached a series of low hills, or rather swells of the Desert, covered
with black gravel and fragments of porphyritic rock. They appeared to be
outlying spurs of a mountain range which we saw to the north-west. From
the highest of them we saw before us a long, shallow valley, opening far
to the north-east. It was thickly covered with tufts of yellowish-green
grass, sprinkled with trees of various kinds. The merchant pointed out a
grove in the distance as the location of Bir Abou-leer, the first well on
the road. His sharp eye discerned a company of Arabs, who were encamped
near it, and who, seeing Achmet and myself in our Turkish dresses, were
preparing to fly. He urged his dromedary into a fast trot and rode ahead
to reassure them. They were a tall, wild-looking people, very scantily
dressed; the men had long black hair, moustaches and beards, and carried
spears in their hands. They looked at us with suspicion, but did not
refuse the customary “hab-bab-ba!” The wells were merely pits, not more
than four or five feet deep, dug in the clayey soil, and containing at
the bottom a constant supply of cool, sweet water. We watered our camels
in basins scooped for that purpose in the earth, and then took breakfast
under the thorns. Among the trees in the wady was one resembling the
nebbuk in foliage, and with a fruit similar in appearance, but larger and
of different flavor. The Arabs called it _laloom_, and gathered some of
the fruit for me to taste. It has a thin, brittle outer rind, containing
a hard stone, covered with a layer of gummy paste, most intensely sweet
and bitter in the mouth. It has precisely the flavor of the medicine
known to children as Hive Syrup.

We resumed our course along the wady, nearly to its termination at the
foot of the mountains, when the road turned to the right over another
succession of hard, gravelly ridges, flanked on the west by hills of
coal-black porphyry. During the afternoon the wind was sometimes as hot
as a furnace-blast, and I felt my very blood drying up in its intensity.
I had no means of ascertaining the temperature, but it could not have
been less than 105°. Nevertheless, the sky was so clear and blue, the
sunshine so perfect, and the Desert so inspiring that I was in the most
exulting mood. In fact, the powerful dry heat of the air produced upon me
a bracing effect, similar to that of sharp cold. It gave me a sensation
of fierce, savage vigor, and I longed for an Arab lance and the fleet
hoofs of the red stallion I had left in Khartoum. At times the burning
blasts were flavored with a strong aromatic odor, like that of dried
lavender, which was as stimulating to the lungs as herb-tea to the
stomach. Our provisions soon felt the effects of this continual dry heat.
Dates became as pebbles of jasper, and when I asked my servant for bread,
he gave me a stone.

As we were journeying along over the plain, we spied a man on a camel
trotting behind us, and in half an hour, lo! Mohammed the guide. The old
scamp came up with a younger brother behind him, whom he had brought
without asking permission, and without bringing food for him. This made
eight persons I was obliged to feed, and as our bread and meat were only
calculated for six, I put them on allowance. Mohammed had his hair newly
plaited and covered with a layer of mutton-fat, a quarter of an inch
thick. I saw very little of the vaunted temperance of the Arabs. True,
they will live on dates—when they can get nothing else; and they will go
without water for a day—when they have none. I found a quart of water
daily amply sufficient for my own needs, notwithstanding the great heat
we endured; but I do not think one of the men drank less than a gallon in
the same time, and as for their eating, Achmet frequently declared that
they would finish a whole sheep before getting to “el hamdu lillàh!”—the
usual Arabic grace after meat.

Towards sunset we reached an open space of ground which had not been
touched since the rains of the previous summer. The soil had been washed
smooth and then dried away in the sun, leaving a thin, cracked crust,
like that which frequently forms after a light snow-fall. Our camel’s
feet broke through at every step, making the only trails which crossed
it, except those of gazelles and vultures. Achmet was about to pitch my
tent near some snaky-looking holes, but I had it moved to a clearer spot.
I slept without interruption, but in the morning, as he was about to
roll up my mattrass, he suddenly let it drop and rushed out of the tent,
exclaiming: “Oh master, come out! come out! There is a great snake in
your bed!” I looked, and truly enough, there was an ugly spotted reptile
coiled up on the straw matting. The men heard the alarm, and my servant
Ali immediately came running up with a club. As he was afraid to enter
the tent, he threw it to me, and with one blow I put the snake beyond the
power of doing harm. It was not more than two feet long, but thick and
club-shaped, and with a back covered with green, brown and yellow scales,
very hard and bright. The Arabs, who by this time had come to the rescue,
said it was a most venomous creature, its bite causing instant death.
“_Allah kereem!_” (God is merciful!) I exclaimed, and they all heartily
responded: “God be praised!” They said that the occurrence denoted long
life to me. Although no birds were to be seen at the time, not ten
minutes had elapsed before two large crows appeared in the air. After
wheeling over us once or twice, they alighted near the snake. At first,
they walked around it at a distance, occasionally exchanging glances, and
turning up their heads in a shrewd manner, which plainly said: “No you
don’t, old fellow! want to make us believe you’re dead, do you?” They
bantered each other to take hold of it first, and at last the boldest
seized it suddenly by the tail, jumped backward two or three feet and
then let it fall. He looked at the other, as much as to say: “If he’s not
dead, it’s a capital sham!” The other made a similar essay, after which
they alternately dragged and shook it, and consulted some time, before
they agreed that it was actually dead. One of them then took it by the
tail and sailed off through the air, its scales glittering in the sun as
it dangled downward.

On the third day we left the plain and entered on a region of black,
stony ridges, with grass and thorns in the long hollows between them. The
sky was so clear that the moon (in her last quarter) was visible until
nearly noon. About ten o’clock, from one of the porphyry hills, I caught
sight of Djebel Attshàn, or the Mountain of Thirst, which crosses the
middle of the Beyooda. It was in the north and north-west, apparently
about thirty miles distant. During the morning I saw four beautiful
gazelles, not more than a stone’s throw distant. One of them was lame,
which induced me to believe that I could catch it. I got down from my
camel and crept stealthily to the crest of the ridge, but when I looked
down the other side, no gazelle was to be seen. Half a dozen narrow
gullies branched away among the loose mounds of stones, and further
search would have been useless.

At noon we reached another and different region. The grass and thorns
disappeared, and the swells of black gravel gave place to long drifts of
bright yellow sand which extended on all sides as far as the eye could
reach. We toiled on, over drift after drift, but there was still the
same dreary yellow waste, whitening in the distance under the glare of
the sun. At first, the air was so tremulous with the radiated heat, that
the whole landscape glittered and wavered like the sea, and the brain
became giddy from gazing on its unsteady lines. But as the wind began
to blow more violently, this disappeared. The sky then became obscured
nearly to the zenith, with a dull purple haze, arising from the myriads
of fine grains of sand with which the air was filled. The sun became
invisible, although there were no clouds in the sky, and we seemed to be
journeying under a firmament of rusty copper. The drifts were constantly
forming and changing shape, and the sand vibrated along their edges or
scudded in swift ripples over the plain, with that dry, sharp sound one
hears in winter, when the “North-wind’s masonry” is going on. The air
was withering in its fierce heat and occasioned intense thirst, which,
fortunately, we were able to relieve. The storm grew more violent and
the burning labyrinths of sand more intricate, as we advanced. The path
was hidden under drifts five or six feet in height, and the tall yellow
walls were creeping every minute nearer, to cover it completely. The
piles of stones, however, which the Arabs have made on the tops of the
ridges and replace as often as they are thrown down, guided us, and after
three hours and a half in a spot which might serve as the fourth circle
of Dante’s Hell, we emerged on the open plain and saw again the Mountain
of Thirst, which had been hidden all this time. The camels, which were
restless and uneasy in the sand, now walked more cheerily. The sun came
out again, but the sky still retained its lurid purple hue. We all drank
deeply of the brown leathery contents of our water-skins and pushed
steadily onward till camping-time, at sunset. While the storm lasted,
the Arabs crouched close under the flanks of the camels and sheltered
themselves from the sand. Achmet and the Dongolese merchant unrolled
their turbans and muffled them around their faces, but on following their
example I experienced such a stifling sensation of heat that I at once
desisted, and rode with my head exposed as usual.

We halted in a meadow-like hollow, full of abundant grass, in which the
weary camels made amends for their hardships. The wind howled so fiercely
around my tent that I went to sleep expecting to have it blown about my
ears before morning. Djebel Attshàn was dimly visible in the starlight,
and we saw the light of fires kindled by the Arabs who live at the wells
of Djeekdud. Saïd was anxious to go on to the wells and have a carouse
with the natives, and when I refused threatened to leave me and go on
alone to Merawe. “Go!” said I, “just as soon as you like”—but this was
the very thing he did not want. The heat which I had absorbed through the
day began to ooze out again as the temperature of the air fell, and my
body glowed until midnight like a mass of molten metal. On lifting up my
blanket, that night, a large scorpion tumbled out, but scampered away so
quickly that we could not kill him.

We were up betimes the next morning, and off for Bir Djeekdud. At ten
o’clock we entered a wide valley extending to the southern base of
the mountains. It was quite overgrown with bushy tufts of grass and
scattering clumps of trees. Herds of goats and sheep, with a few camels
and donkeys, were browsing over its surface, and I saw the Arab herdsmen
at a distance. The wells lie in a narrow wady, shut in by the mountains,
about two miles east of the caravan track. We therefore halted in the
shade of a spreading mimosa, and sent Saïd and the guide’s brother with
the water-skins. I took my breakfast leisurely, and was lying on my back,
half lulled to sleep by the singing of the wind, when the Dongolese
arrived. He gave us to drink from his fresh supply of water, and informed
us that the wells in the valley were not good, but that there was a
deposit in the rocks above, which was pure and sweet. I therefore sent
Ali off in all haste on one of my dromedaries, to have my skins filled
from the latter place, which occasioned a further delay of two hours. An
Arab family of the small Saūrat tribe, which inhabits that region, was
encamped at a little distance, but did not venture to approach.

Ali described the well as a vast natural hollow in the porphyry rock, in
the centre of a basin, or valley, near the top of the mountain. The water
is held as in a tank; it is from twenty to thirty feet deep, and as clear
as crystal. The taste is deliciously pure and fresh. If I had known this
in time, I should have visited the place. The valley of Djeekdud is about
two miles broad, inclosed on the north by the dark-red porphyry rocks of
the Mountain of Thirst, and on the south by a smaller group of similar
formation. It is crossed in two places by broad strata of red granite. As
water can readily be obtained in any part of it by digging, the whole of
it is capable of cultivation.

Leaving our halting place, we journeyed westward through a gate of the
mountains into a broader valley, where numerous herds of sheep were
feeding. I saw but few Arabs, and those were mostly children, who had
charge of the herds. The tribe resides principally in the mountains, on
account of greater security against the attacks of enemies. The afternoon
was hot like all preceding ones, and my Arabs drank immense quantities
of water. We kept on our course until five o’clock, when we encamped
opposite a broad valley, which broke into the mountains at right angles
to their course. It was a wild spot, and the landscape, barren as it was,
possessed much natural beauty. During the afternoon we left the high road
to Ambukol, and took a branch track leading to Merawe, which lay more to
the northward.

The next morning, after skirting the porphyry range for several hours,
we entered a narrow valley leading into its depths. The way was stony and
rough, and we travelled for three hours, constantly ascending, up the dry
bed of a summer stream. The mountains rose a thousand feet above us in
some places. Near the entrance of the valley, we passed an Arab watering
a large flock of sheep at a pool of green water which lay in a hollow of
the rocks. After ascending the pass for nearly four hours, we crossed
the summit ridge and entered on a high table-land, eight or ten miles in
length and entirely surrounded by branches of the mountain chain. The
plain was thinly covered with grass, mimosas and nebbuk, among which a
single camel was browsing. At night we reached the opposite side, and
encamped at the foot of a lofty black spur of the mountains, not far from
a well which Mohammed called Bir Abou-Seray.

During the night I was troubled with a heavy feeling in the head,
and found it almost impossible to sleep. I arose with a sensation of
giddiness, which continued all day. At times I found it very difficult
to maintain my seat on the dromedary. It required a great effort to keep
my eyes open, as the sunshine increased the symptoms. This condition
affected my mind in a singular manner. Past scenes in my life revived,
with so strong an impression of reality, that I no longer knew where I
was. The hot, yellow landscape around me, was a dream; the cries of my
camel-drivers were fantastic sounds which my imagination had conjured
up. After a most bewildering and fatiguing day, I drank several cups
of strong tea, rolled myself in a thick cotton quilt, and sweat to
distraction until morning. The moisture I lost relieved my head, as a
shower clears a sultry sky, and the symptoms gradually left me. Whether
they were caused by breathing a more rarefied atmosphere,—for the plain
was nearly fifteen hundred feet above the Nile level—in a heat more than
usually intense, or by an attack of that malady which Richardson aptly
calls the “intoxication of the Desert,” I cannot decide.

After leaving Bir Abou-Seray, we continued our slow descent of the
northern side of the mountain range, by a winding valley, following
the dry bed of a summer river. The mountains were a thousand feet
high and linked in regular ranges, which had a general north-east and
south-west direction. The landscapes of the day were all exceedingly
wild and picturesque. The vegetation was abundant along the banks of
the river-bed, the doum-palm appearing occasionally among the groves of
thorn and nebbuk. In some places the river had washed the bases of the
mountains and laid bare their huge strata of rock, whose round black
masses glittered in the sunshine, showing the gradual polish of the
waves. Towards noon the pass enlarged into a broad plain, six miles
in diameter, and entirely bounded by mountains. To the north-east it
opened into another and larger plain, across whose blue surface rose the
pyramidal peaks of a higher mountain chain than I had yet seen. Some
of them were upwards of two thousand feet in height. The scenery here
was truly grand and imposing. Beyond the plain we passed into a broader
valley, girdled by lower hills. The river-bed, which we crossed from time
to time, increased in breadth and showed a more dense vegetation on its
banks. We expected to have reached another well, but there was no sign of
it at sunset, and as I had already found that my guide, Mohammed, knew
nothing of the road, I encamped at once.

We arose by daybreak, hoping to reach the Nile. After somewhat more than
two hours’ journey, we met a caravan of about three hundred camels, laden
with bales of cotton drillings, for the clothing of the new regiments of
soldiers then being raised in Soudân. The foremost camels were a mile
from Bir Khannik, while the hindmost were still drinking at the well. The
caravan had Kababish drivers and guides—wild, long-haired, half-naked
Arabs, with spears in their hands and shields of hippopotamus hide on
their shoulders. They told us we were still a day and a half from Merawe.
We rode on to the well, which was an immense pit, dug in the open plain.
It was about fifty feet deep, and the Arabs were obliged to draw the
water in skins let down with ropes. The top curved into the well like a
shallow bowl, from the earth continually crumbling down, and the mouth of
the shaft was protected by trunks of trees, on which the men stood while
they drew the water. Around the top were shallow basins lined with clay,
out of which the camels drank. The fierce Kababish were shouting and
gesticulating on all sides as we rode up—some leading the camels to kneel
and drink, some holding the water-skins, and others brandishing their
spears and swords in angry contention. Under the hot sun, on the sandy
plain, it was a picture truly mid-African in all its features. The water
had an insipid, brackish taste, and I was very glad that I had prevented
my Arabs from drinking all we had brought from the porphyry fountain of
Djeekdud. We watered our camels, however, which detained us long enough
to see a fight between two of the Kababish guides. There were so many
persons to interfere that neither could injure the other, but the whole
group of actors and sympathizers struggling on the brink of the well,
came near being precipitated to the bottom.

Our road now turned to the north, through a gap in the low hills and
over a tract of burnt, barren, rolling wastes of white sand and gravel.
Towards evening we came again to the river-bed, here broad and shallow.
This part of the Desert is inhabited by the Saūrat and Huni tribes, and
we saw large herds of sheep and goats wherever the halfeh grass abounded.
At sunset there were no signs of the Nile, so I had the tent pitched in
the middle of the dry river-channel. In front of us, on a low mound, the
red walls of a ruined building shone in the last rays of the sun.

The next day—the eighth since leaving El Metemma—was intensely hot and
sultry, without a breath of air stirring. While walking towards the
ruins, I came upon two herds of gazelles, so tame that I approached
within thirty yards, and could plainly see the expression of surprise
and curiosity in their dark eyes. When I came too near, they would
bleat like lambs, bound away a little distance and then stop again. The
building, which stood on the stony slope of a hill, was surrounded with
loose walls, in a dilapidated condition. The foundation, rising about
six feet above the earth, is stone, above which the walls are of brick,
covered with a thin coating of cement. The building is about eighty feet
in length by forty in breadth, but the walls which remain are not more
than twenty feet high. It is believed to have been an ancient Coptic
monastery, and probably dates from the earlier ages of Christianity. The
ruins of other houses, built of loose stones, surround the principal
edifice, which was undoubtedly a church and the ground around is strewn
with fragments of burnt brick and pottery. There is a churchyard near at
hand, with tombstones which contain inscriptions both in Greek and Coptic.

We rode slowly down the broad river-bed, which gradually widened, and
after two or three hours saw far in advance a line of red, glowing
sand-hills, which I knew could not be on the southern side of the Nile.
Still we went on, under the clear, hot sky, the valley widening into a
plain the while, and I sought anxiously for some sign that the weary
Desert was crossed. Finally, I saw, above the endless clusters of thorns,
a line of darker, richer green, far away in the burning distance, and
knew it to be a grove of date-palms—the glorious signal of the Nile.
This put new life into me, and thenceforth I felt the scorching heat no
longer. To the north, beyond the palms, appeared an isolated mountain of
singular form—the summit being flat and the sides almost perpendicular.
It must be Djebel Berkel, I thought, and I told Mohammed so, but he said
it was not. Just then, I saw an Arab herdsman among the thorns and called
out to him to know the name of the mountain. “Djebel Berkel,” said he.
He then accosted Mohammed: “Where are you going?” “To Merawe.” “Are you
the guide?” he again inquired, bursting into a loud laugh. “You are a
fine guide; there is Merawe!” pointing in a direction very different from
that we were going. This completed the old fellow’s discomfiture. We were
still five or six miles distant from the river and took a random path
over the plain, in the direction indicated by the herdsman. The palms
rose higher and showed a richer foliage; mud walls appeared in their
shade, and a tall minaret on the opposite bank of the river pointed out
the location of the town. I rode down out of the drear, hot sand—the
sea where I had been drifting for seven wearisome days—to the little
village of Abdôm, embowered in a paradise of green; palms above, dazzling
wheat-fields, dark cotton-fields and blossoming beans below. A blessed
resting-place!

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THREE DAYS AT NAPATA.

“Under the palm-trees by the river’s side.”—KEATS.

Abdôm, the friendly haven into which I had drifted after an eight days’
voyage in the fiery sea of the Desert, is a village on the eastern bank
of the Nile, which, after passing Abou-Hammed, flows to the south-west
and south until it reaches the frontier of Dongola. On the opposite
bank is Merawe, the former capital of Dar Shygheea, which must not be
confounded with the ancient Meroë, the ruins of which, near Shendy, I
have already described. True, the identity of the names at first deceived
antiquarians, who supposed the temples and pyramids in this neighborhood
to have belonged to the capital of the old Hierarchy of Meroë; but it is
now satisfactorily established that they mark the site of Napata, the
capital of Ethiopia up to the time of the Cæsars. It was the limit of
the celebrated expedition of the Roman soldiers, under Petronius. Djebel
Berkel, at whose base the principal remains are found, is in lat. 18°
35′, or thereabouts.

[Illustration: Shekh Abd e’-Djebàl.]

