Extreme cold — Milanese Refugees in the desert — A camel lost — An
extraordinary day — Arab merchants — Making up a small parcel — Rain in
the desert — The mirage — First rate calculators — English weather — In
sight of the Nile — Arrival at Korosko.
The wind was extremely cold, the thermometer in the morning falling
below 55°, a difference of twenty degrees in two days. As yet we had not
seen any grass in the desert.
One morning we were agreeably surprised by meeting two European
gentlemen; Messrs. Trotti and Dandolo, Milanese refugees, travelling on
the Nile. At Assuan they had met Mr. V——, who told them of our
adventurous journey, and encouraged them to follow our example.
On finding our boats at Korosko, they soon made up their minds on the
subject, and without tents, or in short any proper requisites for such a
journey, they started; not satisfied with the idea of proceeding to
Khartoum, their intention was to go on to the El Obeid.
They had severely felt the cold, having been without sufficient
clothing. We gave them all the information that was at our disposal in
the way of route, distances, time, &c., and they went on their way. They
had been seven days travelling from Korosko, and rode on Bedouin
saddles, without either saddle bags or mattresses. Some miles further on
we met their luggage, on ten half-loaded camels.
We next passed a native caravan carrying Manchester goods, soap, sugar,
and tea, and continued passing chains of mountains that had been in
sight for nearly fifty miles.
The following day we met a caravan of forty-seven camels, followed by
their proprietor, an Arab merchant. He informed us that some boats had
started from Wady Halfa to meet us on our return from Korosko.
The sand was all day very heavy, and we proceeded in much the same
course as during the preceding days. As we passed through a valley, we
noticed chain after chain of blue mountains. They would have greatly
resembled the Alps, if white snow could have been changed into
violet-bloom. The temperature was still extremely cold.
The next morning we could not start very early. We found, to our alarm,
that our guide, after wasting half the night in talking—a common
amusement among the Arabs—had disappeared. He had lost a camel, and was
tracking it across the desert by its footsteps, which he knew perfectly,
as all Bedouins do. About eight o’clock he returned with the fugitive,
and off we started.
The way was most mountainous all along, with abundance of grass, and
many large doum-trees, looking sad and desolate in the middle of the
beds of different torrents that have long been dry, and which scarcely
ever contain water, except during a few weeks in July and August.
There was much herbage in the vales we passed through this day; but no
more was seen afterwards, nor any living creature, except occasionally a
sand-coloured bird.
Only one long valley was bordered by fine mimosa trees. How they
flourished in such a desert it is scarcely possible to imagine.
The sky was very cloudy and lowering, and the aneroid barometer suddenly
fell half an inch.
The following was the most extraordinary day we had had from the
commencement of the journey. The wind changed from north to south, and
the sky was so clouded that we did not see the sun nearly all day; yet
the thermometer stood at 92°. The air felt like the atmosphere during a
West India hurricane, and was scarcely endurable. Nevertheless, we
travelled the usual time, though every one felt exceedingly tired.
In the morning, we met our camels that had been sent in search of rain-
water, and were much gratified to find that this proved as good as it
had been reported. This timely supply lasted till we reached Korosko.
Near the camp we saw a hole in a rock, through which every merchant, not
too stout, contrives to creep; indeed, there is sometimes a good deal of
wriggling amongst some of them, as they strive to make themselves up in
as small a parcel as possible, and work their way, snake-like, through
the aperture. It is considered to have a lucky effect on their
Manchester goods.
After descending a succession of reddish hills, broken by rocks of
bright pink quartz, jutting out some yards high, we crossed a chain of
precipitous hills into a long, narrow, flat plain of sand, along which
ran a line of doum palms, some flourishing, many dead—a truly African
scene.
Crossing this, we passed through, as though it had been a door, a break
in a straight line of blue slate rocks, that ran parallel with the
opposite line of hills—occasional hills rising from the plains—the rocks
often very grotesque in form.
An hour or two after sunset, we had a few drops of rain—a thing quite
unheard-of at this season. We afterwards were told that the same
phenomenon visited Assuan.
The mirage was very frequently distinct, and one day we were watching it
changing the bare plain into a lake, in which we beheld the trees
reflected; as we were gazing we noticed a camel quickly disappearing
along its borders. An Arab soon after ran across the plain in pursuit.
Not having seen a living thing for a day or two, our curiosity was very
much excited as to the fate of the Arab, and we were glad when we
overtook him. Seeing our party, be waited our approach, wanting the
assistance of one of our men to recover his camel, which had made its
escape whilst he dismounted to rest and eat.
In passing through some deep sand, we observed a place where the
government had been trying to find water. They met with the success that
might have been expected from such a locality.
The following day our road was “the river”—so called by the Bedouins
from its resemblance to a stream rolling along through narrow valleys
and high hills, and always on the descent.
A man came to us to ask for water. He was tracking three camels that had
been from Aboohamed almost to Korosko on their own account. He had no
doubt been mounted, but fearing lest we might force him, _à la Turque_,
to lend us his camel, he had left it carefully concealed out of sight.
We noticed several ostrich traces on the sand, the first we had seen.
The weather was a repetition of yesterday—extremely close and cloudy,
with the thermometer at 92°. During the evening we had drops of rain
several times.
On our way, we passed “the door of the road,” a narrow pass where
Bedouins used to levy backsheesh, some years ago, on all passers.
Another day we hoped would be our last before reaching Korosko; but our
hopes proved fallacious. Our provisions have just lasted; our biscuit,
rice, and maccaroni would have ended, or, as Abbas called it, died, to-
morrow or the day after, and with our last dinner ended our last
vegetables. There is no doubt that our servants are first-rate
calculators—as to our taste in certain provisions, and our consumption
in a certain time. The last day in the desert was by far the most
uncomfortable of all. Our camels having been ten days without food, were
very tired, and had to be most disagreeably dragged along.
The weather was cloudy, misty, windy, and cold—quite an English March.
It rained two or three times—a few drops only—and we did not even see
the sun till after lunch time. We pushed on, travelling ten hours in
hopes of finishing, but were disappointed, the river seeming to recede
as we advanced.
Towards noon of the eleventh day of our journey, the Nile, a most
welcome sight, came suddenly into view on emerging from a ravine, and we
perceived the low masts of our boats against the bank. I rode on in
advance, and arrived at the diabeheeh some minutes before the rest of
the party. The crew rushed on me as soon as I came in sight, embraced
me—some even kissed me—so great was their satisfaction to behold me once
more amongst them.
“Cavaghi, mafisch,” said they. When I answered, “Mafisch!” they burst
into tears.
They then hurried towards the rest of our party: first embraced our
dragoman, who slipped off his camel on their approach, and then welcomed
all. Quietly and respectfully they conducted the ladies on board, and
then the most known of the crew, approached to kiss their hands.
They showed how neatly the cabins had been prepared, and that all our
things that had been left in their care were perfectly safe.
Shortly afterwards we were together again in our homely cabin, thankful
beyond measure that we had been permitted to proceed so far on our
return without accident or hindrance, and anticipating the gratification
of finding ourselves still nearer the home to which our thoughts had
lately become more and more anxiously directed.
Our journey had taken two months and three days, and we arrived at Wady
Halfa, and at Korosko, on the very days marked on the plan we had made
at Paris.
The Sheik of the camels was found, the donkeys disposed of, and
arrangements made for the guide, &c., left behind. The moment the
caravan arrived, everything was hastily put on board, and within a
couple of hours of our appearance at Korosko, we were once more floating
down the river in our boat, which, after an absence of two months, we
had began to regard as a home.