THE BOHR “JOI.” — HIS TREATMENT ON BOARD THE VESSEL. —
HIS ESCAPE. — WOMEN’S VILLAGE. — FELT CAPS. — SONGS OF THE
BOHRS. — TUBERS SIMILAR TO POTATOES. — THE BUNDURIÀLS. — THE
TUTUIS AND KÈKS. — AN ELEPHANT ATTACKED AND KILLED. — TASTE OF
THE FLESH OF THIS ANIMAL. — CHEATING OF THE NATIVES IN BARTER. —
WINTER TOKULS OR WOMENS’ HUTS. — MANNER OF MAKING A BURMA OR
COOKING-VESSEL. — “BAUDA” AGAIN. — FEÏZULLA-CAPITAN’S
INDUSTRY IN SEWING. — THE KÈKS LIVE BY FISHING. — DESCRIPTION
OF THE WOMEN. — SERIOUS ACCIDENT TO THE VESSEL. — OSTRICHES AND
APES. — FOGS ON THE WHITE STREAM. — WATCH-TOWERS. — SALE SHOOTS
A GIGANTIC CRANE. — IS PUNISHED. — THE NUÈHRS.
17th February.—The thermometer, hanging in the window, which
is always open, had, at about half-past eight o’clock yesterday
evening, 25½°, and this morning before sunrise 23°. The sky is
cloudy, and it seems as if it would rain; the east wind abates the
sultriness a little. At seven o’clock, from N.E. to E. by S.,
and immediately northerly. A quarter after seven o’clock, W.N.W.,
N.E., and then in a bend to N.N.W. The Bohr Joi was extremely happy
yesterday evening; he had eaten so much that he could not move: I
had repaired the broken bowl of his pipe, and he smoked my tobacco
and said, “affat” (good). Feïzulla Capitan has given him the
usual slave name of “Bachit,” by which he is called and teazed
on all sides. The Dinkaui Bachit, a young soldier, who might speak
to him, will have nothing to do with him; therefore the fellow finds
himself deserted, and cannot answer by words the crew, who are always
laughing at him. Even yesterday he hung down his head the whole day,
and looked on the ground, and I could not help feeling pity for the
otherwise free negro, separated as he was from his friends. He had
a handsome head, something of a Roman nose, large eyes, a mouth only
protruding a little, and all his teeth, except the four lower ones;
in other respects he was thin, seemed in grief, and almost starved
to death. This might have induced him perhaps to come on board Selim
Capitan’s vessel, who bound a piece of linen as an ornament round
his neck, but retained him as a slave. Awakened from my sleep, I heard
him speaking and singing, looking with passionate affection towards
both shores. I think the poor creature is taking leave of his country,
or he is home-sick, and owing to that cannot sleep. At midnight
he woke me a second time, and screamed Bohr, Bohr, Bohr! and then,
Elliàb, Elliàb, Elliàb! adding clearly thereto individual names,
whilst he turned himself to those regions. He sang loud, melancholy
songs, and what appeared from the melody to be the camel-song of the
Bisharis, and then shouted wildly and loudly. They tried to hold him
fast, but he was as strong as a lion. Subsequently he complained of
pains in the body, which perhaps arose from his dreadful gluttony,
and he gazed continually at the shores as if assistance would come
to him from thence. I suppose that he wants to escape, and therefore
I made him take off the linen decoration, as it might be an obstacle
to him in so doing; but I got him first to rub his stomach with it,
during which operation he roared and groaned like a wild beast, and
stretched himself with both hands on the lowered mast. Scarcely,
however, was he relieved from the attack of colic than he made a
tremendous spring over the heads of the crew right away into the
water. It was with difficulty that I prevented them from firing at
him. Feïzulla Capitan did not say a word, but put on a melancholy
face, because he feared possibly Selim Capitan’s reproaches.