I was welcomed to Abdôm by the Shekh or holy man of the place, who met
me on the verge of the Desert, and conducted me to the best of his
two houses. Shekh Mohammed, Abd e’-Djebàl (Mohammed, the Slave of the
Mountains), was a dignified old man of sixty, with a gray beard and
brown complexion, and was the owner of a water-mill, several fields of
wheat and cotton, and an abundance of palm-trees. He had two wives,
each of whom, with her family, occupied a separate house—a great mark
of discretion on the part of Mohammed. Domestic quiet was thus secured
to him, while he possessed that in which the Arab most glories and
rejoices—a numerous family of children. His youngest wife, a woman of
thirty, immediately vacated the house on my arrival, and took up her
temporary residence in a tent of palm-matting, with her four children.
The dwelling into which I was ushered was a square structure of clay,
one story high, with one door and no windows. It had a flat roof of palm
logs, covered with thatch, and the inside walls were hung with large
mats, plaited with brilliantly-colored palm blades. Fancy vessels of
baked clay, baskets, ostrich eggs, and other ornaments were suspended
from the roof in slings of palm fibre, and a very large white mat covered
half the floor. Here my bed was laid, and my camp-stool, placed in front
of it, formed a table. The Shekh, who was with me nearly all the time of
my stay, sat on the floor in front of me, and never entered or departed
from the house, without saying “_Bismillàhi_” (“in the name of God”), as
he crossed the threshold. Outside of the door was a broad divan, running
along the north side of the house. It therefore pointed towards Mecca
and was a most agreeable praying-place for the holy man. On my arrival,
after first having taken a bath in the Nile, I sat there the rest of the
day, tasting the luxury of coolness and shade, and steeping my eyes in
the balm of refreshing colors. A clump of some twenty date-trees grew in
front of the door, throwing over us a gorgeous canopy of leaves. Fields
of wheat in head, waist-deep, surrounded the house, insulating it in a
sea of greenness, over which I saw the hills of the Desert, no longer
terrible, but soft and fair and far as clouds smouldering in the roseate
fires of an Eastern sunrise.

Very early the next morning the Shekh and his sons and their asses were
in readiness to accompany me to Djebel Berkel. We walked down between the
Shekh’s gardens to the Nile, where the ferry-boat was waiting to convey
us across. I was enchanted with the picture which the shores presented.
The air was filled with a light, silvery vapor (a characteristic of
sultry weather in Africa), softening the deep, rich color of the
landscape. The eastern bank was one bower of palms, standing motionless,
in perfect groups, above the long, sloping banks of beans in blossom.
Such grace and glory, such silence and repose, I thought I had never
before seen in the vegetable world. Opposite, the ruined palaces of the
old Shygheean Kings and the mud and stone hovels of modern Merawe rose
in picturesque piles above the river bank and below the red sandstone
bluffs of the Nubian Desert, which overhung them and poured the sand
through deep rents and fissures upon their very roofs. The mosque, with
a tall, circular minaret, stood embowered in a garden of date-palms,
under one of the highest bluffs. Up the river, which stretched glittering
into the distance, the forest of trees shut out the view of the Desert,
except Djebel Berkel, which stood high and grand above them, the
morning painting its surface with red lights and purple shadows. Over
the misty horizon of the river rose a single conical peak, far away.
The sky was a pale, sleepy blue, and all that I saw seemed beautiful
dream-pictures—every where grace, beauty, splendor of coloring, steeped
in Elysian repose. It is impossible to describe the glory of that passage
across the river. It paid me for all the hardships of the Desert.

When we touched the other shore and mounted the little donkeys we had
taken across with us, the ideal character of the scene disappeared, but
left a reality picturesque and poetic enough. The beasts were without
bridles, and were only furnished with small wooden saddles, without
girths or stirrups. One was obliged to keep his poise, and leave the rest
to the donkey, who, however, suffered himself to be guided by striking
the side of his neck. We rode under a cluster of ruined stone buildings,
one of which occupied considerable space, rising pylon-like, to the
height of thirty feet. The Shekh informed me that it had been the palace
of a Shygheean king, before the Turks got possession of the country. It
was wholly dilapidated, but a few Arab families were living in the stone
dwellings which surround it. These clusters of shattered buildings extend
for more than a mile along the river, and are all now known as Merawe.
Our road led between fields of ripening wheat, rolling in green billows
before the breeze, on one side, and on the other, not more than three
yards distant, the naked sandstone walls of the Desert, where a blade of
grass never grew. Over the wheat, along the bank of the Nile, rose a long
forest of palms, so thickly ranged that the eye could scarcely penetrate
their dense, cool shade; while on the other hand the glaring sand-hills
showed their burning shoulders above the bluffs. It was a most violent
contrast, and yet, withal, there was a certain harmony in these opposite
features. A remarkably fat man, riding on a donkey, met us. The Shekh
compared him to a hippopotamus, and said that his fat came from eating
mutton and drinking _om bilbil_ day and night. At the end of the town we
came to a sort of guard-house, shaded by two sycamores. A single soldier
was in attendance, and apparently tired of having nothing to do, as he
immediately caught his donkey and rode with us to Djebel Berkel.

We now approached the mountain, which is between three and four miles
from the town. It rises from out the sands of the Nubian Desert, to the
height of five hundred feet, presenting a front completely perpendicular
towards the river. It is inaccessible on all sides except the north,
which in one place has an inclination of 45°. Its scarred and shattered
walls of naked sandstone stand up stern and sublime in the midst of
the hot and languid landscape. As we approached, a group of pyramids
appeared on the brow of a sand-hill to the left, and I discerned at the
base of the mountain several isolated pillars, the stone-piles of ruined
pylons, and other remains of temples. The first we reached was at the
south-eastern corner of the mountain. Amid heaps of sandstone blocks and
disjointed segments of pillars, five columns of an exceedingly old form
still point out the court of a temple, whose adyta are hewn within in the
mountain. They are not more than ten feet high and three in diameter,
circular, and without capital or abacus, unless a larger block, rudely
sculptured with the outlines of a Typhon-head, may be considered as such.
The doorway is hurled down and defaced, but the cartouches of kings
may still be traced on the fragments. There are three chambers in the
rock, the walls of which are covered with sculptures, for the most part
representing the Egyptian divinities. The temple was probably dedicated
to Typhon, or the Evil Principle, as one of the columns is still faced
with a caryatid of the short, plump, big-mouthed and bat-eared figure,
which elsewhere represents him. Over the entrance is the sacred winged
globe, and the ceiling shows the marks of brilliant coloring. The temple
is not remarkable for its architecture, and can only be interesting in an
antiquarian point of view. It bears some resemblance in its general style
to the Temple-palace of Goorneh, at Thebes.

The eastern base of the mountain, which fronts the Nile, is strewn with
hewn blocks, fragments of capitals, immense masses of dark bluish-gray
granite, and other remains, which prove that a large and magnificent
temple once stood there. The excavations made by Lepsius and others have
uncovered the substructions sufficiently to show the general plan of
two buildings. The main temple was at the north-eastern corner of the
mountain, under the highest point of its perpendicular crags. The remains
of its small propylons stand in advance, about two hundred yards from the
rock, going towards which you climb the mound formed by the ruins of a
large pylon, at the foot of which are two colossal ram-headed sphinxes of
blue granite, buried to their necks in the sand. Beyond this is a portico
and pillared court, followed by other courts and labyrinths of chambers.
Several large blocks of granite, all more or less broken and defaced, lie
on the surface or half quarried from the rubbish. They are very finely
polished and contain figures of kings, evidently arranged in genealogical
order, each accompanied with his name. The shekh had a great deal to tell
me of the Franks, who dug up all the place, and set the people to work
at hauling away the lions and rams, which they carried off in ships. I
looked in vain for the celebrated pedestal; it has probably become the
spoil of Lepsius.

While taking a sketch of the mountain from the eastern side, I found the
heat almost insupportable. The shekh looked over my shoulder all the
time, and at the end pronounced it _temam_—“perfect.” I then proposed
climbing the mountain, as he had said one could see the whole world from
the top. He was bound to go with me wherever I went, but shrank from
climbing El Berkel. It would require two hours, he said, to go up. After
eating a slice of watermelon in the shade of one of the pillars, I took
off my jacket and started alone, and very soon he was at my side, panting
and sweating with the exertion. We began at the point most easy of ascent
yet found it toilsome enough. After passing the loose fragments which lie
scattered around the base, we came upon a steep slope of sliding sand
and stones, blown from the desert We sank in this nearly to the knees,
and slid backward at each step at least half as far as we had stepped
forward. We were obliged to rest every three or four steps, and take
breath, moistening the sand meanwhile with a rain of sweat-drops, “Surely
there is no other mountain in the world so high as this,” said the shekh,
and I was ready to agree with him. At last we reached the top, a nearly
level space of about ten acres. There was a pleasant breeze here, but the
Ethiopian world below was dozing in an atmosphere of blue heat. There was
too much vapor in the air to see the farthest objects distinctly, and the
pyramids of Noori, further up the river, on its eastern bank, were not
visible. The Nile lay curved in the middle of the picture like a flood
of molten glass, on either side its palmy “knots of paradise,” then the
wheat fields, lying like slabs of emerald against the tawny sands, that
rolled in hot drifts and waves and long ridgy swells to the horizon north
and south, broken here and there by the jagged porphyry peaks. Before me,
to the south-east, were the rugged hills of the Beyooda; behind me, to
the north and west, the burning wilderness of the Great Nubian Desert.

As I sought for my glass, to see the view more distinctly, I became aware
that I had lost my pocket-book on the way up. As it contained some money
and all my keys, I was not a little troubled, and mentioned my loss to
Shekh Mohammed. We immediately returned in search of it, sliding down the
sand and feeling with our hands and feet therein. We had made more than
half the descent, and I began to consider the search hopeless, when the
shekh, who was a little in advance, cried out: “O Sidi! God be praised!
God be praised!” He saw the corner sticking out of the sand, took it up,
kissed it, and laid it on one eye, while he knelt with his old head
turned up, that I might take it off. I tied it securely in a corner of
my shawl and we slid to the bottom, where we found Achmet and the young
shekhs in the shade of a huge projecting cliff, with breakfast spread out
on the sand.

It was now noon, and only the pyramids remained to be seen on that
side of the river. The main group is about a third of a mile from the
mountain, on the ridge of a sand-hill. There are six pyramids, nearly
entire, and the foundations of others. They are almost precisely similar
to those of the real Meroë, each having a small exterior chamber on the
eastern side. Like the latter, they are built of sandstone blocks, only
filled at the corners, which are covered with a hem or moulding; the
sides of two of them are convex. On all of them the last eight or ten
courses next the top have been smoothed to follow the slope of the side.
It was no doubt intended to finish them all in this manner. One of them
has also the corner moulding rounded, so as to form a scroll, like that
on the cornice of many of the Egyptian temples. They are not more than
fifty feet in height, with very narrow bases. One of them, indeed, seems
to be the connecting link between the pyramid and the obelisk. Nearer the
river is an older pyramid, though no regular courses of stone are to be
seen any longer. These sepulchral remains, however, are much inferior to
those of Meroë.

The oldest names found at Napata are those of Amenoph III. and Remeses
II. (1630 B. C. and 1400 B. C.) both of whom subjected Nubia to their
rule. The remains of Ethiopian art, however, go no further than King
Tirkaka, 730 B. C.—the Ethiopian monarch, who, in the time of Hezekiah,
marched into Palestine to meet Sennacherib, King of Assyria. Napata,
therefore, occupies an intermediate place in history between Thebes
and Meroë, showing the gradual southward progress of Egyptian art and
civilization. It is a curious fact that the old religion of Egypt should
have been here met face to face, and overthrown, by Christianity, which,
starting in the mountains of Abyssinia, followed the course of the Nile
northward. In the sixth century of our era, Ethiopia and Nubia were
converted to Christianity and remained thus until the fourteenth century,
when they fell beneath the sword of Islam.

We rode back to the town on our uneasy donkey saddles. As I wanted small
money, the shekh proposed my calling on Achmedar Kashif, the Governor
of Merawe and Ambukol, and asking him to change me some _medjids_. We
accordingly rode under the imposing stone piles of the old kings to the
residence of the Kashif, a two-story mud house with a portico in front,
covered with matting. It was the day for the people of the neighborhood
to pay their _tulbeh_, or tax, and some of his officers were seated on
the ground in the shade, settling this business with a crowd of Arabs.
I went up stairs to the divan, and found the Kashif rolling himself in
his shawl for dinner, which his slaves had just brought up. He received
me cordially, and I took my seat beside him on the floor and dipped my
fingers into the various dishes. There was a pan of baked fish, which was
excellent, after which came a tray of scarlet watermelon slices, coffee,
pipes, and lastly a cup of hot sugar syrup. He readily promised to change
me the money, and afterwards accepted my invitation to dinner.

I stayed an hour longer, and had an opportunity of witnessing some
remarkable scenes. A woman came in to complain of her husband, who had
married another woman, leaving her with one child. She had a cow of her
own which he had forcibly taken and given to his new wife. The Kashif
listened to her story, and then detaching his seal from his buttonhole,
gave it to an attendant, as a summons which the delinquent dare not
disobey. A company of men afterwards came to adjust some dispute about
a water-mill. They spoke so fast and in such a violent and excited
manner, that I could not comprehend the nature of the quarrel; but the
group they made was most remarkable. They leaned forward with flashing
teeth and eyes, holding the folds of their long mantles with one hand,
while they dashed and hurled the other in the air, in the violence of
their contention. One would suppose that they must all perish the next
instant by spontaneous combustion. The Kashif was calmness itself all
the while, and after getting the particulars—a feat which I considered
marvellous—quietly gave his decision. Some of the party protested against
it, whereupon he listened attentively, but, finding no reason to change
his judgment, repeated it. Still the Arabs screamed and gesticulated.
He ejaculated _imshee!_ (“get away!”) in a thundering tone, dealt the
nearest ones a vigorous blow with his fist, and speedily cleared the
divan. The Kashif offered to engage camels and a guide for New Dongola,
in case I chose to go by the Nubian Desert—a journey of three or four
days, through a terrible waste of sand and rocks, without grass or water.
The route being new, had some attractions, but I afterwards decided
to adhere to my original plan of following the course of the river to
Ambukol and Old Dongola.

I made preparations for giving the Kashif a handsome dinner. I had mutton
and fowls, and Achmet procured eggs milk and vegetables, and set his
whole available force to work. Meanwhile the shekh and I sat on the
divan outside the door, and exchanged compliments. He sold me a sword
from Bornou, which he had purchased from an Arab merchant who had worn
it to Mecca. He told me he considered me as his two eyes, and would give
me one of his sons, if I desired. Then he rendered me an account of his
family, occasionally pointing out the members thereof, as they passed
to and fro among the palms. He asked me how many children I had, and
I was obliged to confess myself wholly his inferior in this respect.
“God grant,” said he, “that when you go back to your own country, you
may have many sons, just like that one,” pointing to a naked Cupidon of
four years old, of a rich chocolate-brown color. “God grant it,” I was
obliged to reply, conformably to the rules of Arab politeness, but I
mentally gave the words the significance of “God forbid it!” The shekh,
who was actually quite familiar with the ruins in Ethiopia, and an
excellent guide to them, informed me that they were four thousand years
old; that the country was at that time in possession of the English, but
afterwards the Arabs drove them out. This corresponds with an idea very
prevalent in Egypt, that the temples were built by the forefathers of
the Frank travellers, who once lived there, and that is the reason why
the Franks make a _hadj_, or pilgrimage to see them. I related to the
shekh the history of the warlike Queen Candace, who once lived there, in
her capital of Napata, and he was so much interested in the story that
he wrote it down, transforming her name into _Kandasiyeh_. Some later
traveller will be surprised to find a tradition of the aforesaid queen,
no doubt with many grotesque embellishments, told him on the site of her
capital.

Dinner was ready at sunset, the appointed time, but the Kashif did
not come. I waited one hour, two hours; still he came not. Thereupon
I invited Achmet and the shekh, and we made an excellent dinner in
Turkish style. It was just over, and I was stretched out without jacket
or tarboosh, enjoying my pipe, when we heard the ferrymen singing on
the river below, and soon afterwards the Kashif appeared at the door.
He apologized, saying he had been occupied in his divan. I had dinner
served again, and tasted the dishes to encourage him, but it appeared
that he had not been able to keep his appetite so long, and had dined
also. Still, he ate enough to satisfy me that he relished my dishes,
and afterwards drank a sherbet of sugar and vinegar with great gusto.
He had three or four attendants, and with him came a Berber merchant,
who had lately been in Khartoum. I produced my sketch-book and maps,
and astonished the company for three hours. I happened to have a book
of Shaksperean views, which I had purchased in Stratford-on-Avon. The
picture of Shakspere gave the Kashif and shekh great delight, and the
former considered the hovel in which the poet was born, “very grand.” The
church in Stratford they thought a marvellous building, and the merchant
confessed that it was greater than Lattif Pasha’s palace in Khartoum,
which he had supposed to be the finest building in the world.

The next morning the shekh proposed going with me to the remains of a
temple, half an hour distant, on the eastern bank of the river; the
place, he said, where the people found the little images, agates and
scarabei, which they brought to me in great quantities. After walking a
mile and a half over the sands, which have here crowded the vegetation to
the very water’s edge, we came to a broad mound of stones, broken bricks
and pottery, with a foundation wall of heavy limestone blocks, along the
western side. There were traces of doors and niches, and on the summit of
the mound the pedestals of columns similar to those of El Berkel. From
this place commenced a waste of ruins, extending for nearly two miles
towards the north-west, while the breadth, from east to west, was about
equal. For the most part, the buildings were entirely concealed by the
sand, which was filled with fragments of pottery and glass, and with
shining pebbles of jasper, agate and chalcedony. Half a mile further, we
struck on another mound, of greater extent, though the buildings were
entirely level with the earth. The foundations of pillars were abundant,
and fragments of circular limestone blocks lay crumbling to pieces in
the rubbish. The most interesting object was a mutilated figure of blue
granite, of which only a huge pair of wings could be recognized. The
shekh said that all the Frank travellers who came there broke off a piece
and carried it away with them. I did not follow their example. Towards
the river were many remains of crude brick walls, and the ground was
strewn with pieces of excellent hard-burnt bricks. The sand evidently
conceals many interesting objects. I saw in one place, where it had
fallen in, the entrance to a chamber, wholly below the surface. The Arabs
were at work in various parts of the plain, digging up the sand, which
they filled in baskets and carried away on donkeys. The shekh said it
contained salt, and was very good to make wheat grow, whence I inferred
that the earth is nitrous. We walked for an hour or two over the ruins,
finding everywhere the evidence that a large capital had once stood on
the spot. The bits of water jars which we picked up were frequently
painted and glazed with much skill. The soil was in many places wholly
composed of the debris of the former dwellings. This was, without doubt,
the ancient Napata, of which Djebel Berkel was only the necropolis.
Napata must have been one of the greatest cities of Ancient Africa, after
Thebes, Memphis and Carthage. I felt a peculiar interest in wandering
over the site of that half-forgotten capital, whereof the ancient
historians knew little more than we. That so little is said by them in
relation to it is somewhat surprising, notwithstanding its distance from
the Roman frontier.

In the afternoon, Achmet, with great exertion, backed by all the
influence of the Kashif, succeeded in obtaining ten piastres worth of
bread. The latter sent me the shekh of the camels, who furnished me with
three animals and three men, to Wadi Halfa, at ninety-five piastres
apiece. They were to accompany my caravan to Ambukol, on the Dongolese
frontier where the camels from Khartoum were to be discharged. I spent
the rest of the day talking with the shekh on religious matters. He gave
me the history of Christ, in return for which I related to him that of
the Soul of Mahomet, from one hundred and ten thousand years before the
Creation of the World, until his birth, according to the Arab Chronicles.
This quite overcame him. He seized my hand and kissed it with fervor,
acknowledging me as the more holy man of the two. He said he had read the
Books of Moses, the Psalms of David and the Gospel of Christ, but liked
David best, whose words flowed like the sound of the _zumarra_, or Arab
flute. To illustrate it, he chanted one of the Psalms in a series of not
unmusical cadences. He then undertook to repeat the ninety attributes of
God, and thought he succeeded, but I noticed that several of the epithets
were repeated more than once.

The north wind increased during the afternoon, and towards night blew a
very gale. The sand came in through the door in such quantities that I
was obliged to move my bed to a more sheltered part of my house. Numbers
of huge black beetles, as hard and heavy as grape-shot, were dislodged
from their holes and dropped around me with such loud raps that I was
scarcely able to sleep. The sky was dull and dark, hardly a star to be
seen, and the wind roared in the palms like a November gale let loose
among the boughs of a Northern forest. It was a grand roar, drowning the
sharp rustle of the leaves when lightly stirred, and rocked my fancies
as gloriously as the pine. In another country than Africa, I should have
predicted rain, hail, equinoctial storms, or something of the kind, but
there I went to sleep with a positive certainty of sunshine on the morrow.

