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