EXCURSIONS AND PREPARATIONS.
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.
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.]