I was up at dawn, and had breakfast by sunrise; nevertheless, we were
obliged to wait a long while for the camels, or rather the pestiferous
Kababish who went after them. The new men and camels were in readiness,
as the camel-shekh came over the river to see that all was right. The
Kashif sent me a fine black ram, as provision for the journey. Finally,
towards eight o’clock, every thing was in order and my caravan began to
move. I felt real regret at leaving the pleasant spot, especially the
beautiful bower of palms at the door of my house. When my effects had
been taken out, the shekh called his eldest son Saad, his wife Fatima,
and their two young sons, to make their salaams. They all kissed my hand,
and I then gave the old man and Saad my backsheesh for their services.
The shekh took the two gold medjids readily, without any hypocritical
show of reluctance, and lifted my hand to his lips and forehead. When all
was ready, he repeated the _Fatha_, or opening paragraph of the Koran, as
each camel rose from its knees, in order to secure the blessing of Allah
upon our journey. He then took me in his arms, kissed both my cheeks, and
with tears in his eyes, stood showering pious phrases after me, till I
was out of hearing. With no more vanity or selfishness than is natural to
an Arab, Shekh Mohammed Abd e’-Djebàl had many excellent qualities, and
there are few of my Central African acquaintances whom I would rather see
again.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

OLD DONGOLA AND NEW DONGOLA.

I left Abdôm on the morning of February twentieth. Our road lay
southward, along the edge of the wheat-fields, over whose waves we saw
the island-like groups of palms at a little distance. For several miles
the bank of the river was covered with a continuous string of villages.
After skirting this glorious garden land for two hours, we crossed a
sandy tract, overgrown with the poisonous euphorbia, to avoid a curve in
the river. During the whole of the afternoon, we travelled along the edge
of the cultivated land, and sometimes in the midst of it, obliging my
camels to stumble clumsily over the raised trenches which carried water
from the river to the distant parts of the fields. Large, ruined forts of
unburnt brick, exceedingly picturesque at a distance, stood at intervals
between the desert and the harvest-land.

The next morning was hot and sultry, with not a breath of air stirring.
I rose at dawn and walked ahead for two hours, through thickets of
euphorbia higher than my head, and over patches of strong, dark-green
grass. The _sakias_ were groaning all along the shore, and the people
every where at work in the fields. The wheat was in various stages of
growth, from the first thick green of the young blades to the full head.
Barley was turning a pale yellow, and the dookhn, the heads of which had
already been gathered, stood brown and dry. Djebel Deeka, on my right,
rose bold and fair above the lines of palms, and showed a picturesque
glen winding in between its black-purple peaks. It was a fine feature of
the landscape, which would have been almost too soft and lovely without
it.

Before nine o’clock we passed the large town of Korti, which, however, is
rather a cluster of small towns, scattered along between the wheat-fields
and the river. Some of the houses were large and massive, and with their
blank walls and block-like groups, over which the doum-tree spread
its arch and the date-palm hung its feathery crown, made fine African
pictures—admirable types of the scenery along the Nubian Nile. Beyond the
town we came upon a hot, dusty plain, sprinkled with stunted euphorbia,
over which I could see the point where the Nile turns westward. Towards
noon we reached the town of Ambukol, which I found to be a large
agglomeration of mud and human beings, on the sand-hills, a quarter of
a mile from the river. An extensive pile of mud in the centre denoted a
fortress or government station of some sort. There were a few lazy Arabs
sitting on the ground, on the shady side of the walls, and some women
going back and forth with water-jars, but otherwise, for all the life
it presented, the place might have been deserted. The people we met
saluted me with much respect, and those who were seated rose and remained
standing until I had passed. I did not enter the town, but made direct
for a great acacia tree near its western end. The nine camels and nine
men of my caravan all rested under the shade, and there was room for as
many more. A number of Arabs looked on from a distance, or hailed my
camel-men, to satisfy their curiosity regarding me, but no one came near
or annoyed us in any way. I took breakfast leisurely on my carpet, drank
half a gourd of mareesa, and had still an hour to wait, before the new
camels were laden. The Kababish, who had accompanied me from Khartoum,
wanted a certificate, so I certified that Saïd was a good camel-man and
Mohammed worthless as a guide. They then drank a parting jar of mareesa,
and we went from under the cool acacia into the glare of the fierce sun.
Our road all the afternoon was in the Desert, and we were obliged to
endure a most intense and sultry heat.

The next day I travelled westward over long _akabas_, or reaches of the
Desert, covered with clumps of thorns, nebbuk and the jasmine tree. The
long mountain on the opposite bank was painted in rosy light against
the sky, as if touched with the beams of a perpetual sunrise. My eyes
always turned to it with a sense of refreshment, after the weary glare
of the sand. In the morning there was a brisk wind from the north-east,
but towards noon it veered to the south-west, and then to the south,
continuing to blow all day with great force. As I rode westward through
the hot hours of the afternoon, it played against my face like a sheet
of flame. The sky became obscured with a dull, bluish haze, and the
sands of the Beyooda, on my left, glimmered white and dim, as if swept by
the blast of a furnace. There were occasional gusts that made the flesh
shrink as if touched with a hot iron, and I found it impossible to bear
the wind full on my face. One who has never felt it, cannot conceive the
withering effect of such a heat. The earth seems swept with the first
fires of that conflagration beneath which the heavens will shrivel up as
a scroll, and you instinctively wonder to see the palms standing green
and unsinged. My camel-men crept behind the camels to get away from it,
and Achmet and Ali muffled up their faces completely. I could not endure
the sultry heat occasioned by such a preparation, and so rode all day
with my head in the fire.

About three o’clock in the afternoon we approached the Nile again. There
was a grove of sont and doum-trees on the bank, surrounding a large
quadrangular structure of clay, with square towers at the corners.
Graveyards stretched for nearly a mile along the edge of the Desert, and
six large, dome-like heaps of clay denoted the tombs of as many holy men.
We next came upon the ruins of a large village, with a fort and a heavy
palace-like building of mud. Before reaching Edabbe, the terminus of the
caravan route from Kordofan, the same evening, I rode completely around
the bend of the Nile, so that my dromedary’s head was at last turned
towards Wadi Halfa. I was hot, tired, and out of temper, but a gourd of
cool water, at the first house we reached, made all right again. There
were seven vessels in the river, waiting for the caravans. One had just
arrived from Kordofan, and the packages of gum were piled up along the
shore. We were immediately followed by the sailors, who were anxious
that I should hire their vessels. I rode past the town, which does not
contain more than thirty houses in all, and had my tent pitched on the
river bank.

The Nile is here half a mile broad, and a long reach of his current is
visible to the north and south. The opposite bank was high and steep,
lined at the water’s edge with a belt of beans and lupins, behind which
rose a line of palms, and still higher the hills of pale, golden-hued
sand, spotted like a leopard’s hide, with clumps of a small mimosa.
The ground was a clear, tawny yellow, but the spots were deep emerald.
Below the gorgeous drapery of these hills, the river glittered in a
dark, purple-blue sheet. The coloring of the mid-African landscapes is
truly unparalleled. To me, it became more than a simple sense; it grew
to be an appetite. When, after a journey in the Desert, I again beheld
the dazzling green palms and wheat-fields of the Nile, I imagined that
there was a positive sensation on the retina. I felt, or seemed to feel,
physically, the colored rays—beams of pure emerald, topaz and amethystine
lustre—as they struck the eye.

At Edabbe I first made acquaintance with a terrible pest, which for many
days afterwards occasioned me much torment—a small black fly, as venomous
as the musquito, and much more difficult to drive away. I sat during the
evening with my head, neck and ears closely bound up, notwithstanding the
heat. After the flies left, a multitude of beetles, moths, winged ants
and other nameless creatures came in their place. I sat and sweltered,
murmuring for the waters of Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, and
longing for a glass of sherbet cooled with the snows of Lebanon.

We were up with the first glimmering of dawn. The sky was dull and hazy,
and the sun came up like a shield of rusty copper, as we started. Our
path lay through the midst of the cultivated land, sometimes skirting
the banks of the Nile, and sometimes swerving off to the belts of sont
and euphorbia which shut out the sand. The sakias, turned by a yoke of
oxen each, were in motion on the river, and the men were wading through
the squares of wheat, cotton and barley, turning the water into them.
All farming processes, from sowing to reaping, were going on at the same
time. The cultivated land was frequently more than a mile in breadth,
and all watered from the river. The sakias are taxed four hundred and
seventy-five piastres each, notwithstanding the sum fixed by Government
is only three hundred. The remainder goes into the private treasuries
of the Governors. For this reason, many persons, unable to pay the tax,
emigrate into Kordofan and elsewhere. This may account for the frequent
tracts of the finest soil which are abandoned. I passed many fine fields,
given up to the halfeh grass, which grew most rank and abundant. My
dromedary had a rare time of it, cropping the juicy bunches as he went
along. The country is thickly settled, and our road was animated with
natives, passing back and forth.

About noon, we saw in advance, on the eastern bank of the Nile, a bold,
bluff ridge, crowned with a large square building. This the people
pointed out to us as the location of Old Dongola. As we approached
nearer, a long line of mud buildings appeared along the brow of the hill,
whose northern slope was cumbered with ruins. We left the caravan track
and rode down to the ferry place at the river, over a long stretch of
abandoned fields, where the cotton was almost choked out with grass, and
the beans and lentils were growing wild in bunches. After my tent had
been pitched in a cotton-patch, I took a grateful bath in the river, and
then crossed in the ferry-boat to the old town. The hill upon which it is
built terminates abruptly in a precipice of red sandstone rock, about a
hundred feet in height. Four enormous fragments have been broken off, and
lie as they fell, on the edge of the water. A steep path through drifts
of sliding yellow sand leads around the cliffs, up to the dwellings. I
found the ascent laborious, as the wind, which had veered to the west,
was as hot as on the previous day; but a boatman and one of my camel-men
seized a hand each and hauled me up most conveniently. At the summit, all
was ruin; interminable lines of walls broken down, and streets filled
up with sand. I went first to the Kasr, or Palace, which stands on the
highest part of the hill. It is about forty feet in height, having two
stories and a broad foundation wall, and is built mostly of burnt brick
and sandstone. It is the palace of the former Dongolese Kings, and a more
imposing building than one would expect to find in such a place. Near
the entrance is an arched passage, leading down to some subterranean
chambers, which I did not explore. It needed something more than the
assurance of an old Nubian, however, to convince me that there was an
underground passage from this place to Djebel Berkel. A broad flight of
stone steps ascended to the second story, in which are many chambers and
passages. The walls are covered with Arabic inscriptions, written in the
plaster while it was yet moist. The hall of audience had once a pavement
of marble, several blocks of which still remain, and the ceiling is
supported in the centre by three shafts of granite, taken from some old
Egyptian ruin. The floors are covered with tiles of burnt brick, but the
palm-logs which support them have given away in many places, rendering
one’s footing insecure. Behind the hall of audience is a passage, with a
niche, in each side of which is also an ancient pillar of granite. From
the tenor of one of the Arabic inscriptions, it appears that the building
was originally designed for a mosque, and that it was erected in the year
1317, by Saf-ed-deen Abdallah, after a victory over the infidels.

I ascended to the roof of the palace, which is flat and paved with
stones. The view was most remarkable. The height on which Old Dongola
is built, falls off on all sides, inland as well as towards the river,
so that to the east one overlooks a wide extent of desert—low hills of
red sand, stretching away to a dim, hot horizon. To the north, the hill
slopes gradually to the Nile, covered with the ruins of old buildings.
North-east, hardly visible through the sandy haze, rose a high, isolated
peak, with something like a tower on its summit. To the south and east
the dilapidated city covered the top of the hill—a mass of ashy-gray
walls of mud and stone, for the most part roofless and broken down,
while the doors, courts and alleys between them were half choked up with
the loose sand blown in from the Desert. The graveyards of the former
inhabitants extended for more than a mile through the sand, over the
dreary hills behind the town. Among them were a great number of conical,
pointed structures of clay and stones, from twenty to thirty feet in
height. The camel-men said they were the tombs of _rossool_—prophets, or
holy men. I counted twenty-five in that portion of the cemetery which
was visible. The whole view was one of entire and absolute desolation,
heightened the more by the clouds of sand which filled the air, and
which, in their withering heat, seemed to be raining ruin upon the land.

I afterwards walked through the city, and was surprised to find many
large, strong houses of stone and burnt brick, with spacious rooms,
the walls of which were plastered and whitewashed. The lintels of the
doors and windows were stone, the roofs in many places, where they still
remained, covered with tiles, and every thing gave evidence of a rich
and powerful city. Now, probably not more than one-fifth of the houses
are inhabited. Here and there the people have spread a roofing of mats
over the open walls, and nestled themselves in the sand. I saw several
such places, the doors, or rather entrances to which, were at the bottom
of loose sand-hills that constantly slid down and filled the dingy
dwellings. In my walk I met but one or two persons, but as we returned
again to the river, I saw a group of Dongolese women on the highest part
of the cliff. They were calling in shrill tones and waving their hands to
some persons in the ferry-boat on the river below, and needed no fancy to
represent the daughters of Old Dongola lamenting over its fall.

Some Dongolese _djellabiàt_, or merchants, just returned from Kordofan,
were in the ferry-boat. One of them showed me a snuff-box which he had
bought from a native of Fertit, beyond Dar-Fūr. It was formed of the
shell of some fruit, with a silver neck attached. By striking the head
of the box on the thumb-nail, exactly one pinch was produced. The raïs
took off his mantle, tied one end of it to the ring in the bow and stood
thereon, holding the other end with both hands stretched above his head.
He made a fine bronze figure-head for the boat, and it was easy to
divine her name: _The Nubian_. We had on board a number of copper-hued
women, whose eyelids were stained with _kohl_, which gave them a ghastly
appearance.

Soon after my tent had been pitched, in the afternoon, a man came riding
up from the river on a donkey, leading a horse behind him. He had just
crossed one of the water-courses on his donkey, and was riding on,
holding the horse’s rope in his hand, when the animal started back at the
water-course, jerking the man over the donkey’s tail and throwing him
violently on the ground. He lay as if dead for a quarter of an hour, but
Achmet finally brought him to consciousness by pouring the contents of a
leathern water-flask over his head, and raising him to a sitting posture.
His brother, who had charge of a sakia on the bank, brought me an angareb
in the evening, in acknowledgment of this good office. It is a good trait
in the people, that they are always grateful for kindness. The angareb,
however, did not prove of much service, for I was so beset by the black
gnats that it was impossible to sleep. They assailed my nose, mouth,
ears and eyes in such numbers that I was almost driven mad. I rubbed my
face with strong vinegar, but it only seemed to attract them the more. I
unwound my turban, and rolled it around my neck and ears, but they crept
under the folds and buzzed and bit until I was forced to give up the
attempt.

Our road, the next morning, lay near the river, through tracks of
thick halfeh, four or five feet high. We constantly passed the ruins
of villages and the naked frames of abandoned sakias. The soil was
exceedingly rich, as the exuberant growth of halfeh proved, but for
miles and miles there was no sign of life. The tyranny of the Turks
has depopulated one of the fairest districts of Nubia. The wind blew
violently from the north, and the sandy haze and gray vapor in the air
became so dense that I could scarcely distinguish the opposite bank of
the Nile. The river was covered with white caps, and broke on the beach
below with a wintry roar. As we journeyed along through the wild green
grass and orchards of sont, passing broken walls and the traces of old
water-courses, I could have believed myself travelling through some
deserted landscape of the North. I was chilled with the strong wind,
which roared in the sont and made my beard whistle under my nose like a
wisp of dry grass. Several ships passed us, scudding up stream under bare
poles, and one, which had a single reef shaken out of her large sail,
dashed by like a high-pressure steamer.

After two or three hours we passed out of this region. The Desert
extended almost to the water’s edge, and we had nothing but sand and
thorns. The wind by this time was more furious than ever, and the air
was so full of sand that we could not see more than a hundred yards on
either hand. The sun gave out a white, ghastly light, which increased
the dreariness of the day. All trace of the road was obliterated, and
we could only travel at random among the thorns, following the course
of the Nile, which we were careful to keep in view. My eyes, ears, and
nostrils were soon filled with sand, and I was obliged to bind my turban
so as nearly to cover my face, leaving only space enough to take a blind
view of the way we were going. At breakfast time, after two hours of
this martyrdom, I found a clump of thorns so thick as to shut off the
wind, but no sooner had I dismounted and crept under its shelter than I
experienced a scorching heat from the sun, and was attacked by myriads of
the black gnats. I managed to eat something in a mad sort of way, beating
my face and ears continually, and was glad to thrust my head again into
the sand-storm, which drove off the worse pests. So for hours we pursued
our journey. I could not look in the face of the wind, which never once
fell. The others suffered equally, and two of the camel-men lagged so,
that we lost sight of them entirely. It was truly a good fortune that
I did not take the short road, east of the Nile, from Merawe to New
Dongola. In the terrible wastes of the Nubian Desert, we could scarcely
have survived such a storm.

Nearly all the afternoon we passed over deserted tracts, which were once
covered with flourishing fields. The water-courses extend for nearly two
miles from the river, and cross the road at intervals of fifty yards. But
now the villages are level with the earth, and the sand whistles over the
traces of fields and gardens, which it has not yet effaced. Two hours
before sunset the sun disappeared, and I began to long for the town of
Handak, our destination. Achmet and I were ahead, and the other camels
were not to be seen any longer, so as sunset came on I grew restless
and uneasy. The palms by this time had appeared again on the river’s
brink, and there was a village on our left, in the sand. We asked again
for Handak. “Just at the corner of yon palms,” said the people. They
spoke with a _near_ emphasis, which encouraged me. The Arabic dialect of
Central Africa has one curious characteristic, which evidently springs
from the want of a copious vocabulary. Degree, or intensity of meaning
is usually indicated by accent alone. Thus, when they point to an object
near at hand they say: _henàk_, “there;” if it is a moderate distance
off, they lengthen the sound into “_hen-a-a-ak_;” while, if it is so
far as to be barely visible, the last syllable is sustained with a full
breath—“_hen-a-a-a-a-a-àk!_” In the same way, _saā_ signifies “an hour;”
_sa-a-a-ā_, “two hours,” &c. This habit of speech gives the language a
very singular and eccentric character.

We pushed on till the spot was reached, but as far ahead as the sand
would permit us to see, could discern no house. We asked again; the town
commenced at the next corner of the palms ahead of us. I think this thing
must have happened to us five or six times, till at last I got into that
peculiarly amiable mood which sees nothing good in Heaven or Earth. If
my best friend had come to meet me, I should have given him but a sour
greeting. My eyes were blinded, my head dull and stupid, and my bones
sore from twelve hours in the saddle. As it grew dark, we were overtaken
by four riders mounted on fine dromedaries. They were going at a sweeping
trot, and our beasts were ambitious enough to keep pace with them for
some time. One of them was a stately shekh, with a white robe and broad
gold border and fringe. From what the people said of him, I took him to
be the Melek, or King of Dongola.

Meanwhile, it was growing dark. We could see nothing of the town, though
a woman who had been walking beside us, said we were there already. She
said she had a fine house, which we could have for the night, since
it was almost impossible for a tent to stand in such a wind. As I had
already dipped into the night, I determined to reach Handak at all
hazards, and after yet another hour, succeeded. Achmet and I dismounted
in a ruined court-yard, and while I sat on a broken wall, holding the
camels, he went to look for our men. It was a dismal place, in the
gathering darkness, with the wind howling and the sand drifting on
all sides, and I wondered what fiend had ever tempted me to travel in
Africa. Before long the woman appeared and guided us to a collection of
miserable huts on the top of the hill. Her fine house proved to be a
narrow, mud-walled room, with a roof of smoked dourra-stalks. It shut
off the wind, however, and when I entered and found the occupants (two
other women), talking to each other by the light of a pile of blazing
corn-stalks, it looked absolutely cheerful. I stretched myself out on
one of the angarebs, and soon relapsed into a better humor. But I am
afraid we were not lodged in the most respectable house of Handak, for
the women showed no disposition to leave, when we made preparations for
sleeping. They paid no attention to my requests, except by some words of
endearment, which, from such creatures, were sufficiently disgusting,
and I was obliged to threaten them with forcible ejection, before they
vacated the house. The camel-men informed me that the place is notorious
for its harlotry.