Eight o’clock, N.N.W., and after fifteen minutes with a short course
to S.S.E. and again N.W. and N.N.W. On the right, a village, with
numerous light-coloured cows and open sleeping-places; between them,
little huts for women and children, formed like a basket, plastered
with slime, and covered at the top with entangled couch-grass, which
may serve as a covering against the weather, or as a chimney. The
north wind, which has set in, is contrary to us, and we are, at
a quarter before nine o’clock, when we are going to the north,
scarcely five minutes from the last villages. We continually
run aground, and spin like a top from one shore to the other, on
account of the north wind, which is blowing stronger and stronger:
the ashes of the burnt grass are carried up by the wind, and the
air all around is obscured by them. The river winds from N. towards
N.E., and at the corner on the right is a large pastoral village,
with several lowing herds; on the left, a tokul village, in which,
on account of the north and east wind, we do not see any of the oval
doors turned towards the Nile. A number of ugly and dirty women with
leather aprons, also boys, but no girls, stand collected there. Above
this women’s village a gohr disembogues from S.W. by S., and this is
the same arm of the Nile that Selim Capitan navigated for three hours,
above, near the Elliàbs, and found unfit for our voyage. We stop
at half-past nine o’clock at the lower end of the long pastoral
village extending along the shore. An old man seizes the rope by
which we have lately been pulled, and makes us understand that he
is going to kill some cows for us. We move on, however, for they
did not come before eleven o’clock, to N.W.
The village is called Dirèk, also Aderèk. Three natives were on
board our vessel: their felt morions were covered over and over
with sea-shells (_Cypræa moneta_), and the inside so entwined with
their hair, that they could not take them off without cutting off the
hair itself; therefore we could not persuade any of them to sell us
their caps. At last one man asked a large shellful of glass beads
for it. Another fellow was brought to Selim Capitan, but he would
not resign his morion for any price, and said that he purchased it
for eight cows, and that it came from the very distant country of
Kekèss. Hence it follows that there is a connection here with the
sea. Eleven o’clock; a little to N.E. by N. A quarter after eleven
o’clock, with a short bend to N.W. by W., and N. by E. In the angle
of this second sharp bend, on the left a small pastoral village;
then N.E. The reddish-colour of the ashes seems to arise from the
natural admixture of the clayey soil, as I convinced myself to-day,
when the men were piling together the dung of the herds. Half-past
eleven o’clock. From N.E. to N.W.: then a Nile arm shews itself
in the bend to E., and flows southerly. The smell of fire from the
black and scorched shores is very unpleasant, on which, however,
there are still green spots and tracts. The disrupt and higher old
shore stretches to the right, in a straight line to N.N.E., whilst
the present shore goes westerly. A quarter before twelve. In the bend
from W.N.W. to N.E. by N.: on the left shore a pastoral village,
with sleeping-places, or inclined reed-walls, turned towards W.,
and open at the top; small basket-huts and regular tokuls join,
having roofs indented, or rather in the form of steps.
I cannot yet get the negro Joï out of my mind, with his melancholy
melodies and Swiss home-sickness, which lasted for hours. The
sudden, wild outbreak of the passionate feelings of man in a state
of nature—the shouting of names, and the continual repetition of
them dying away with the voice—never, never have I heard a more
affecting _decrescendo_! Then again his rude speech and cries; and
then the songs, which I took for pastoral songs, and which in part
have the _very same melody_, with their softly humming and tremulous
key-note as the camel-songs of the Bisharis, heard throughout the
night in the desert, only that the former expressed the higher notes
more passionately, where his voice often broke, but always returned
again to the key-note. The calling individual names, by which his
heart turned even to his enemies the Elliàbs, bringing to mind his
misfortune in the dark cloudy night—every thing is still present
before me. I offered him glass beads; staccato and hoarse notes
alone were his answer. The Swiss style of singing is known in the
interior of Africa, as I previously ascertained from hearing the
young soldiers.
Twelve o’clock. From N.N.W. and N.W. by W. to N.W. The shores are
no longer mixed with sand, although there are lower imbenchings and
aggregations: on the left, a pastoral village, where we see, as usual,
a crowd of negroes. At half-past twelve o’clock, N.N.W.: we halt
at the right shore. They bring me small tubers, similar to potatoes,
and eaten like them; opposite to us a pastoral village. We bear off
again at a quarter before one o’clock. At one, from N. to N.W.:
on the left, a village with old tokuls. A very long watercourse lies
before us, and at the end of it, at two o’clock, a pastoral village,
in the form of an arch, and extending to some distance. We double a
short corner on the right, N.E. by N., near which we are regularly
fixed, owing to the strong north wind, which blows the spray like
drizzling rain. Thermometer, before sunrise 23°; noon 28°; now,
at two o’clock, 25°. At four o’clock we leave this promontory,
the wind having died away, and go N.N.E. and N. At a quarter before
five the wind gets up afresh; we go N.W. to the right shore, where we
shall remain perhaps the night. Thermometer, at four o’clock 25°,
sunset 24°, at eight o’clock 22°.
