THE NUBIAN NILE.
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.
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.]