As we had made a forced march of forty miles in one day, I gave the
caravan a rest until noon, and treated the men to mutton and mareesa.
Prices had already increased, since leaving Soudân, and I could not
procure a sheep for less than seventeen piastres. The women, who had
returned at sunrise, begged me to give them the entrails, which they
cut into pieces and ate raw, with the addition of some onions and salt.
The old woman told me a piteous tale of the death of her son, and her
own distress, and how King Dyaab (who had passed through Handak the day
previous, on his way to Dar El-Màhass) had given her two piastres, and
she hoped I would also give her something, that she might buy a new
dress. I gave her the same as King Dyaab, which she at once asked me to
take back again, as she expected at least nine piastres. Seeing I was
about to take her at her word, she made haste to secure the money. Her
youngest daughter, a bold, masculine thing, with hair cut close to her
head, now came to me for backsheesh. “Oh!” said I, “you are going to do
as the old woman did, are you?” “No,” she exclaimed; “if you will give
me two piastres, I will ask for no more. The old woman is a miserable
wretch!” and she spat upon the ground to show her disgust. “Go!” I said;
“I shall give nothing to a girl who insults her mother.”

From Handak to El Ordee is two days’ journey. The country presents the
same aspect of desertion and ruin as that in the neighborhood of Old
Dongola. Untenanted villages line the road during nearly the whole
distance. The face of the country is level, and there is no mountain to
be seen on either bank of the Nile. It is a melancholy, deserted region,
showing only palms growing wildly and rankly along the river, fields
covered with halfeh, water-courses broken down, sakias dismantled, and
everywhere dwellings in ruin. Here and there a few inhabitants still
lingered, tending their fields of stunted cotton, or watering some
patches of green wheat. The general aspect of desolation was heightened
by the strong north-wind, which filled the air with clouds of sand,
making the sunshine so cold and white, that all the color faded out of
the landscape. The palms were dull and dark, and the sand-hills beyond
the Nile a dead, lifeless yellow. All this district swarms with black
gnats, which seemed to have been sent as a curse upon its desertion, for
they never appeared where the country was thickly inhabited and all the
soil cultivated.

On the first day after leaving Handak, we passed the villages of Kiar,
Sori and Urub, and stopped at a place called Tetti. The wind blew so
violently during the night that every thing in my tent, my head included,
was thickly covered with dust. The next day we passed a large town called
Hannak. The greater part of it was levelled to the earth, and evidently
by violence, for the walls were of stone. It stood on a rocky rise, near
the river, and had on its highest part the remains of some defences, and
a small palace, in tolerable preservation. The hills behind were covered
for half a mile with the graves of the former inhabitants, among which
I noticed the cones and pyramids of several holy men. As we approached
El Ordee (by which name New Dongola is usually called), the appearance
of the country improved, although there was still as much deserted as
cultivated land. The people we met were partly Dongolese and partly Arabs
from the Desert, the latter with bushy hair, shining with grease, and
spears in their hands. They cheered us with the news that El Ordee was
not distant, and we would arrive there at _asser_—the time of afternoon
prayer, two hours before sunset. My camel-men rejoiced at the prospect of
again having mareesa to drink, and I asked old Mohammed if he supposed
the saints drank mareesa in Paradise. “Why!” he joyfully exclaimed; “do
you know about Paradise?” “Certainly;” said I, “if you lead a good life,
you will go straight there, but if you are wicked, Eblis will carry you
down into the flames.” “Wallah!” said the old fellow, aside to Achmet;
“but this is a good Frank. He certainly has Islam in his heart.”

About two o’clock, we descried the minaret of El Ordee, its sugar-loaf
top glittering white in the sun. The place was three or four miles
distant, and we did not reach it until after more than an hour’s travel.
As we approached, it presented the usual appearance of the Nubian towns—a
long line of blank mud walls, above which rise, perhaps, the second
stories of a few more ambitious mud houses; here a sycamore, there a
palm or two, denoting a garden within; a wide waste of sand round about,
some filthy people basking in the sun, and a multitude of the vilest
kind of dogs. Near the river there are some fine large gardens, as in
Khartoum. I had already decided to stop two days, to rest my caravan,
before commencing the long and toilsome march to Wadi-Halfa, but instead
of hiring a house I went around the town and pitched my tent on the
northern side, on a sandy plain, where I secured pure air and freedom
from molestation by the inhabitants.

The morning after my arrival, the Governor, Khoorshid Bey, called at
my tent, and I returned the visit in the afternoon. He was a stout,
fair-skinned and brown-bearded man of thirty-eight, and looked more like
an American than a Turk. I found him in the shop of a Turkish merchant,
opposite the door of the mosque, which is built in the centre of the
bazaar. Two soldiers were in attendance, and brought me coffee and
sherbet. The Bey was particularly anxious to know whether the railroad
from Alexandria to Cairo would be built, and how much it would cost.
While I was sitting with him, the _mollahs_ were chanting in the mosque
opposite, as it was the Moslem Sunday, and groups of natives were
flocking thither to say their prayers. Presently the voice of the muezzin
was heard from the top of the minaret, chanting in a loud, melodious,
melancholy cadence the call to prayer—a singular cry, the effect of
which, especially at sunset, is really poetic and suggestive. I took my
leave, as the Bey was expected to perform his devotions with the other
worshippers.

The town may be seen in an hour. It contains no sights, except the
bazaar, which has about twenty tolerable shops, principally stocked with
cottons and calicoes, and a great quantity of white shawls with crimson
borders, which the people here are fond of wearing over their shoulders.
Outside the bazaar, which has a roof of palm-logs covered with matting,
are a few shops, containing spices, tobacco, beads, trinkets and the like
small articles. Beyond this was the _soog_, where the people came with
their coarse tobacco, baskets of raw cotton, onions, palm-mats, gourds,
dates, faggots of fire-wood, sheep and fowls. In this market-place, which
ascended and descended with the dirt-heaps left from ruined houses,
there were four ostriches, which walked about, completely naturalized
to the place. One of them was more than eight feet high—a most powerful
and graceful creature. They were not out of place, among the groups of
wild-haired Kababish and Bishàree, who frequented the market.

Below the river-bank, which is high, upwards of twenty small trading
craft were lying. One had just arrived with a load of lime, which the
naked sailors were carrying up the bank in baskets, on their heads.
The channel of the Nile here is mainly taken up with the large, sandy
island of Tor, and the stream is very narrow. The shore was crowded
with women, washing clothes or filling their water-jars, men hoisting
full water-skins on the backs of donkeys, and boys of all shades, from
whity-yellow to perfect black, bathing and playing on the brink. The
northern part of the town appeared to be deserted, and several spacious
two-story buildings were falling into ruins. I noticed not more than half
a dozen houses which would be considered handsome in Berber or Khartoum.
El Ordee ranks next after those places, in all the Egyptian territory
beyond Assouan, but has the disadvantage of being more filthy than they.

CHAPTER XXXV.

JOURNEY THROUGH DAR EL-MÀHASS AND SUKKÔT.

We left El Ordee or New Dongola, before sunrise on the twenty-ninth of
February. A boy of about fourteen years old came out from the town,
helped load the camels, and insisted on accompanying me to Cairo. As
my funds were diminishing, and I had no need of additional service, I
refused to take him, and he went home greatly disappointed. We were
all in fine health and spirits, from the two days’ rest, and our ships
of the Desert sailed briskly along the sands, with the palmy coasts
green and fair on our right. For some miles from the town the land is
tolerably well cultivated, but the grain was all much younger than in
the neighborhood of Old Dongola. Beyond this, the country was again
deserted and melancholy; everywhere villages in ruin, fields given up to
sand and thorns, and groves of date trees wasting their vigor in rank,
unpruned shoots. The edge of the Desert was covered with graveyards to
a considerable extent, each one boasting its cluster of pyramids and
cones, raised over the remains of holy shekhs. Towards noon I dismounted
for breakfast in a grove of sont trees, but had no sooner seated myself
on my carpet, than the small black flies came in such crowds that I was
scarcely able to eat. They assailed my temples, ears, eyes and nostrils,
and it was utterly impossible to drive them away. I was half crazy
with the infliction, and at night my neck and temples were swollen and
covered with blotches worse than those made by mosquito stings. In fact,
mosquitoes are mild and merciful in comparison. Had not my road been
mostly in the Desert, away from the trees, I could scarcely have endured
the journey. The few inhabitants along the river kindled fires of green
wood and sat in the smoke.

In the afternoon the monotony of the Desert on the western bank was
broken by a solitary mountain of a remarkable form. It precisely
resembled an immense coffin, the ends being apparently cut square off,
and as the effect of a powerful mirage lifted it above the horizon,
it seemed like the sarcophagus of the Prophet, in the Kaaba, to be
suspended between heaven and earth. The long island of Argo, which I
saw occasionally across an arm of the Nile, appeared rich and well
cultivated. It belongs mostly to Melek Hammed, King of Dongola, who was
expected at home the day I passed, on his return from Cairo, where he had
been three months or more, for the purpose of representing to Abbas Pasha
the distressed condition of the country, and obtaining some melioration
of the system of misrule inflicted upon it. Near the town of Argo, on
the opposite side of the island my map indicated a ruined temple, and
I made a strong effort to see it; but at Binni, which was the nearest
point, there was no ferry, and the people knew nothing of the temple nor
of any thing else. I left the main road and followed the bank, but the
terrible flies drove me away, and so, maddened and disgusted, I came at
last to a _sakia_, where the people informed me that the ferry was still
ahead and the ruins already some distance behind me. They said this
deliberately and carelessly, sitting like black spectres in the midst of
thick smoke, while I was crazily beating my ears. “Tell the caravan to
go ahead,” I said to Achmet, at length, “and don’t talk to me of temples
until we have got away from these flies.”

The next morning Achmet had some difficulty in awaking me, so wrapt was
I in dreams of home. I sat shivering in the cool air, trying to discover
who and where I was, but the yellow glimmer of my tent-lining in the
dim light of dawn soon informed me. During the day we passed through
a more thickly settled country, and owing to the partial cultivation
of the soil, were less troubled by that Nubian plague, which is always
worse about the ruined villages and the fields given up to halfeh grass.
It was market-day at the village of Hafier, and we met and passed many
natives, some with baskets of raw cotton and some with grain. I noticed
one man riding a donkey and carrying before him a large squash, for which
he would possibly get twenty paràs (2½ cents). My camel-men, who had
neglected to buy dourra in El Ordee, wanted to stop until noon in order
to get it, and as I would not wait, remained behind.

The scenery had a wild and picturesque air, from the isolated mountain
peaks, which now appeared on both sides of the river Djebel Arambo, with
its high, precipitous sides and notched summit, stood steeped in soft
purple vapor—a beautiful object above the long lines of palms and the
green level of the islands in the river. The fields on the western bank
were mostly taken up with young wheat, though I saw a single one of ripe
barley, which a black Baràbra was reaping, cutting off the stalks about
one-third of the way below the heads, and depositing them in heaps. By
noon, I knew from the landmarks that we must be opposite the island of
Tombos, where there are some ruins. I made inquiries for it, but the bank
was almost deserted, and the few inhabitants I found gathered in straw
huts here and there among the rank palm-groves, could tell me nothing
about it. All agreed, however, that there was no ferry at this part of
the Nile, and to swim across was out of the question. The crocodiles
swarm here, and are quite delicate in their tastes, much preferring white
flesh to black. So my hope of Tombos vanished like that of Argo.

Beyond the island is a little ruined village, called Hannek, and here
I took leave of Dar Dongola, in which I had been travelling ten days,
and entered Dar El-Màhass, the kingdom of my friend Melek Dyaab. The
character of the country changed on the very border. Long ridges of
loose blocks of sandstone and granite, as at Assouan and Akaba Gerri,
in Soudân, appeared in front, at first on the western bank, but soon
throwing their lines across the stream and forming weirs and rapids in
its current. The river is quite narrow, in some places not a hundred
yards broad, and leads a very tortuous course, bearing away towards the
north-west, until it meets the majestic barrier of Djebel Foga, when it
turns to the north-east. About two hours after passing Djebel Arambo,
which stands opposite the northern extremity of Tombos, we reached the
large and hilly island of Mosul, where the river divides its waters and
flows for several miles through deep, crooked, rocky channels, before
they meet again. Here there is no cultivation, the stony ridges running
to the water’s edge. The river-bed is so crowded and jammed with granite
rocks, that from the shore it appears in some places to be entirely cut
off. At this point there are three castellated mud ruins in sight, which
at a distance resemble the old feudal fortresses of Europe. The one
nearest which we passed was quadrangular, with corner bastions, three
round and one square, all tapering inward towards the top. The lower
part of the wall was stone and the upper part mud, while the towers
were nearly fifty feet high. That on an island in the river, strongly
resembled an Egyptian temple, with its pylons, porticoes, and walls of
circuit. They were evidently built before the Turkish invasion, and were
probably frontier forts of the Kings of El-Màhass; to prevent incursions
from the side of Dongola.

We reached the eastern base of Djebel Foga about four o’clock, and I
thought it best to encamp, on account of the camel-men, who had a walk
of twenty-three miles with bags of dourra on their shoulders, before
they could reach us. I had no sooner selected a place for my tent, on
the top of a high bank overlooking the river, than they appeared, much
fatigued and greatly vexed at me for leaving them in the lurch. I ordered
my pipe to be filled, and smoked quietly, making no reply to their loud
complaints, and in a short time the most complete harmony prevailed in
our camp. The Nile at this place flowed in the bottom of a deep gorge,
filled with rocks. The banks were almost perpendicular, but covered with
a rich growth of halfeh, which our camels greedily cropped, at the hazard
of losing their balance and tumbling down into the river. I fancied there
was already a taste of Egypt in the mountain air, and flattered myself
that I had breathed the last of the languid atmosphere of Soudân.

The next morning led us deeper into the rocky chaos. The bed of the Nile
was properly a gorge, so deep was it sunk among the stony hills, and
confined within such narrow limits. The ridges of loose blocks of granite
and porphyry roll after each other like waves, and their crests assume
the most fantastic variety of forms. They are piled in heaps and balanced
on each other, topped with round boulders or thrown together in twos and
threes, as if some brood of Titan children had been at play in those
regions and were frightened away in the midst of their employment. It is
impossible to lose the impression that some freak of human or superhuman
fancy gave the stones their quaint grouping. Between the ridges are
shallow hollows, terminating towards the west in deep, rocky clefts, and
opening on the river in crescent-like coves, between the jaggy headlands
which tumble their boulders into its bed. High peaks, or rather conical
piles of porphyry rock, rise here and there out of this sterile chaos.
Toward the east, where the Nile winds away in a long chain of mazy
curves, they form ranges and show compact walls and pinnacles. The few
palms and the little eddies of wheat sprinkled along both banks of the
river, are of a glorious depth and richness of hue, by contrast with
the gray and purple wastes of the hills. In the sweet, clear air of the
morning, the scenery was truly inspiring, and I rode over the high ridges
in a mood the very opposite of that I had felt the day previous.

The Nile makes a great curve through the land of Màhass, to avoid which
the road passes through an _akaba_, about forty miles in length. At the
corner, where the river curves at a right angle from west to south, is a
small ruined place called Fakir Bender. The high bank is a little less
steep here than at other places, and its sides are planted with lupins.
At the end of the village is an immense sont tree, apparently very old.
A large earthen water-jar, with a gourd beside it, stood in the shade.
The _fakeer_, or holy man, from whom the place is named, was soon in
attendance, and as our camels knelt under the tree, presented me with a
gourd of cool water, “in the name of God.” I gave him ten paràs before
we left, but he did not appear to be satisfied, for these holy men have
great expectations. I ordered two water-skins filled, and after an hour’s
delay, we entered on the akaba.

Over rough and stony ridges, which made hard travelling for the camels,
we came upon a rolling plain, bounded in the distance by a chain of
hills, which we reached by the middle of the afternoon. The path, instead
of seeking a pass or gorge, led directly up the side, which, though not
very high, was exceedingly steep and covered with loose sand, up which
the camels could scarcely climb. The top was a stratum of red porphyry,
cropping out of the sand in immense masses. Behind us the dreary Desert
extended to Djebel Foga and the mountains about the cataract: the palms
of the Nile were just visible in the distance. Crossing the summit ridge,
we entered a narrow plateau, surrounded by naked black peaks—a most
savage and infernal landscape. The northern slope was completely covered
with immense porphyry boulders, among which our path wound. Nearly every
rock had a pile of small stones heaped upon it, as a guide to caravans,
and merely for descending this ridge there were at least two hundred of
them. The plain now extended away to the north and east, bounded by a
confusion of black, barren mountains, out of which rose two lofty peaks.
Towards evening we met a Nubian family, with their donkeys, on their way
southward. They begged for water, which we gave them, as their supply
was entirely exhausted. I found a bed of hard gravel large enough for
my tent, but we had great difficulty in driving the pegs. The camel-men
selected the softest places among the rocks for their beds, but the
camels stretched their long necks on all sides in the vain search for
vegetation. I sat at my tent door, and watched the short twilight of the
South gather over the stony wilderness, with that strange feeling of
happiness which the contemplation of waste and desolate landscapes always
inspires. There was not a blade of grass to be seen; the rocks, which
assumed weird and grotesque forms in the twilight, were as black as ink;
beyond my camp there was no life in the Desert except the ostrich and the
hyena—yet I would not have exchanged the charm of that scene for a bower
in the gardens of the Hesperides.

The dawn was glimmering gray and cold when I arose, and the black
summits of the mountains showed dimly through a watery vapor. The air,
however, was dry, though cool and invigorating, and I walked ahead for
two hours, singing and shouting from the overflow of spirits. I hoped
to catch a glimpse of the Nile before mounting my dromedary, but one
long black ridge of stones rose after another, and there was no sudden
flash of green across the darkness of the Desert. At last, towards noon,
through a notch in the drear and stony chaos, the double line of palms
appeared in the north east. The river came from the east, out of the
black mountain wilderness. The valley is very narrow, and cultivation
is only possible in the coves of soil embayed among the hills. I came
down on one of them—a meadow of halfeh, back of the little village of
Koyee—and stopped an hour to rest the camels. A caravan of merchants,
bound for Kordofan and Dar-Fūr, had just encamped there, to rest during
the hot hours, according to their custom. Among them were some _hadji_,
or pilgrims from Dar-Fūr, on their way home from Mecca, and a negro from
Fazogl, who had belonged to a European, and had lived in Naples. He was
now free and going home, wearing a shabby Frank dress, but without money,
as he came at once to beg of me. A Nubian woman came from the huts near
at hand, bringing me a large gourd of buttermilk, which I shared with the
camel-drivers.

I set the camels in motion again, and we entered a short akaba, in order
to cross a broad stony ridge, which advanced quite to the river’s edge.
The path was up and down the sides of steep hollows, over a terrible
waste of stones. Down these hollows, which shelved towards the river, we
saw the palms of the opposite bank—a single dark-green line, backed by
another wilderness, equally savage. Through all this country of Màhass
the Desert makes a desperate effort to cut off the glorious old River. It
flings rocks into its bed, squeezes him between iron mountains, compels
him to turn and twist through a hundred labyrinths to find a passage,
but he pushes and winds his way through all, and carries his bright
waters in triumph down to his beloved Egypt. There was, to me, something
exceedingly touching in watching his course through that fragment of the
pre-Adamite chaos—in seeing the type of Beauty and Life stealing quietly
through the heart of a region of Desolation and Death. From the stony
slopes of the hills I looked down on his everlasting palms with the same
old joy new-created in my heart.