_18th February._ Yesterday evening lightning, which seemed to proceed
from distant regions. We might perhaps have heard the thunder,
had not the everlasting noise, which, day and night, stuns us in
the vessels, prevented us. The sky is quite clouded over, yet the
sun penetrates through. I had scarcely stood ten minutes at the
door of our cabin, before my clothes were quite damp, although no
mist had visibly fallen. We find here many of the before-mentioned
potato-like tubers, the foliage and tendrils being like those of
strawberries, but the leaf is not so rough. The tubers, which are
yet small, are level with the ground, like those I had seen before,
and I planted some specimens in sand. A quarter after six o’clock
we bore off to N.E. to the great vexation of the crew, who were
obliged to leave unslaughtered on the shore three beautiful oxen;
then with a short bend to S.E. by W. and immediately W.N.W. On the
left a pastoral village with lowing cattle, and before us a forest,
veiled by a blue vapour, moves from the right side into the monotonous
landscape. In the bend again to N.E. and N.N.E., where on the left
is a pastoral village, but without herds.
I cannot imagine when the natives drive their cattle in and out; for
I have at all times of the day seen the beasts tied up in the open
air, near the villages, and I have never noticed any fodder. Our
presence and their curiosity makes them, perhaps, careless in
attending to them.
Half-past seven o’clock. N.N.W., and with a short course to E.N.E,
where, on the left, a pastoral village lies behind the shore; then
we turn sharply to N.W., where, on the left, another pastoral village
appears; at this we wind to N.N.W. We have a gentle south-east wind,
and are afraid of rain.
Eight o’clock. From N.N.W. to N.W., by N. Some tokuls, with more
elevated tops, shew themselves on the right side, where the river
immediately goes to the right; and at the same moment a row of tokuls
of similar construction is discovered on the left, stretching in a
falcated form along the shore. The old tokuls have grooved roofs,
reed-walls from which the clay has fallen, oval doors, and some of
them with miserable reed-porches, and no sleeping-places. A pastoral
village follows, belonging, perhaps, to this winter or women’s
village. The Elliàbs inhabit both these villages; but few of them
shew themselves, and are called _Wièn_.
Half-past eight o’clock. From N.N.W. to N.N.E., and N. by W. Below,
a large village opens before us, which the vessels a-head leave to
the left. The island, which is merely young grass, floating on the
river, only rises gently above the stream. A quarter before nine
o’clock. At some distance from the right shore we see from the deck
a large pastoral village. Nine o’clock. W.N.W. The forest previously
remarked has not approached nearer to us. A quarter after nine, from
S.S.W. to S.E., where the wind, for a short space, is contrary to us;
then, on the right, to S.S.W.; but first we see two villages lying
somewhat up the country on the right side. We go E.N.E.
The south-east wind has freshened splendidly, and the log gives
five miles. The shores, although very low, are arid, and without
cultivation. Right and left are lakes, and near to the one on the
left a large village. Half-past nine o’clock; from E.N.E., a moment
to W.N.W.; on the point to the right, where the river bends N.W. by
W., an old tokul-village; on the left a lake, of half an hour long,
which is an ancient river-bed, as perhaps most of them are; therefore
the low shores divide them from us. A new forest before us, to which
we perhaps shall come. W. by N.: on the left a wretched hamlet with
mud-tokuls; but immediately afterwards a long row of regular tokuls,
whilst below a broad gohr enters the land about N.N.W., which makes,
therefore, these huts an island-city. The people shout and bawl to
us, as if we were old acquaintances: the ambak-trees are used here
for pallisadoes and screens. But few people are seen, and these only
old men and women. The island and village are both called Aquàk, and
this is the last possession of the Bunduriàls. On the right shore
the Tutuies follow, and the Keks on the left. About ten o’clock
we stop below this city of the Bunduriàls. In the middle of the
river a small island lies; level low country, with narrow pools, and
behind it the Haba lie opposite to us, about half an hour distant. I
despatch two servants to the village, to make some purchases, but
the women seize large pieces of ambak-wood, and will not allow them
to enter their harìm city.
