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 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.

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.

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

[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:
I.
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.

Transcriber’s Note: Map is clickable for a larger version.

MAP OF THE COURSE OF THE NILE AND THE ADJACENT COUNTRIES

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TO CENTRAL AFRICA ***

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