After passing the akaba, I came to a village which I took to be Soleb,
but on inquiring, the people pointed ahead. I rode on, around a slight
curve of the trees, and was startled by a landscape of most unexpected
interest and beauty. Before me, over the crest of a black, rocky ridge,
a cluster of shattered pillars stood around the falling doorway of a
temple, the whole forming a picturesque group, cut clear against the
sky. Its tint of soft yellow-gray, was finely relieved by the dark green
of the palms and the pure violet of some distant jagged peaks on the
eastern bank. Beyond it, to the west, three peaks of white and purple
limestone rock trembled in the fiery glare from the desert sands. The
whole picture, the Desert excepted, was more Grecian than Egyptian, and
was perfect in its forms and groupings. I know of no other name for the
ruin than the Temple of Soleb. It was erected by Amunoph III. or Memnon,
and the Arcadian character of the landscape of which it is the central
feature, harmonized thoroughly with my fancy, that Amunoph was a poet.

The temple stands on the west bank, near the river, and from whatever
point it is viewed, has a striking effect. The remains consist of a
portico, on a raised platform, leading to a court once surrounded by
pillars. Then follows a second and more spacious portico, with a double
row of three pillars on each side. This opens upon a second pillared
court, at the opposite end of which is a massive doorway, leading to
the adyta of the temple, now completely levelled to the earth. The
entire length of the ruin is about two hundred feet. There are nine
pillars, with a single block of their architrave, and portions of two of
the porticoes still standing: the remainder of the temple is a mass of
ruins. The greatest pains have been taken to destroy it completely, and
all the mound on which it stands is covered with huge blocks, thrown one
over the other in the wildest confusion. In one place, only, I noticed
the disjointed segments of a column, still lying as they fell. The
pedestals remain in many places, so that one can partially restore the
original order. When complete, it must have been a majestic and imposing
edifice. The material is the white limestone of the adjacent mountains,
veined with purple streaks, and now much decomposed from the sun and
rain. From the effect of this decomposition, the columns which remain
standing are cracked and split in many places, and in the fissures thus
made, numbers of little swallows and starlings have built their nests,
where they sit peeping out through the sculptures of gods. The columns
and doorways are covered with figures, now greatly blurred, though still
legible. I noticed a new style of joining the portrait of a monarch with
his cartouche, the latter representing his body, out of which his head
and arms issued, like the crest of a coat of arms. The columns represent
the stalks of eight water-plants bound together, with a capital, or
rather prolonged abacus, like the Osiride column. They are thirty feet in
height, without the pedestal, and five feet in diameter. This is the sum
of my observations: the rest belongs to the antiquarian.

Before night, we passed a third akaba, to get around the limestone ridge,
which here builds a buttress of naked rock over the Nile, and at sunset
again saw the palms—but this time the renowned palms of Dar Sukkôt, for
we had crossed the border of Dar El-Màhass. They lined the river in a
thick grove of stems, with crowns of leafy luxuriance. The village of
Noolwee, scattered for half a mile in their shade, was better built than
any I saw in Dongola. Many of the houses were inclosed in square courts,
and had a second story, the massive mud walls sloping towards each other
like a truncated pyramid. Achmet, Ali and myself bought about fifty
piastres worth of the celebrated dates of Sukkôt. They were the largest
and best flavored I ever saw, and are said to preserve their quality
for years. They are sold at a piastre for an earthen measure containing
about two hundred. When gathered, they are first slightly dried in the
large magazines, and then buried in the earth. The population of Sukkôt
subsists apparently on the profits of selling them, for little else is
cultivated along the river. Even here, nevertheless, where the people are
better able to bear the grinding rule of Egypt, one meets with deserted
fields and ruined dwellings. The King of El-Màhass informed me, when
in Khartoum, that his people were obliged to pay six hundred piastres
(thirty dollars) tax on each water-mill, being just double the lawful
amount, (which, alone, is very oppressive), and that his country was fast
becoming depopulated, in consequence.

On the following day I passed the large island of Sai. The country
here is more open and the Nile has a less vexed course. The mountains,
especially the lofty blue mass of Djebel Abyr, have not the forced and
violent forms common to the porphyry formation. Their outlines are long,
sloping, and with that slight but exquisite undulation which so charmed
me in the hills of Arcadia, in Greece, and in Monte Albano near Rome.
Their soft, clear, pale-violet hue showed with the loveliest effect
behind the velvety green of the thick palm clusters, which were parted
here and there by gleams of the bright blue river. From the northern end
of Sai, the river gradually curves to the east. The western shore is
completely invaded by the sands, and the road takes a wide sweep inland
to avoid the loose, sliding drifts piled up along the bank. We had not
gone far before we found a drift of brilliant yellow sand thirty feet
high and two hundred yards in length, lying exactly across our road. It
had evidently been formed within a few days. It was almost precisely
crescent-shaped, and I could not account for the action of the wind in
building such a mound on an open plain, which elsewhere was entirely
free from sand. We rounded it and soon afterwards entered on a region of
sand, where to the west and north the rolling yellow waves extended to
the horizon, unbroken by a speck of any other color. It was a boundless,
fathomless sea of sand to the eye, which could scarcely bear the radiated
light playing over its hot surface. The day (for a wonder) was somewhat
overcast, and as the shadows of small clouds followed one another rapidly
over the glaring billows, they seemed to heave and roll like those of the
sea. I was forced to turn away my head, faint and giddy with the sight.
My camels tugged painfully through this region, and after two hours we
reached a single sont tree, standing beside a well, and called _sugger
el-abd_ (the Tree of the Slave). It was pointed out by the camel-men as
being half-way between El Ordee and Wadi Halfa.

We journeyed on all the afternoon through a waste of sandy and stony
ridges, and as night drew near, I became anxious to reach the river, no
trace of which could be seen. I rode up one of the highest ridges, and
lo! there were the tops of the date-groves in a hollow, not a quarter
of a mile distant, on my right. The camels’ heads were soon turned in
that direction, and I encamped at once on the bank, where my beasts
found sufficient grass and thorns for the first time in three days. The
river here flows in a deep channel, buried among the hills, and there is
neither cultivation nor population on the western bank. On the opposite
side there was a narrow strip of soil, thickly planted with date-trees.

My camel-men kindled a fire in the splendid moonlight, and regaled
themselves with the hind-quarters of a hyena, which they roasted in
the coals and devoured with much relish. I had curiosity enough to eat
a small piece, which was well-flavored though tough. The Nile roared
grandly below our camp all night, in the pauses of the wind.

[Illustration: Abou-Sin, my Dromedary.]

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE BATN EL-HADJAR.

On the sixth day after leaving Dongola I passed through Sukkôt, and
reached the commencement of Batn El-Hadjar—The Belly of Stone—as the
savage mountain country for a hundred miles south of the Second Cataract
is termed. With each day the road became more rough and toilsome, and
my camels moved more languidly. In spite of the fatigue which we all
endured, I felt so much strengthened by our free life and so much
interested in the remarkable country through which we were passing, that
I felt something like regret on approaching the southern limit of travel
on the Nile. Not so my dragoman and servant, who could not enough thank
God and the Prophet for having taken them in safety through countries
which they deemed the verge of the world. Achmet positively declared he
would never make the trip again, for no second journey could be equally
fortunate. My camel-men, I found, had never before travelled to Wadi
Halfa by the western bank, but by a wonderful Arab instinct, they never
went astray from the road.

The Batn El-Hadjar marks its commencement by a range of granite hills,
which break the river into a foaming cataract. After leaving camp, our
road lay along the Nile, behind some high sand-hills. In front of us
appeared Djebel Ufeer, a peak about fifteen hundred feet in height,
its naked sides tinted of a deep, rich purple hue by the glowing air.
The Nile flows directly towards its base, making a slight curve, as if
to pass it on the eastern side, but finding the granite rocks heaped
together too thickly, changes its course and washes the western foot of
the mountain. The granite lies scattered about in vast masses, taking
all sorts of quaint and fanciful shapes. The hills themselves are merely
collections of boulders of all sizes, from three to twenty feet in
diameter, piled on an enormous bed or stratum of the same. Intermixed
with this are beds of a rich yellowish-red granite, which crops out under
the piles of gray, and has been worked, wherever it appears in large
masses. The traces of the ancient quarrymen still remain, in the blocks
bearing marks of the wooden wedges by which they were split. In one place
I noticed two fragments of a column, similar to those in the palace at
Old Dongola. The granite is equal in quality and still more abundant than
that at Assouan, but was only quarried to a limited extent. The aspect
of the country is rugged in the highest degree, and how the Nile gets
through it became more and more a wonder to me. His bed is deep-sunken
between enormous stone-piles, back of which are high stone mountains, and
wherever there is a hollow between them, it is filled with sand. The only
vegetation was a few bunches of miserable grass, and some of those desert
shrubs which grow at the very doors of Tartarus, so tenacious of life are
they. A narrow shelf, on the opposite bank, high above the river, bore
the renowned palm of Sukkôt, and frequently in the little coves I saw
the living green of the young wheat. The steep banks were planted with
lupins, as the people there had nothing to fear from the hippopotami.

While I was breakfasting off a great granite table, a man who rode by
on a donkey cheered me with the news that the village of Dal was but a
short distance ahead. I had fixed upon this as our resting-place for the
night, but on finding it so near, resolved to push on to some natural hot
springs and ruins of ancient baths, which the camel-men had informed me
were about four hours further, to the right of the caravan track. At Dal,
however, a difficult _akaba_ commences, and my camels already marched so
slowly and wearily that I judged it best to stop and give them a little
rest. About the village there are some scattering doum and date-palms,
which lead a hard existence, half buried in sand and choked with the old
leaves, which the natives are too idle to prune. The people were in the
fields, cutting some wheat which was just ripe, and two sakias, shaded by
clusters of palms, watered a few patches of cotton. I made inquiries, but
had much difficulty in finding the location of the hot springs. Finally,
one of the men consented to become my guide in the morning, and conducted
us to a camping-ground, where there was a little grass for the camels.
Lured by the promise of backsheesh, he brought me the leanest of young
sheep, which I purchased for eight piastres. The night was calm, cool and
delicious, and steeped my whole frame in balm, after the burning day. The
moon, nearly full, shone with a gray and hazy lustre, and some insect
that shrilled like a tree-toad, reminded me of home.

Our Dallee guide, Hadji Mohammed, as he was called, from having made two
pilgrimages to Mecca, was on hand before sunrise. Starting in advance
of the caravan, I walked along the river-bank, towards a castellated
building on an eminence which I had noticed the previous evening, while
sketching the landscape. My path was over huge beds of gray granite, from
which the old Egyptians might have cut obelisks of a single block, not
only one hundred, but five hundred feet in length. The enormous masses
which had been separated from these beds and rolled into rounded masses
by the chafing of primeval floods, lay scattered on the surface, singly,
or piled in fantastic groups. The building was a large fortress of stones
and clay, with massive walls, on the summit of an island-like peak
overhanging the river, and separated from the bank by a deep chasm, which
is filled with water during the inundations, but was then dry, and its
sides green with wheat and beans. Wild doum-palms, hanging heavy with
green fruit, grew in the patches of soil among the rocks and overhung
the ravine. The fortress was a very picturesque object, with its three
square towers, backed by the roaring flood and the dark violet-blue crags
of Djebel Mémé behind. The forms of the landscape—except the palms—were
all of the far North, but the coloring was that of the ripe and glowing
South. I was so absorbed in the scene, that the caravan passed unnoticed,
having taken a path further from the river. After wandering about for
some time, I climbed one of the granite piles and scanned the country
in all directions, but could see nothing. Finally I descried a distant
trail, and on reaching it, recognized the tracks of my camels. I hurried
on, and in half an hour met Hadji Mohammed and one of my camel-men,
coming back in great tribulation, fearful that I was lost.

Near the Cataract of Dal, an akaba commences, which extends to the
village of Ukmé, in the Batn el-Hadjar, a distance of about fifteen
miles. We passed behind some peaks of black porphyry, whose shoulders
were covered with steep, sliding drifts of yellow sand, and travelled
on through a wilderness of stones. All the refuse odds and ends of
Creation—the pieces left after the rocks and mountains of the rest of
the world were fashioned—have been thrown together here. It was a sea of
black stone-mounds, out of which rose occasional peaks of still blacker
stone. Through this we passed into a region of gray stone and then into
another of red stone, journeying for four hours up one mound and down
another, by paths and no paths, which were most laborious for our camels.
I began to be fearful we should never get out of the geological labyrinth
into which the hadji conducted us, but the majestic range of Djebel
El-Lamool, beyond the Nile, served him as a guide. He looked occasionally
towards a bastion-like projection in the sheer walls of porphyry, and
at last, when I was quite tired and famished, took us up a ridge whence
I saw the river again below us. The road into the valley was next to
impracticable, but our camels stumbled and scrambled and slid till they
reached the ledge of halfeh overhanging the river. Below us was a square
mass of burnt brick, about ten feet in height—part of a building long
since destroyed. “Here is the bath,” said the hadji. We dismounted, and
he conducted us to the foot of the ruin, where, in a hole in the earth, a
spring of water bubbled up profusely, and trickled away, through a trough
of stones. There was an end of my anticipations of a refreshing bath, for
which I had come prepared. The water was hot enough, in truth (131°),
and I could not bear my hand below the surface. Under the bank, a dozen
springs with a smaller flow of water, oozed through the soil, which was
covered with a whitish deposit in places. To atone for my disappointment,
I took breakfast in the shadow of the ruined wall, while my camel-men
bathed themselves in the water, with many exclamations of “_Bismillàhi!_”
(In the name of God). The hadji then left us, and we followed the Nile
past the cataracts of Song and Tangoori, which latter we heard all night,
roaring grandly between the gusts of wind.

During the night the wind blew violently, and I had great fears that
my tent would come down about my ears. I heaped the sand against it
on the outside, for further protection, but every thing within was so
covered that its original color could no longer be discerned. The moon
shone between wild and stormy clouds, and all signs betokened a gust
of rain. We took more than ordinary precautions in the disposition of
our baggage, as this part of the road was much infested with marauding
bands of Kababish, who came from the side of Dar-Fūr and plundered the
inhabitants along the river, as well as small caravans. I trusted in the
protection afforded by my tent, which, from its appearance, would be
taken as belonging to an officer of the government.

On the eighth day we rose—for the first time in all my African travel—in
a cold, raw and cloudy dawn. Fortunately for us, a company of merchants,
bound for Wadi-Halfa, passed at daybreak, for we entered on an _akaba_ of
unknown length, and the wind had blown so violently within the last few
days that the old caravan trail was not to be found. The country was a
wilderness even more drear than those we had passed. On climbing the long
stony surges, I sometimes flattered myself with the hope of seeing beyond
the Desert; but no—I had only a more extended horizon. Long, shadowy
streaks of rain swept along the eastern horizon, and the mountain-chains
which lay against them were colored the darkest and intensest shade of
violet—precisely that of the lower leaves of the pansy. As we advanced,
the air grew colder, and a shower of large, scattering drops passed over
us. The camels shrank and trembled, and my men crept behind them for
shelter. Though it was a satisfaction to know that those African skies
_can_ rain sometimes, I was soon so benumbed as to need my capote. The
temperature was perhaps not lower than 60°, yet I felt it severely.
About ten o’clock, the shekh’s camel, which had before shown symptoms of
fatigue, lay down and refused to go further. As it was impossible to stop
in the Desert, I distributed its load among the other four, and ordered
him to drive it loose behind us. This, however, was of no avail, and at
last he concluded to wait till it had rested a little. I gave him the
water-skin, and we pushed on. Half an hour afterwards, when I was eating
breakfast under the lee of a sand-hill, Ali, who had remained behind with
him, came up saying they had examined the camel and decided that it was
sick. The shekh thereupon wept most vehemently, fearing it would die,
and turned about with it to make his way home. Ali lent him a dollar and
promised to take him the rest of the money due him. The other men were
quite downcast by the shekh’s misfortune. There was nothing to be done,
however, but to push ahead, as the other camels were well nigh worn out.

We kept on all the afternoon, with the cold wind blowing in our faces,
and occasionally a shower of colder rain dashed upon us. The road
ascended until towards noon, when we passed through a gateway between
two peaks of granite, whose loose masses threatened to topple down the
sides and crush us. Then for three or four hours we travelled over more
elevated ranges, from the crests of which we had wide glimpses over the
terrible tract, yet could see nothing but sand and stones—stones and
sand. In the east a long mountain-range lay dark and distant, under the
shadow of the rain-clouds, and it was some comfort to know that it was
beyond the Nile. As night approached, I feared we should be obliged
to camp in the akaba, and without water, but after ten hours of most
wearisome travel, we reached a ridge, whence we looked into a vast
basin of rocky hills, between us and the mountains, whose long chain of
jagged peaks, touched with the full yellow light of the setting sun,
stood against the black gust that rolled away beyond them into the
Great Nubian Desert. The Nile was not to be seen, yet deep in the centre
of this landscape, I caught a glimpse of some thorny bushes, which our
further descent showed to be near the village and cataract of Samneh. The
bed of the river was filled with masses of black rock, and the cataract,
just below the village, roared magnificently all through the night. The
wind blew again, and so violently, that I awoke with my ears, mouth and
nostrils filled with sand.

The morning was cold, with a violent wind, but I strengthened my camels
with an abundant feed of bean-vines and dourra, and set off early. I
walked ahead to the temple of Samneh, which stands on a rocky eminence
above the cataract. The hill is surrounded with the remains of a massive
brick wall, and there are traces of a road leading to the summit. The
temple is quite small, and of simple though graceful design, containing
only one chamber, at the end of which a headless statue lies on its
back. From the little portico in front there is a fine view of the gorge
through which the river breaks. A broad stratum of porphyry crosses his
bed, broken only in the centre by a gap or flood-gate, not twenty yards
across. Through this the whole force of his current is poured, and at
the time of my visit, when the water was low, he seemed but a pigmy
flood. In fact, for a mile or two below this cataract, there is scarcely
any point in all his tortuous and difficult course where one might not
throw a stone across. After leaving the temple, our road led over the
desolate stony hills, high above the river’s bed. We looked down into
the deep and narrow defile through which he flows, and which his waters
scarcely brightened or cheered, for there was no vegetation on his banks
except now and then a bunch of halfeh grass or a few stunted thorns.
The air was so bracing that I felt no more fatigue, but only regret,
that the journey was so near its close. Old Mohammed walked ahead,
singing his accustomed song: “_Koolloo nasee fee djennatee, tefoddhel, ya
er-rakhman!_” (O Most Merciful, grant that all my people may enter thy
Heavens!) Thus we travelled all day, and towards evening came down to the
Nile again at the little village of Meersheh.

This place is a beautiful little oasis in the midst of the savage Belly
of Stone. The Nile has a more gentle current, and his banks have room
enough for some groves of luxuriant date-trees, and fields of wheat and
cotton. My tent was pitched beside the rustling palms, and I sat down
with a glad heart and a full pipe, on the last night of my long and
toilsome journey by land. During the evening one of the natives took a
fancy to my Abou-Sin, and made numerous small offers for the purchase of
him. I refused, preferring to send him on to Assouan, but in the morning
the man came again, and at last, with many struggles, raised his price
to one hundred and ninety piastres, whereupon I thought it best to sell
and so avoid all further trouble. I stipulated, however, that Abou-Sin
was to be delivered to him at Wadi-Halfa, and that he should accompany us
thither on the morrow. The night was intensely cold, although the air was
probably not below 60°. I could hardly bear the coldness of the water in
the morning. It stung my burnt face like fire, and increased the pains
of my unfortunate cracked nose. The Barabras brought me some milk for
my coffee in a basket of closely-plaited grass, smeared with grease on
the inside. It precisely resembled those baskets made by the Indians of
California, which will carry water. The milk, however, had a taste of
the rancid grease, which prevented me from drinking much of it.

We arose shivering in the early dawn, and for the last time put the loads
on our fagged and unwilling camels. Soon after starting, I saw ahead,
through a gateway of black porphyry rocks, the long, yellow sand-hills of
the Libyan Desert, like those which line the western bank of the Nile,
from Assouan to Korosko. This was a joyful token that we had reached
the end of the savage Batn El-Hadjar. As we were travelling over the
rolling upland of yellow sand, enjoying the view of the wild frontier
of the Belly of Stone, out of which we had just issued, a large caravan
of Kababish Arabs, returning towards Dar-Fūr with empty camels, met us.
There were upwards of fifty camels and thirty men—half-naked savages,
with projecting features, wild eyes, and a wilderness of hair on their
heads. The Kababish were easily distinguished by their long plaits, laid
close to the head, and smeared with fat. The others, who had enormous
masses of wool, standing out in all directions for a foot or more, were
probably Howoweet, from the side of Dar-Fūr. We asked the distance to
Wadi Halfa, and were answered with the universal “_hassa_,” (just now!)
whereby these people designate any indefinite period of time.

After three or four hours, I began to look out for Abou-Seer, a lofty
cliff to which travellers repair for a bird’s-eye view of the Second
Cataract—to them the turning point of their Nile journey, to me the
termination of my long mid-African rambles, and the commencement of my
return to the living world. Our road was a mile or two behind the river,
and as Achmet had only visited the mountain from the side of Wadi Halfa,
he could not serve as a guide. I turned into the hills, taking him,
Mohammed and Ali, and leaving the other man to go on with the baggage
camels. We wandered for some time over the rough ridges, and at last
reached a spur of the hills which Achmet took to be Abou-Seer, but which
was not it. I was so hungry that I stopped for breakfast, and before I
had finished, Ali, who was overflowing with joy at the idea of reaching
Wadi Halfa, came to me with the news that he had been climbing a high
point, whence he could see the end of the mountains. The Nile, beyond, he
said, was broad and smooth, and there were more date-trees than he had
seen since leaving Sukkôt. I left him to ride my Abou-Sin, and walked
on to the peak he had climbed. As I reached its base, however, I saw
that the true headland projected still further beyond, terminating in a
cone-like summit. As I came out from among the hills behind it, the view
suddenly opened before me far to the north and east, and I saw the long
date-groves of Wadi Halfa apparently at my feet.

Abou-Seer is a cliff of calcareous rock, and its base is completely
covered with the names of tourists who have visited it. Achmet wanted
me to add my name to theirs, but as I had brought no hammer and chisel
from Cairo, like most travellers, I could not gratify him. A few steps
took me to the summit of the cliff, which drops on the eastern side in
a sheer precipice to the water’s edge. It is at least three hundred
feet in perpendicular height, and as it forms the corner of the range,
the view on three sides is uninterrupted for many leagues. The panorama
is truly grand, and probably unlike any other in the world. To the
south the mountains of the Batn El-Hadjar rise like a black wall,
out of which the Nile forces its way, not in a broad sheet, but in a
hundred vexed streams, gurgling up amid chaotic heaps of rocks as if
from subterranean sources, foaming and fretting their difficult way
round endless islands and reefs, meeting and separating, seeking every
where an outlet and finding none, till at last, as if weary of the long
contest, the rocks recede, and the united waters spread themselves out,
sluggish and exhausted, on the sands below. It is a wonderful picture of
strife between two material forces, but so intricate and labyrinthine
in its features, that the eye can scarcely succeed in separating them,
or in viewing it other than as a whole. The streams, in their thousand
windings, appear to flow towards all points of the compass, and from
their continual noise and motion on all sides, the whole fantastic
wilderness of rock seems to heave and tug, as it is throttled by the
furious waters. This is the last great struggle and triumph of the Nile.
Henceforth, his tortured waters find repose. He goes down to Egypt as a
conquerer, crowned with a double majesty after all his toils. Is it to be
wondered at, that the ancient race which existed by his bounty, should
worship him as a God?

But by this time we saw our baggage-camels, like specks on the sand,
approaching Wadi Halfa. Ali, unable to contain himself, started off on a
run, and we soon lost sight of him. I mounted my faithful big dromedary,
Abou-Sin, and after two more hours on his lofty hump, dismounted at the
ferry-place, opposite Wadi Halfa, never, alas! to mount him again. A boat
with a company of merchants from Cairo had just arrived, and the sailors
were unloading their packages of merchandise. The merchants came up and
saluted me, and could scarcely believe that I had been so far as the
White Nile. They were bound for Dongola, and one of them, learning that
my brown dromedary was for sale, offered to buy it. Achmet conducted the
business for me, for the bargaining lasted at least two hours, before
the purchaser succeeded in slowly struggling up to a decent price. The
Baràbra who had bought Abou-Sin was also on hand, to ratify the bargain,
and I was thus saved from the necessity of sending the animals to the
markets of Assouan. I must do both the men the justice to say that they
afterwards made every exertion to cheat me, in the way of counting money
and offering bad pieces, and at last gave a large pile of copper coin,
which, when it was counted, lacked two piastres of the right amount. When
all was finished, I delivered Abou-Sin into the hands of his rascally
new master, with a sorrowful heart, for the old fellow and I were good
friends. Had he known we were to be separated, I am sure those large
black eyes of his would have dropped a few tears, and that capacious
throat gurgled out a sound of lamentation. Achmet threw his arms around
the beast’s big head and kissed him tenderly. I was about to do the same
thing, when I remembered that the never-sweating skin of a dromedary
exhales not the freshest of odors, and preferred caressing him with my
hand rather than my lips. So farewell to Abou-Sin, and may he never want
dourra and bean-vines, nor complain under too heavy loads: and should he
die soon (for he is waxing in years), may some son of his strong loins be
there to carry me, when next I visit Central Africa!

My arrival at Wadi Halfa terminated the journey of thirty-four days from
Khartoum. In that time my little caravan had travelled between eight and
nine hundred miles, and at least half of it as rough travelling as can
be found in Africa. Now we were beyond danger and done with fatigue,
and could look forward to seeing Cairo in another month. Not until we
were all seated in the ferry-boat, crossing from the opposite bank, did
I fairly realize that our severe journey was over. The camels were left
behind, the baggage piled up on board, and as we were rowed slowly across
the river, it suddenly flashed through my mind that the same gentle
motion of oars and waves was thenceforth to rock me all the way to Cairo.
I drew a long breath, and fervently ejaculated: “_el hamdu lillàh!_”
to which the others, as in duty bound, responded. Achmet, who usually
postponed his prayers until he reached home, recited a chapter from the
Koran, and Ali, who never prayed, broke into sailor-songs by starts, and
laughed continually, from inward delight.

After my tent was pitched on the beach, I called my camel-men, Ali and
Mohammed, who had crossed with me, and gave them each the forty piastres
still due, with a Maria Theresa dollar—_abou-zeràr_, or the Father of
Buttons, as this coin is called in Central Africa, from the button which
clasps the drapery on the Empress’s shoulder—as backsheesh. The men were
delighted, and kissed my hand, in token of gratitude. I gave them also
the money for the shekh, and took leave of them with the exclamation:
“May God grant you a prosperous return to your country!” They replied,
warmly: “May God prolong your days, O Effendi!” and as they moved away,
I overheard old Mohammed again declare to Achmet; “Wallah, but this is a
good Frank! He certainly has Islam in his heart!”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE ROCK TEMPLES OF ABOU-SIMBEL.

Wadi Halfa—A Boat for Assouan—We Embark on the Nile
Again—An Egyptian Dream—The Temples of Abou-Simbel—The
Smaller Temple—The Colossi of Remeses II.—Vulgarity of
Travellers—Entering the Great Temple—My Impressions—Character
of Abou-Simbel—The Smaller Chambers—The Races of Men—Remeses
and the Captive Kings—Departure.

Wadi Halfa is an ordinary Arab village, and noted only for being the
head of navigation on the Nubian Nile. There were six or seven boats in
port, some of them loaded with gum and ready to start for Assouan. They
were all _nekkers_, or trading boats, built of heavy wood, and not to
be moved down stream against a strong head-wind. I therefore engaged
the ferry-boat in which I had crossed—a light, open boat, manned by
two Nubian boys. The raïs made a frame of sticks near the stern, and
covered it with palm-mats, to serve as a cabin. The open hold was turned
into a kitchen, and taken possession of by my two men. There was barely
room enough for all of us and our baggage, and a fat sheep I bought, as
provision for the voyage, but as I proposed being gloriously lazy, to
make up for the foregone toils, I needed no more.

The morning after my arrival at Wadi Halfa all was ready. A few children
came down to greet me with the hateful word “backsheesh,” which I had not
heard for three months and hoped never to hear again; but a few Arabic
exclamations soon put them to flight. We shoved away from the beach,
followed by the cries of a dozen lazy sailors, who also wanted backsheesh
for saying “_salaam_” at parting. I stretched myself out on my bed, on
deck, and lay looking on the receding shore, where my camel-men and
camels (Abou-Sin still among them) were encamped. Abou-Sin’s head was
turned towards the river, as if looking for his master, for the hapless
creature certainly thought I should go over to mount him on the morrow.
Alas, my brave old dromedary! we shall never again play friendly tricks
upon each other. Raïs Ramadan took his station at the helm, and the boys
plied their oars actively, so that we soon lost sight of Wadi Halfa. All
the afternoon we glided slowly down the stream between rich palm-groves
and grain-fields. The appearance of thrift and fertility, which the
country presented, was most agreeable after the waste fields of Dongola,
and the unproductive rocks and sands of the intermediate districts.
The mountains behind were lower and rounder in their outlines, and the
landscapes softer and richer than any I had seen since leaving beautiful
Dar Shygheea. By sunset we had made such good progress, that there was
every hope of reaching Abou-Simbel in the morning.

There was no wind during the night, and the boys worked bravely. About
two hours after midnight I was awakened from a deep sleep by the shock
of the boat striking the shore. I opened my eyes and saw, as I lay,
without moving my head, a huge wall of rock before me, against which
six enormous statues leaned as they looked from deep niches cut in its
front. Their solemn faces were touched by the moon, which shone full
on the cliff, and only their feet were wrapped in shadow. The lines of
deep-cut hieroglyphics over the portal of this rocky temple were also
filled with shadow and painted legibly on the gray, moonlit rock. Below
them yawned the door—a square of complete darkness. A little to the left,
over a long drift of sand that sloped from the summit of the cliff nearly
to the water’s edge, peered the mitred head of a statue of still more
colossal proportions. I gazed on this broad, dim, and wonderful picture
for a moment, so awed by its majesty that I did not ask myself where nor
what it was. This is some grand Egyptian dream, was my first thought, and
I closed my eyes for a few seconds, to see whether it would vanish. But
it stood fast and silent as ever, and I knew it to be Abou-Simbel. My
servants all slept, and the raïs and boys noiselessly moored the boat to
the shore, and then lay down and slept also. Still I lay, and the great
statues looked solemnly down upon me, and the moon painted their kingly
nomens and banners with yet darker distinctness on the gray rock. The
river made no sound below, the long grass stirred not a blade at the foot
of the crags, and the slopes of sand were white and dumb as snow. I lay
in too deep a repose for thought, and was not then conscious how grateful
was such a silence in Nature, while the moon held up that picture before
me. It might have been two minutes or twenty, before the current slowly
swung the stern of the boat around, and the picture as slowly shifted
from my view, leaving instead the Southern Cross in its shrine of stars.

In the morning, I found that we lay at the foot of the smaller temple.
I quietly waited for my cup of coffee, for the morning reality was
infinitely less grand than my vision of the night. I then climbed to
the door and entered. The interior is not large nor imposing, after
one has seen the temples of Egypt. The exterior, however, is on such
a colossal scale, that, notwithstanding the want of proportion in the
different statues, the effect is very striking. The largest ones are
about thirty-five feet high, and not identical, as are those of the great
temple. One, who stands with one leg advanced, while he holds a sword
with the handle pressed against his breast, is executed with much more
spirit than is usually met with in statues of this period. The sculptures
of the interior are interesting, and being of the time of Remeses the
Great, whose history they illustrate, are executed with much skill and
labor. The head of the goddess Athor, on the face of the columns in the
hall, is much less beautiful than that of the same goddess at Dendera. It
is, in fact, almost broad and distorted enough to represent the genius
Typhon.

The front of the great temple is not parallel to that of the other, nor
does it face the river, which here flows in a north-east course. The
line of the cliff is broken between the two, so that the figures of the
great Remeses, seated on each side of the door, look to the east, the
direction of the line of the face being nearly north. Through the gap in
front, the sands have poured down from the Desert behind, almost wholly
filling up the space between the two cliffs; and though since the temple
was first opened, in 1817, it has been cleared nearly to the base more
than once, the rapid accumulation of sand has again almost closed the
entrance. The southern colossus is only buried about half way to the
knee, but of the two northern ones there is little else to be seen except
the heads. Obscured as is the effect of this grand front, it is still
without parallel in the world. I had not thought it possible that in
statues of such enormous magnitude there could be such singular beauty
of expression. The face of Remeses, the same in each, is undoubtedly a
portrait, as it resembles the faces of the statues in the interior and
those of the King in other places. Besides, there is an individuality in
some of the features which is too marked to represent any general type of
the Egyptian head. The fullness of the drooping eyelid, which yet does
not cover the large, oblong Egyptian eye; the nose, at first slightly
inclining to the aquiline, but curving to the round, broad nostrils; the
generous breadth of the calm lips, and the placid, serene expression of
the face, are worthy of the conqueror of Africa and the builder of Karnak
and Medeenet Abou.

The statue next the door, on the southern side, has been shivered to
the throne on which it is seated, and the fragments are not to be seen,
except a few which lie upon the knees. The ridiculous vanity of tourists
has not even spared these sublime monuments, and they are covered
wherever a hand can reach, with the names of noble and ignoble snobs.
The enthusiastic antiquaries who cleared away the sands have recorded
the fact in modest inscriptions, near the door, where they do not offend
the eye; and one readily pardons the liberty the writers have taken.
But there are two Germans (whose names I will not mention, since it
would help give them the very notoriety they covet), who have carved
their names in letters a foot long, on the thigh of one of the statues,
and afterwards filled them with black paint. I should like to see them
subjected to a merciless bastinado, on the same part of their own
bodies. Certainly, to have one of the statues seated on their breasts as
a nightmare, every night of their lives, would not be too much punishment
for such a desecration.

The great doorway of the temple is so choked up with sand that I was
obliged to creep in on my knees. The sun by this time had risen exactly
to the only point where it can illumine the interior, and the rays,
taking a more yellow hue from the rock and sand on which they fell,
shone down the long drift between the double row of colossal statues,
and lighted up the entrance to the second hall of the temple. I sat
down in the sand, awed and half frightened by the singular appearance
of the place. The sunshine, falling obliquely on the sands, struck a
dim reflection against the sculptured roof and even lighted up the
farthest recesses of the grand hall sufficiently to show its imposing
dimensions. Eight square pillars—four on either side of the central
aisle—seem to uphold the roof, and on their inner sides, facing each
other, are eight statues of the King. The features of all are preserved,
and have something of the grace and serenity, though not the majesty of
the great statues outside. They look into each other’s eyes, with an
eternal question on their fixed countenances, but none can give answer.
There was something so stern and strange in these eight faces, that I
felt a shudder of fear creep over me. The strong arms are all crossed
on their breasts, and the hands hold various sacred and regal symbols,
conspicuous among which is something resembling a flail, which one sees
often in Egyptian sculpture. I thought of a marvellous story I once read,
in which a genie, armed with a brazen flail, stands at the entrance of an
enchanted castle, crushing with the stroke of his terrible weapon all
who come to seek the treasure within. For a moment the childish faith
in the supernatural was as strong as ever, and I looked at the gloomy
entrance beyond, wishing to enter, but fearing the stony flails of the
terrible Remesi on either hand. The faces were once partially colored,
and the black eyeball, still remaining on the blank eye of stone, gives
them an expression of stupor, of death-in-life, which accounted to me for
the nervous shock I experienced on entering.

There is nothing in Egypt which can be likened to the great temple of
Abou-Simbel. Karnak is grander, but its grandeur is human. This belongs
rather to the superhuman fancies of the East—the halls of the Afrites—or
to the realm of the dethroned Titans, of early Greek mythology. This
impression is not diminished, on passing the second hall and corridor,
and entering the adytum, or sacred chamber of the temple. There the
granite altar yet stands in the centre, before the undestroyed figures of
the gods, who, seated side by side, calmly await the offerings of their
worshippers. The peculiar individuality of each deity is strikingly shown
in these large statues, and their attitude is much less constrained than
in the sitting statues in the tombs of Thebes. These look as if they
_could_ rise, if they would. The walls are covered with sculptures of
them and of the contemplar deities, in the grand, bold style of the age
of Remeses. Some visitors had left a supply of dry palm branches near
the entrance, and of these I made torches, which blazed and crackled
fiercely, flaring with a rich red light on the sculptured and painted
walls. There was sufficient to enable me to examine all the smaller
chambers, of which there are eight or nine, cut laterally into the rock,
without any attempt at symmetry of form, or regularity of arrangement.
Several of them have seats running around three sides, exactly like the
divans in modern Egyptian houses. They were probably designed for the
apartments of the priests or servants connected with the temple.

The sculptures on the walls of the grand hall are, after those of
Medeenet Abou, and on the exterior wall of Karnak, the most interesting I
have seen in Egypt. On the end wall, on either side of the entrance, is
a colossal bas-relief, representing Remeses slaying a group of captive
kings, whom he holds by the hair of their heads. There are ten or twelve
in each group, and the features, though they are not colored, exhibit
the same distinction of race as I had previously remarked in Belzoni’s
tomb, at Thebes. There is the Negro, the Persian, the Jew, and one
other form of countenance which I could not make out—all imploring with
uplifted hands the mercy of the conqueror. On the southern wall, the
distinction between the Negro and the Egyptian is made still more obvious
by the coloring of the figures. In fact, I see no reason whatever to
doubt that the peculiar characteristics of the different races of men
were as strongly marked in the days of Remeses as at present. This is an
interesting fact in discussing the question of the unity of origin of
the race. Admitting the different races of men to have had originally
one origin, the date of the first appearance of Man on the earth, must
have been nearer fifty thousand than five thousand years ago. If climate,
customs, and the like have been the only agents in producing that variety
of race, which we find so strongly marked nearly four thousand years ago,
surely those agents must have been at work for a vastly longer period
than that usually accepted as the age of Man. We are older than we know;
but our beginning, like our end, is darkness and mystery.

The sculptures on the side walls of the temple represent the wars of
Remeses, who, as at Medeenet Abou, stands in a chariot which two horses
at full speed whirl into the ranks of the enemy. The king discharges his
arrows against them, and directly in front of him a charioteer, mortally
wounded, is hurled from his overthrown chariot. The groups are chiselled
with great spirit and boldness; the figures of the king and his horses
are full of life. Towering over all, as well by his superior proportions
as by the majesty and courage of his attitude, Remeses stands erect
and motionless amid the shock and jar and riot of battle. There is no
exultation in his face; only the inflexible calmness of Destiny.

I spent some time contemplating these grand and remarkable memorials of
the greatest age of Egypt, and left with my feeling for Egyptian art even
stronger than before. I watched the giant figures of the portico, as the
swift current carried my boat down stream, reluctant to lose sight of
their majestic features. But the yellow of the cliff turned to purple,
and at last other crags passed before it.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

RETURN TO EGYPT.

The distressing coldness of the temperature the night before reaching
Wadi Halfa, affected me more painfully than all the roastings I had
endured in Soudân. My nose after losing six coats of skin, became so
hard and coppery, that like Anthony Van Corlear’s, the reflected rays
from it might have pierced even the tough skin of a crocodile. My frame
was so steeped in heat, that had our fuel fallen short, I might have
“drawn” my tea, by hugging the kettle in my arms. I had been so bathed
and rolled in light, the sun had so constantly, with each succeeding day,
showered upon me his burning baptism, that I came to regard myself as
one of his special representatives, and to fancy that, wherever I went,
there was a sort of nimbus or radiation around me. But those few drops
of rain, among the stony mountains of the Batn El-Hadjar, quenched at
once the glow of my outer surface, and the cold winds which followed,
never ceased blowing till they extinguished even the central fires. I
was like an incipient comet, snuffed out of existence and made satellite
to some frozen planet. My frame was racked with pains, which turned into
misery the refreshing indolence of the Nile. I had no medicines, but put
my philosophy into practice: the climate of Nubia, I said, has given me
this infliction, therefore the country must supply the remedy. So I sent
the raïs ashore in search of it. He came back with a cup of oil which a
shining daughter of the land was about bestowing upon her crispy tresses,
and I drank it with a heroic faith in the efficacy of my theory. I was
not disappointed, and on the third day sat once more in the sun, in the
bow of my boat, trying to regain the effluence I had lost.

The scenery of the Nile below Abou-Simbel is very beautiful. The
mountains recede again from the bank, and show themselves occasionally
in picturesque peaks. The shores are low and rich and the groves of
date-trees most luxuriant. The weather was delightfully calm and warm,
and the Nile, though swift, ran smooth and shining as the oil of his own
castor bean-fields. During the sweet, quiet hour before and after sunset,
we floated down through the lovely region about Bostàn and Teshka. Three
tall peaks of dark-brown rock rose inland, beyond the groves of the
beautiful Ibreemee palm, whose leaves, longer and more slender than those
of the Egyptian date-tree, are gracefully parted at the sides—half of
them shooting upward in a plumy tuft, while the other half droop around
the tall shaft of the tree. The boys worked during the second night with
unabated force. I awoke as the moon was rising through black clouds,
and found the lofty crags of Ibreem overhanging us. We swept silently
under the base of the heights, which in the indistinct light, appeared to
rise four or five hundred feet above us. By sunrise, the date-groves of
Derr, the capital of the Nuba country, were in sight, and we were soon
moored beside the beach in front of the town. Derr stretches for some
distance along the shore, and presents an agreeable front to the river. A
merchant, from a boat near ours, brought me two small loaves of delicious
Egyptian bread. He had been in Soudân, and knew how such bread would
relish, after the black manufacture of that country.

An hour afterwards my boat ran to the eastern bank, to allow me to visit
the little temple of Amada. This temple stands on a slight rise in the
sands, which surround and entirely overwhelm it. It consists only of a
low portico, supported by eight pillars, a narrow corridor and the usual
three chambers—all of very small dimensions. The sculptures on the walls
are remarkable for the excellent preservation of their colors. The early
Christians, who used this temple for their worship, broke holes in the
roof, which admit sufficient light for the examination of the interior.
Without knowing any thing of the hieroglyphic inscriptions on the temple,
I should judge that it was erected by some private person or persons.
The figures making the offerings have not the usual symbols of royalty,
and the objects they present consist principally of the fruits of the
earth, which are heaped upon a table placed before the divinity. The
coloring of the fruit is quite rich and glowing, and there are other
objects which appear to be cakes or pastry. While I was examining the
central chamber I heard a sound as of some one sharply striking one of
the outside pillars with a stick. It was repeated three times with an
interval between, and was so clear and distinct that I imagined it to be
Achmet, following me. I called, but on receiving no answer, went out, and
was not a little surprised to find no person there or within sight. The
temple stands at a considerable distance from any dwelling, and there is
no place in the smooth sands on all sides of it where a man could hide.
When I mentioned this circumstance, on returning to the boat, Achmet and
the raïs immediately declared it to be the work of a _djin_, or afrite,
who frequently are heard among the ruins, and were greatly shocked when
I refused to accept this explanation. I record the circumstance to show
that even in the heart of Nubia there are mysterious rappings.

Beyond Derr I entered the mountain region of granite, sandstone and
porphyry, which extends all the way to Assouan. As I approached Korosko,
which is only about twelve miles further, the south-wind increased till
it became a genuine _khamseen_, almost blotting out the landscape with
the clouds of sand which it whirled from the recesses of the Biban. We
were obliged to creep along under the bank till we reached Korosko,
where we ran up to the same old landing-place at which I had stopped in
December. The bank was eight feet higher than then, the river having
fallen that much in the mean time. There was the same house, open on
the river-side, the same old Turk sitting within, the dark sycamores
shading the bank, the dusty terrace with the familiar palms tossing their
leaves against the wind, the water-mill, the white minaret at the foot
of the mountain, and, lastly, the bold, peaked ridge of Djebel Korosko
behind. There was the very spot where my tent had stood, and where I
first mounted a dromedary for the long march through the Nubian Desert.
There was also the corner by which I turned into the mountain-pass, and
took leave of the Nile. I recognized all these points with a grateful
feeling that my long wandering in Central Africa was over, without a
single untoward incident to mar my recollection of it. I had my pipe and
carpet brought under the shade of the sycamore, while Achmet went up to
the Governor’s house, with the raïs and one of the boys. Before long, the
latter appeared with his shirt full of pigeons (for I had not forgotten
the delicious roast pigeons we took from Korosko into the Desert), then
the raïs with my sack of charcoal, the Governor having only used about
one-third of it during my absence, and finally the Governor himself.
Moussa Effendi shook me cordially by the hand and welcomed me many times,
thanking God that I had returned in safety. We sat on my carpet, talked
for an hour about my journey, took coffee, and I then left the worthy man
and his wretched village, more delighted at having seen them again than I
can well express.

The same evening, the wind veered to the north-west, nearly at
right-angles to our course, and just at dusk, as, the raïs and Ali were
rowing vigorously to keep the boat on the western side of the river (the
other being full of dangerous reefs), the rope which held the long oar in
its place broke, and Ali tumbled heels over head into the wooden cooking
bowl of the raïs. The wind carried us rapidly towards the opposite shore,
and while Ali and Lalee were trying to fix the oar in its place, we heard
the water roaring over the rocks. “O Prophet!” “O Apostle!” “Prophet of
God, help us!” were the exclamations of the raïs, but little black ’Med
Roomee, who sat at the helm, like Charlemagne on a similar occasion,
said nothing. He looked keenly through the gloom for the reef, and at
last discerned it in time for the boat to be sculled around with the
remaining oar, and brought to land just above the dangerous point. A
shipwreck in the Nile is a more serious matter than one would imagine,
who has never seen the river during a strong wind. Its waves run as
roughly and roar as loudly as those of a small sea.

We reached Sebooa during the night, and I walked up to the temple as soon
as I rose. Early as it was, several Arabs descried me from a distance,
and followed. The temple, which is small and uninteresting, is almost
buried under drifts from the Desert, which completely fill its interior
chambers. Only the portico and court, with three pillars on each side,
to which colossal caryatides are attached, remain visible. Before the
pylon there is an avenue of lion-headed sphinxes, six of which, and a
colossal statue of sandstone, raise their heads above the sand. I was
followed to the vessel by the men, who importuned me for backsheesh. When
I demanded what reason they had for expecting it, they answered that all
strangers who go there give it to them. This was reason enough for them;
as they knew not why it was given, so they knew not why it should be
refused. The crowd of travellers during the winter had completely spoiled
the Barabras. I said to the men: “You have done nothing for me; you are
beggars,”—but instead of feeling the term a reproach, they answered: “You
are right—we are beggars.” With such people one can do nothing.

For the next two days we lagged along, against a head-wind. My two
boys did the work of two men, and I stimulated them with presents of
mutton and tobacco. Three English boats (the last of the season), left
Wadi-Halfa three days before me, and by inquiring at the village, I found
I was fast gaining on them. I began to feel some curiosity concerning
the world’s doings during the winter, and as these Englishmen were at
least three months in advance of the point where I left off, they became
important objects to me, and the chase of them grew exciting. I prepared
for my encounter with them and other belated travellers on the Nile, by
making an American flag out of some stuff which I had bought for that
purpose in Dongola. The blue and white were English muslin, and the red
the woollen fabric of Barbary, but they harmonized well, and my flag,
though I say it, was one of the handsomest on the river.

The temple of Djerf Hossayn is excavated in the rock, near the summit
of a hill behind the village. A rough path, over heaps of stones,
which abound with fragments of pottery, denoting the existence of an
ancient town, leads up to it. When I reached the platform in front of
the entrance I had a convoy of more than a dozen persons, mostly stout,
able-bodied men. I determined to try an experiment, and so told them at
the start to go back, for they would get nothing; but they were not to
be shaken off. I avoided with the greatest care and patience all their
endeavors to place me under obligations to them; for these cunning
Barabras are most assiduous in their efforts to render some slight
service. If it is only kicking a stone out of your path, it constitutes a
claim for backsheesh, and they represent their case in such a way that it
would be the most glaring ingratitude on your part not to give it.

On entering the temple, the vast square pillars of the hall, with the
colossal figures attached to them, produce a striking impression. The
effect of these pillars, which fill nearly half the space of the hall
itself, is to increase its apparent dimensions, so that the temple, at
the first glance, seems to be on a grander scale than is really the
case. I had some curiosity regarding this place, from the enthusiastic
description of Warburton, and the disparaging remarks of Wilkinson. After
seeing it, I find them both correct, in a great measure. The colossal
statues of the grand hall are truly, as the latter observes, clumsy and
badly executed, and the sculptures on the walls are unworthy the age of
Remeses; but it is also true that their size, and the bulk of the six
pillars, which are lofty enough to be symmetrical, would have a fine
effect when seen at night, by the light of torches, as Warburton saw
them. All the chambers have suffered from smoke and bats, and the bigotry
of the old Christians. The walls are so black that it is difficult to
trace out the figures upon them. This, however, rather heightens the
impression of a grand, though uncouth and barbarous art, which the temple
suggests. I made but a brief visit, and marched down the hill with
the population of Djerf Hossayn in my train. The boat had gone ahead,
as the only approach to the shore was a mile or two beyond, but they
insisted on following me. I ordered them to leave, fearing lest the very
fact of their walking so far in the hot sun would induce me to break
my resolution. It would have been, indeed, a satisfaction to give ten
piastres and be freed from them, and I took no little credit to myself
for persisting in refusing them. They all dropped off at last, except
two, who came almost to the spot where the boat was moored, and only
turned back because I was in advance and ordered the raïs to move on as
soon as I got on board. I should like to know their opinion of me. I have
no doubt the people considered me the most eccentric Frank who ever came
among them.

The next morning we reached Kalabshee, and before sunrise I was standing
on the long stone platform before the temple. The pylon of hewn sandstone
rises grandly above the spacious portal, and from the exterior the
building has a most imposing air. Its interior once, probably, did not
diminish the impression thus given; but at present it is such an utter
mass of ruin that the finest details are entirely lost. The temple is
so covered with the enormous fragments of the roof and walls that it
is a work of some difficulty to examine it; but it does not repay any
laborious inspection. The outer wall which surrounds it has also been
hurled down, and the whole place is a complete wreck. I know of no temple
which has been subjected to such violence, unless it be that of Soleb in
Dar El-Màhass.

Below the temple we passed the Bab (Gate) El-Kalabshee, where the river
is hemmed in between enormous boulders of granite and porphyry. The
morning was cold and dark, and had there been firs instead of palms,
I could have believed myself on some flood among the hills of Norway.
I urged on the boys, as I wished to reach Dabôd before dark, and as
Ali, who was anxious to get back to Egypt, took a hand at the oar
occasionally, our boat touched the high bank below the temple just after
sunset. There is a little village near the place, and the reapers in
the ripe wheat-fields behind it were closing their day’s labor. One old
man, who had no doubt been a servant in Cairo, greeted me with “_buona
sera!_” Achmet followed, to keep off the candidates for backsheesh,
and I stood alone in the portico of the temple, just as the evening
star began to twinkle in the fading amber and rose. Like Kalabshee, the
temple is of the times of the Cæsars, and unfinished. There are three
chambers, the interior walls of which are covered with sculptures, but
little else is represented than the offerings to the gods. Indeed,
none of the sculptures in the temples of the Cæsars have the historic
interest of those of the Eighteenth Egyptian dynasty. The object of
the later architects appears to have been merely to cover the walls,
and consequently we find an endless repetition of the same subjects.
The novice in Egyptian art might at first be deceived by the fresher
appearance of the figures, their profusion and the neatness of their
chiselling; but a little experience will satisfy him how truly superior
were the ancient workmen, both in the design and execution of their
historic sculptures. In Dabôd, I saw the last of the Nubian temples, in
number nearly equal to those of Egypt, and after Thebes, quite equal to
them in interest. No one who has not been beyond Assouan, can presume
to say that he has a thorough idea of Egyptian art. And the Nile, the
glorious river, is only half known by those who forsake him at Philæ.

After dark, we floated past the Shaymt-el-Wah, a powerful eddy or
whirlpool in the stream, and in the night came to a small village within
hearing of the Cataract. Here the raïs had his family, and stopped to
see them. We lay there quietly the rest of the night, but with the
first glimpse of light I was stirring, and called him to his duty. The
dawn was deepening into a clear golden whiteness in the East, but a few
large stars were sparkling overhead, as we approached Philæ. Its long
colonnades of light sandstone glimmered in the shadows of the palms,
between the dark masses of the mountains on either hand, and its tall
pylons rose beyond, distinct against the sky. The little hamlets on
the shores were still in the hush of sleep, and there was no sound to
disturb the impression of that fairy picture. The pillars of the airy
chapel of Athor are perfect in their lightness and grace, when seen thus
from a boat coming down the river, with the palm-groves behind them and
the island-quay below. We glided softly past that vision of silence and
beauty, took the rapid between the gates of granite, and swept down to
the village at the head of the Cataract. The sun had just risen, lighting
up the fleet of trading boats at anchor, and the crowds of Arabs,
Egyptians and Barabras on the beach. The two English dahabiyehs I had
been chasing were rowed out for the descent of the Cataract, as I jumped
ashore and finished my travels in Nubia.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

VOYAGE DOWN THE NILE.

I reached the Egyptian frontier on the morning of the sixteenth of March,
having been forty days in making the journey from Khartoum. Immediately
upon our arrival, I took a donkey and rode around the Cataract to
Assouan, leaving Ali to take care of the baggage-camels. I went directly
to the beach, where a crowd of vessels were moored, in expectation of
the caravans of gum from the South. An Egyptian Bey, going to Khartoum
in the train of Rustum Pasha, had arrived the day before in a small
dahabiyeh, and the captain thereof immediately offered it to me for the
return to Cairo. It was a neat and beautiful little vessel, with a clean
cabin, couch, divan, and shady portico on deck. He asked twelve hundred
piastres; I offered him nine hundred; we agreed on a thousand, and when
my camels arrived there was a new refuge prepared for my household gods.
I set Achmet to work at getting the necessary supplies, sent the raïs
to bake bread for the voyage, and then went to see the jolly, flat-nosed
Governor. He received me very cordially, and had a great deal to say
of the unparalleled herd of travellers on the Nile during the winter.
Ninety-six vessels and eleven steamboats had reached the harbor of
Assouan, and of these the greater number were Americans. “Mashallah! your
countrymen must be very rich,” said the Governor.

When I left the divan, the firing of guns announced the safe arrival of
the English boats below the Cataract. Very soon I saw two burnt-faced,
tarbooshed individuals, with eye-glasses in their eyes, strolling up the
beach. For once I threw off the reserve which a traveller usually feels
towards every one speaking his own language, and accosted them. They
met my advances half-way, and before long my brain was in a ferment of
French and English politics. Europe was still quiet then, but how unlike
the quiet of the Orient! The Englishmen had plenty of news for me, but
knew nothing of the news I most wanted—those of my own country. Had our
positions been reversed, the result would have been different. They left
at sunset for the return to Thebes, but I was detained until noon the
next day, when I set off in company with the boat of Signor Drovetti, of
Alexandria, who left Khartoum a few days after me. I had six men, but
only two of them were good oarsmen.

In the morning, when I awoke, the broken pylon of Ombos tottered directly
over the boat. I rushed on deck in time to catch another sight of the
beautiful double portico, looking down from the drifted sands. The wind
blew very strongly from the north, but in the afternoon we succeeded
in reaching Djebel Silsileh, where the English boats were moored. We
exchanged pistol salutes, and I ran up to the bank to visit some curious
sculptured tablets and grottoes, which we did not see on the upward
voyage. During the night the wind increased to such an extent that all
the boats were obliged to lay to. The morning found our four dahabiyehs
floating slowly down in company, crossing from side to side transversely,
in order to make a little headway. After three or four hours, however,
the wind grew so strong that they were driven up stream, and all ran
to the lee of a high bank for shelter. There we lay nearly all day.
The Englishmen went ashore and shot quails, but I lounged on my divan,
unable to do any thing, for the change from the dry, hot desert air, to
the damp Nile blasts, brought on an inflammation of the eyes, resembling
ophthalmia. I was unable to read or write, and had no remedies except
water, which I tried both warm and cold, with very little effect.

Towards evening the wind fell; after dark we passed the pylon of Edfoo,
and at noon the next day reached Esneh. I went at once to the temple, so
beautiful in my memory, yet still more beautiful when I saw it again. The
boys who admitted me, lifted the lids of the large coffin and showed the
royal mummies, which are there crumbling to pieces from the neglect of
the Egyptian authorities, who dug them up at Goorneh. The coffins were
of thick plank and still sound, the wood having become exceedingly dry
and light. The mummies were all more or less mutilated, but the heads of
some were well preserved. In form, they differ considerably from the Arab
head of the present day, showing a better balance of the intellectual
and moral faculties. On one of them the hair was still fresh and
uncorrupted. It was of a fine, silky texture and a bright auburn color.
The individual was a woman, with a very symmetrical head, and small,
regular features. She may have been a beauty once, but nothing could be
more hideous. I pulled off a small lock of hair, and took it with me as a
curious relic. Esneh appeared much more beautiful to me than on my upward
journey; possibly, by contrast with the mud-built houses of Soudân. I
went to a coffee-shop and smoked a _sheesheh_, while the muezzin called
down from the mosque in front: “God is great; there is no God but God;
Mohammed is the Prophet of God.”

Ali Effendi, the agent of the _Moodir_, or Governor, came to see me and
afterwards went on board my vessel. As the wind was blowing so furiously
that we could not leave, I invited him to dinner, and in the meantime we
had a long talk on afrites and other evil spirits. I learned many curious
things concerning Arabic faith in such matters. The belief in spirits
is universal, although an intelligent Arab will not readily confess the
fact to a Frank, unless betrayed into it by a simulated belief on the
part of the latter. Ali Effendi informed me that the spirit of a man who
is killed by violence, haunts the spot where his body is buried, until
the number of years has elapsed, which he would otherwise have lived. He
stated, with the greatest earnestness, that formerly, in passing at night
over the plain between Embabeh and the Pyramids, where Napoleon defeated
the Mamelukes, he had frequently heard a confusion of noises,—cries of
pain, and agony, and wrath—but that now there were but few sounds to be
heard, as the time of service of the ghosts had for the most part expired.

One of his personal experiences with an afrite amused me exceedingly.
He was walking one night on the road from Cairo to Shoobra, when he
suddenly saw a donkey before him. As he was somewhat fatigued, and the
donkey did not appear to have an owner, he mounted, and was riding along
very pleasantly, when he was startled by the fact that the animal was
gradually increasing in size. In a few minutes it became nearly as large
as a camel; and he thereby knew that it was no donkey, but an afrite. At
first he was in such terror that the hairs of his beard stood straight
out from his face, but suddenly remembering that an afrite may be brought
to reveal his true nature by wounding him with a sharp instrument, he
cautiously drew his dagger and was about to plunge it into the creature’s
back. The donkey-fiend, however, kept a sharp watch upon him with one of
his eyes, which was turned backwards, and no sooner saw the dagger than
he contracted to his original shape, shook off his rider and whisked away
with a yell of infernal laughter, and the jeering exclamation: “Ha! ha!
you want to ride, do you?”

We had scarcely left Esneh before a fresh gale arose, and kept us tossing
about in the same spot all night. These blasts on the Nile cause a rise
of waves which so shake the vessel that one sometimes feels a premonition
of sea-sickness. They whistle drearily through the ropes, like a gale
on the open sea. The air at these times is filled with a gray haze, and
the mountain chains on either hand have a dim, watery loom, like that of
mountains along the sea-coast. For half a day I lay in sight of Esneh,
but during the following night, as there was no wind, I could not sleep
for the songs of the sailors. The sunrise touched the colonnade of Luxor.
I slept beyond my usual time, and on going out of the cabin what should
I see but my former guide, Hassan, leading down the beach the same little
brown mare on which I had raced with him around Karnak. We mounted and
rode again down the now familiar road, but the harvests whose planting I
had witnessed in December were standing ripe or already gathered in. It
was autumn in Egypt. The broad rings of clay were beaten for threshing
floors, and camels, laden with stacks of wheat-sheaves paced slowly
towards them over the stubble fields. Herds of donkeys were to be seen
constantly, carrying heavy sacks of wheat to the magazines, and the
capacious freight-boats were gathering at the towns along the Nile to
carry off the winter’s produce.

It was a bright, warm and quiet day that I spent at Thebes. The great
plain, girdled by its three mountain-chains, lay in a sublime repose.
There was no traveller there, and, as the people were expecting none,
they had already given up the ruins to their summer silence and
loneliness. I had no company, on either side of the river, but my former
guides, who had now become as old friends. We rode to Karnak, to Medeenet
Abou, to the Memnonium, and the Colossi of the Plain. The ruins had now
not only a memory for me, but a language. They no longer crushed me with
their cold, stern, incomprehensible grandeur. I was calm as the Sphinx,
whose lips no longer closed on a mystery. I had gotten over the awe of a
neophyte, and, though so little had been revealed to me, walked among the
temples with the feelings of a master. Let no one condemn this expression
as presumptuous, for nothing is so simple as Art, when once we have the
clue to her infinite meanings.

White among the many white days of my travel, that day at Thebes is
registered; and if I left with pain, and the vast regret we feel on
turning away from such spots, at least I took with me the joy that
Thebes, the mighty and the eternal, was greater to me in its living
reality than it had ever been in all the shadow-pictures my anticipation
had drawn. Nor did the faultless pillars of the Memnonium, nor the
obelisks of Karnak, take away my delight in the humbler objects which
kept a recognition for me. The horses, whose desert blood sent its
contagion into mine; the lame water-boy, always at my elbow with his
earthen bottle; the grave guides, who considered my smattering of Arabic
as something miraculous, and thence dubbed me “Taylor Effendi;” the
half-naked Fellahs in the harvest-fields, who remembered some idle joke
of mine,—all these combined to touch the great landscape with a home-like
influence, and to make it seem, in some wise, like an old resting-place
of my heart. Mustapha Achmet Aga, the English agent at Luxor, had a great
deal to tell me of the squabbles of travellers during the winter: how the
beach was lined with foreign boats and the temples crowded day after day
with scores of visitors; how these quarrelled with their dragomen, and
those with their boatmen, and the latter with each other, till I thanked
Heaven for having kept me away from Thebes at such a riotous period.

Towards evening there was a complete calm, and every thing was so
favorable for our downward voyage that I declined Mustapha’s invitation
to dine with him the next day, and set off for Kenneh. The sailors rowed
lustily, my servant Ali taking the leading oar. Ali was beside himself
with joy, at the prospect of reaching his home and astonishing his family
with his marvellous adventures in Soudân. He led the chorus with a voice
so strong and cheery that it rang from shore to shore. As I was unable
to write or read, I sat on deck, with the boy Hossayn at my elbow to
replenish the pipe as occasion required, and listened to the songs of the
sailors. Their repertory was so large that I was unable to exhaust it
during the voyage. One of their favorite songs was in irregular trochaic
lines, consisting of alternate questions and answers, such as “_ed-dookan
el-liboodeh fayn?_” (where’s the shop of the cotton caps?) sung by the
leader, to which the chorus responded: “_Bahari Luxor beshwoytayn._”
(A little to the northward of Luxor). Another favorite chorus was:
“_Imlāl-imlāl-imlālee!_” (Fill, fill, fill to me!) Many of the songs
were of too broad a character to be translated, but there were two of a
more refined nature, and these, from the mingled passion, tenderness and
melancholy of the airs to which they were sung, became great favorites of
mine.[7]

Before sunrise we reached Kenneh. Here I was obliged to stop a day to let
the men bake their bread, and I employed the time in taking a Turkish
bath and revisiting the temple of Dendera. My servant Ali left me, as his
family resided in the place. I gave him a good present, in consideration
of his service during the toilsome journey we had just closed. He kissed
my hand very gratefully, and I felt some regret at parting with, as I
believed, an honest servant, and a worthy, though wild young fellow.
What was my mortification on discovering the next day that he had stolen
from me the beautiful stick, which had been given me in Khartoum by the
Sultana Nasra. The actual worth of the stick was trifling, but the action
betrayed an ingratitude which I had not expected, even in an Arab. I
had a charming ride to Dendera, over the fragrant grassy plain, rippled
by the warm west wind. I was accompanied only by the Fellah who owned
my donkey—an amiable fellow, who told me many stories about the robbers
who used formerly to come in from the Desert and plunder the country. We
passed a fine field of wheat, growing on land which had been uncultivated
for twenty years. My attendant said that this was the work of a certain
Effendi, who, having seen the neglected field, said that it was wrong to
let God’s good ground lie idle, and so planted it. “But he was truly a
good man,” he added; “and that is the reason why the crop is so good. If
he had been a bad man, the wheat would not have grown so finely as you
see it.”

For three days after leaving Kenneh, a furious head-wind did its best to
beat me back, and in that time we only made sixty miles. I sighed when I
thought of the heaps of letters awaiting me in Cairo, and Achmet could
not sleep, from the desire of seeing his family once more. He considered
himself as one risen from the dead. He had heard in Luxor that his wife
was alarmed at his long absence, and that his little son went daily to
Boulak to make inquiries among the returning boats. Besides, my eyes were
no better. I could not go ashore, as we kept the middle of the stream,
and my only employment was to lounge on the outside divan and gossip
with the raïs. One evening, when the sky was overcast, and the wind
whirled through the palm-trees, we saw a boy on the bank crying for his
brother, who had started to cross the river but was no longer to be seen.
Presently an old man came out to look for him, in a hollow palm-log,
which rolled on the rough waves. We feared the boy had been drowned, but
not long afterwards came upon him, drifting at the mercy of the current,
having broken his oar. By the old man’s assistance he got back to the
shore in safety.

On the fourth day the wind ceased. The Lotus floated down the stream as
lightly as the snowy blossom whose name I gave her. We passed Girgeh,
Ekhmin; and at noon we brushed the foot of Djebel Shekh Hereedee and
reached the landing-place of Tahtah. I had a letter from Rufaā Bey in
Khartoum to his family in the latter town, and accordingly walked thither
through fields of superb wheat, heavy with ripening ears. Tahtah is a
beautiful old town; the houses are of burnt brick; the wood-work shows
the same fanciful Saracenic patterns as in Cairo, and the bazaar is as
quiet, dim and spicy as an Oriental dream. I found the Bey’s house, and
delivered my letter through a slave. The wife, or wives, who remained
in the hareem, invisible, entertained me with coffee and pipes, in the
same manner, while a servant went to bring the Bey’s son from school. Two
Copts, who had assisted me in finding the house, sat in the court-yard,
and entertained themselves with speculations concerning my journey, not
supposing that I understood them. “Girgos,” said one to the other, “the
Frank must have a great deal of money to spend.” “You may well say that;”
his friend replied, “this journey to Soudân must have cost him at least
three hundred purses.” In a short time the Bey’s son came, accompanied by
the schoolmaster. He was a weak, languid boy of eight or nine years old,
and our interview was not very interesting. I therefore sent the slave to
bring donkeys, and we rode back to the boat.

CHAPTER XL.

THE RETURN TO CAIRO—CONCLUSION.

Siout In Harvest-time—A kind Englishwoman—A Slight Experience
of Hasheesh—The Calm—Rapid Progress down the Nile—The Last
Day of the Voyage—Arrival at Cairo—Tourists preparing for the
Desert—Parting with Achmet—Conclusion.

We reached Siout on the morning of the twenty-eighth of March, twelve
days after leaving Assouan. I had seen the town, during the Spring of an
Egyptian November, glittering over seas of lusty clover and young wheat,
and thought it never could look so lovely again; but as I rode up the
long dyke, overlooking the golden waves of harvest, and breathing the
balm wafted from lemon groves spangled all over with their milky bloom,
I knew not which picture to place in my mind’s gallery. I remained half
a day in the place, partly for old acquaintance sake, and partly to
enjoy the bath, the cleanest and most luxurious in Egypt. I sought for
some relief to my eyes, and as they continued to pain me considerably, I
went on board an English boat which had arrived before me, in the hope
of finding some medicine adapted to my case. The travellers were a most
innocent-faced Englishman and his wife—a beautiful, home-like little
creature, with as kind a heart as ever beat. They had no medicine, but
somebody had recommended a decoction of parsley, and the amiable woman
spoiled their soup to make me some, and I half suspect threw away her Eau
de Cologne to get a bottle to put it in. I am sure I bathed my eyes duly,
with a strong faith in its efficacy, and fancied that they were actually
improving, but on the second day the mixture turned sour and I was thrown
back on my hot water and cold water.

While in Egypt, I had frequently heard mention of the curious effects
produced by _hasheesh_, a preparation made from the _cannabis indica_. On
reaching Siout, I took occasion to buy some, for the purpose of testing
it. It was a sort of paste, made of the leaves of the plant, mixed with
sugar and spices. The taste is aromatic and slightly pungent, but by no
means disagreeable. About sunset, I took what Achmet considered to be a
large dose, and waited half an hour without feeling the slightest effect.
I then repeated it, and drank a cup of hot tea immediately afterwards.
In about ten minutes, I became conscious of the gentlest and balmiest
feeling of rest stealing over me. The couch on which I sat grew soft
and yielding as air; my flesh was purged from all gross quality, and
became a gossamer filagree of exquisite nerves, every one tingling with a
sensation which was too dim and soft to be pleasure, but which resembled
nothing else so nearly. No sum could have tempted me to move a finger.
The slightest shock seemed enough to crush a structure so frail and
delicate as I had become. I felt like one of those wonderful sprays of
brittle spar which hang for ages in the unstirred air of a cavern, but
are shivered to pieces by the breath of the first explorer.

As this sensation, which lasted but a short time, was gradually fading
away, I found myself infected with a tendency to view the most common
objects in a ridiculous light. Achmet was sitting on one of the provision
chests, as was his custom of an evening. I thought: was there ever
any thing so absurd as to see him sitting on that chest? and laughed
immoderately at the idea. The turban worn by the captain next put on
such a quizzical appearance that I chuckled over it for some time. Of
all turbans in the world it was the most ludicrous. Various other things
affected me in like manner, and at last it seemed to me that my eyes were
increasing in breadth. “Achmet,” I called out, “how is this? my eyes are
precisely like two onions.” This was my crowning piece of absurdity. I
laughed so loud and long at the singular comparison I had made, that when
I ceased from sheer weariness the effect was over. But on the following
morning my eyes were much better, and I was able to write, for the first
time in a week.

The calm we had prayed for was given to us. The Lotus floated, sailed and
was rowed down the Nile at the rate of seventy miles a day, all hands
singing in chorus day and night, while the raïs and his nephew Hossayn
beat the tarabooka or played the reedy zumarra. It was a triumphal march;
for my six men outrowed the ten men of the Englishman. Sometimes the
latter came running behind us till they were within hail, whereupon my
men would stand up in their places, and thundering out their contemptuous
chorus of “_hé tôm, tôm, koosbarra!_” strike the water so furiously with
their long oars, that their rivals soon slunk out of hearing. So we went
down, all excitement, passing in one day a space, which it had taken us
four days to make, on our ascent. One day at Manfaloot; the next at
Minyeh; the next at Benisooef; the next in sight of the Pyramids; and so
it came to pass that in spite of all my delays before reaching Siout, on
the sixteenth day after leaving Assouan, I saw the gray piles of Dashoor
and Sakkara pass behind me and grow dim under the Libyan Hills.

And now dawns the morning of the first of April, 1852—a day which will
be ever memorable to Achmet and myself, as that of our return to Cairo.
When the first cock crowed in some village on shore, we all arose and
put the Lotus in motion. Over the golden wheat-fields of the western
bank the pyramids of Dashoor stand clear and purple in the distance. It
is a superb morning; calm, bright, mild, and vocal with the songs of a
thousand birds among the palms. Ten o’clock comes, and Achmet, who has
been standing on the cabin-roof, cries: “O my master! God be praised!
there are the minarets of Sultan Hassan!” At noon there is a strong
head-wind, but the men dare not stop. We rejoice over every mile they
make. The minaret of old Cairo is in sight, and I give the boat until
three o’clock to reach the place. If it fails, I shall land and walk. The
wind slackens a little and we work down towards the island of Roda, Gizeh
on our left. At last we enter the narrow channel between the island and
Old Cairo; it is not yet three o’clock. I have my pistols loaded with a
double charge of powder. There are donkeys and donkey-boys on the shore,
but Arabian chargers with Persian grooms were not a more welcome sight.
We call them, and a horde comes rushing down to the water. I fire my
pistols against the bank of Roda, stunning the gardeners and frightening
the donkey boys. Mounted at last, leaving Achmet to go on with the
boat to Boulak, I dash at full speed down the long street leading into
the heart of Cairo. No heed now of a broken neck: away we go, upsetting
Turks, astonishing Copts and making Christians indignant, till I pull up
in the shady alley before the British consulate. The door is not closed,
and I go up stairs with three leaps and ask for letters. None; but a
quantity of papers which the shirt of my donkey-boy is scarcely capacious
enough to hold. And now at full speed to my banker’s. “Are there any
letters for me?” “Letters?—a drawer full!” and he reaches me the
missives, more precious than gold. Was not that a sweet repayment for my
five months in the heat and silence and mystery of mid-Africa, when I sat
by my window, opening on the great square of Cairo, fanned by cool airs
from the flowering lemon groves, with the words of home in my ears, and
my heart beating a fervent response to the sunset call from the minarets:
“God is great! God is merciful!”

I stayed eight days in Cairo, to allow my eyes time to heal. The season
of winter travel was over, and the few tourists who still lingered, were
about starting for Palestine, by way of Gaza. People were talking of the
intense heat, and dreading the advent of the _khamseen_, or south-wind,
so called because it blows fifty days. I found the temperature rather
cool than warm, and the _khamseen_, which blew occasionally, filling
the city with dust, was mild as a zephyr, compared to the furnace-like
blasts of the African Desert. Gentlemen prepared themselves for the
journey across the Desert, by purchasing broad-brimmed hats, green veils,
double-lined umbrellas, and blue spectacles. These may be all very good,
but I have never seen the sun nor felt the heat which could induce me
to adopt them. I would not exchange my recollections of the fierce red
Desert, blazing all over with intensest light, for any amount of green,
gauzy sky and blue sand. And as for an umbrella, the Desert with a
continual shade around you, is no desert at all. You must let the Sun lay
his sceptre on your head, if you want to know his power.

I left Cairo with regret, as I left Thebes and the White Nile, and
every other place which gives one all that he came to seek. Moreover,
I left behind me my faithful dragoman, Achmet. He had found a new son
in his home, but also an invalid wife, who demanded his care, and so he
was obliged to give up the journey with me through Syria. He had quite
endeared himself to me by his constant devotion, his activity, honesty
and intelligence, and I had always treated him rather as a friend than
servant. I believe the man really loved me, for he turned pale under all
the darkness of his skin, when we parted at Boulak.

I took the steamer for Alexandria, and two or three days afterwards
sailed for fresh adventures in another Continent. If the reader, who
has been my companion during the journey which is now closed, should
experience no more fatigue than I did, we may hereafter share also in
those adventures.

FINIS.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Burckhardt gives the following account of the same custom, in
his travels in Nubia: “In two hours and a half we came to a plain on
the top of the mountain called _Akabet el Benat_, the Rocks of the
Girls. Here the Arabs who serve as guides through these mountains have
devised a singular mode of extorting presents from the traveller; they
alight at certain spots in the Akabet el Benat, and beg a present;
if it is refused, they collect a heap of sand, and mould it into the
form of a diminutive tomb, and then placing a stone at each of the
extremities, they apprise the traveller that his tomb is made; meaning,
that henceforward, there will be no security for him, in this rocky
wilderness. Most persons pay a trifling contribution, rather than have
their graves made before their eyes; there were, however, several tombs
of this description dispersed over the plain.”

[2] The following record of the temperature, from the time of leaving
Korosko to the date of the accident which deprived me of the thermometer,
is interesting, as it shows a variation fully equal to that of our own
climate:

7 A. M. 12 M. 2 P. M.
Korosko, Dec. 21st 59° 75° 80°
Desert, ” 22 50° 74° 80°
” ” 23 55° 75° (Bahr bela Ma) 85°
” ” 24 51° 70° 78°
” ” 25 54° 78° 85°
” ” 26 60° 91° 100°
” ” 27 55° — 95°
” ” 28 59° — 90°
Abou-Hammed ” 29 61° — 90°
The Nile ” 30 59° — 85°
” ” 31 52° 78° 84°
” Jan. 1st, 1852 47° 70° 68°

[3] In the Letters of Lepsius, which were not published until after
my return from Africa, I find the following passage, the truth of
which is supported by all the evidence we possess: “The Ethiopian name
comprehended much that was dissimilar, among the ancients. The ancient
population of the whole Nile Valley as far as Khartoum, and perhaps,
also, along the Blue River, as well as the tribes of the Desert to the
east of the Nile, and the Abyssinian nations, were in former times
probably even more distinctly separated from the negroes than now, and
belonged to the Caucasian Race.”

[4] Capt. Peel, who measured the volume of water in the two rivers,
gives the following result: Breadth of the Blue Nile at Khartoum, 768
yards; average depth, 16.11 feet; average current, 1.564 knots; volume
of water, 5,820,600 cubic feet per minute. Breadth of the White Nile,
immediately above the junction, 483 yards; average depth, 13.92 feet;
average current, 1.47 knots; volume of water, 2,985,400 feet per minute.
Breadth of the Nile below the junction, 1107 yards; average depth, 14.38
feet; average current, 2 knots; volume of water, 9,526,700 cubic feet per
minute. This measurement was made in the latter part of October, 1851. It
can hardly be considered conclusive, as during the preceding summer the
rains had been unusually heavy in the mountains of Abyssinia, which may
have occasioned a greater disproportion than usual, in the volume of the
two rivers.

[5] July, 1854.

[6] Dr. Constantine Reitz died about a year after my departure from
Soudân, from the effects of the climate. He had been ill for some
months, and while making a journey to Kordofan, felt himself growing
worse so rapidly that he returned to Khartoum, where he expired in
a few days. He was about thirty-three years of age, and his many
acquirements, joined to a character of singular energy and persistence,
had led his friends to hope for important results from his residence
in Central Africa. With manners of great brusqueness and eccentricity,
his generosity was unbounded, and this, combined with his intrepidity
and his skill as a horseman and a hunter, made him a general favorite
with the Arab chieftains of Ethiopia, whose cause he was always ready to
advocate, against the oppressive measures of the Egyptian Government.
It will always be a source of satisfaction to the author, that, in
passing through Germany in September, 1852, he visited the parents of
Dr. Reitz, whose father is a _Forstmeister_, or Inspector of Forests,
near Darmstadt. The joy which they exhibited on hearing from their son
through one who had so recently seen him, was mixed with sadness as they
expressed the fear that _they_ would never see him again—a fear, alas!
too soon realized.

[7] I give the following translations of these two songs, as nearly
literal as possible:

Look at me with your eyes, O gazelle, O gazelle! The blossom of your
cheeks is dear to me; your breasts burst the silk of your vest; I cannot
loose the shawl about your waist; it sinks into your soft waist. Who
possesses you is blessed by heaven. Look at me with your eyes, O gazelle,
O gazelle! Your forehead is like the moon; your face is fairer than all
the flowers of the garden; your bed is of diamonds; he is richer than
a King who can sleep thereon. Look at me with your eyes, O gazelle, O
gazelle!

II.

O night, O night—O darling, I lie on the sands. I languish for the light
of your face; if you do not have pity on me, I shall die.
O night, O night—O darling, I lie on the sands. I have changed color
from my longing and my sorrow; you only can restore me, O my darling.
O night, O night—O darling, I lie on the sands. O darling, take me in:
give me a place by your side, or I must go back wretched to my own
country.

[Illustration: MAP OF THE COURSE OF THE NILE AND THE ADJACENT COUNTRIES]

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A journey to Central Africa : Or, Life and landscapes from Egypt to the Negro kingdoms of the White Nile" ***

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