Half-past twelve o’clock, off again to N.E., and immediately on the
right to E., where the violent east wind throws us, for amusement,
on the left shore. One o’clock, N.W., then soon E.N.E., and a
quarter before two, in the bend N.E. and N.N.W. From the deck, we
perceive two villages on both sides. Two o’clock, N. by E., in
the bend further to N.N.E.; on the left a pastoral village, then to
the left N.W. How it delights my heart to think that the favourable
south-east wind brings me every moment nearer to Khartùm—to my
brother! Half-past two, N. and N.W. by N.: a pastoral village at
the left; a quarter before three, N. by N.E., and round the left to
N.W. Three tokul villages in the country to the left. Three o’clock,
W.; on the left shore a pastoral village; before us, in the distance,
a forest. From the deck, I see behind the last-named village another
pastoral one. A quarter after three o’clock, with a short bend
to N.N.W., where a black tokul village, behind the shadow of heavy
clouds, looks like an old castle with several pinnacles, until the
latter disappear, and a row of forty-five tokuls is formed. A small
gohr enters below to N.N.W., which, as seen from the deck, widens,
and has a tokul-village in its neighbourhood. Another little gohr
to the left, from N. to N.E., connected with the preceding one,
leads probably to a lake, for the left shore hardly rises above
the river. The right and blackened shore is also scarcely four
feet high. A quarter before four o’clock, from N.W., in a bend
along reeds standing in water, which, being slightly rustled by the
south-east wind, strike leaves and sprout, such as I have not seen for
a long time: to N. where a long shining road extends before us. On
the right two islets, verdant like the new-born low country of the
right shore; another larger island joins the second for a few paces,
and a fresh one is united to it close to the shore, which appears
here again to be scorched. On the left some other green bushes of
reeds are standing, and behind them, we perceive from the deck a
tokul-village. Four o’clock; from N.W. to W. by N.; on the left a
pastoral village, and then N.N.W. The forest, about an hour distant
from the left shore, where a pastoral hamlet stands, stretches from
S. to W. To my joy, young reeds extend from the right corner, in a
long bend with the river to N.E.
Half-past four o’clock, again in a long bend from N.E. to N.N.E.,
N. and N.W to W.S.W., where we stop at five o’clock at the right
shore. A large lake lies at our side; behind it, another one is
incredibly enlivened by millions of birds, amongst which there are
several pelicans. I have never heard such a noise and fluttering of
flying birds, as I did here when on a shooting excursion. Thermometer,
before sunrise, 20°; noon, 27°; three o’clock, 29°; eight
o’clock in the evening, 24°.
_19th February._—We navigate, at seven o’clock, from N. on
the right, to N.E., and have soon to contend with a contrary north
wind. On the left we remark two of the narrow gohrs or natural canals,
serving, at high water, as channels to the lakes, from which they
are now disconnected. On the right, as yesterday at noon, Tutuies;
on the left, Kèks. A quarter before eight o’clock. From N. to
E. Here and there we see the negroes holding a stick, covered with
a skin of long hair, which appears to be a battle-standard; they
carry it always erect when they return from war.
Eight o’clock. N.W. On the left a long tokul-village of the Kèks,
with ambak-hedges, instead of the solitary little court-yards of the
houses; the sleeping-places open above, and plastered below. We no
longer perceive magazines erected on stakes: the people here never
seem to think of the morrow. On all sides uncultivated soil, and that
has been the case for some time. Nature must provide the necessary
bread-corn and other fruits, without any exertion of men, or the
people must live principally on the produce of the chase, and fishing.
Half-past eight o’clock. From N.W., with a short bend to S.E.,
yet only for a few paces; then again right round to N.N.W. We do not
remark that the water has fallen; it seems to be in its usual shallow
state. Young grass in the water at all the corners of the river
or shores, and also to the right of our bend. The marsh-regions,
with their noxious moisture and numerous glow-worms, are close
to us. Yesterday evening, the hollow sound of the drum foreboded
their approach.
Nine o’clock. To N.N.W. On the left a Haba, a quarter of an hour
distant. A quarter after nine o’clock. N.E.; and immediately
we double a flat green corner in the bend to S.W., and a very
short tract S., where there is a narrow pass. Half-past nine
o’clock. N.E. On the left a wretched hamlet, and a large lake
in its neighbourhood, with numerous birds, separated only a few
paces from us. Ten o’clock, N.; and to the left, round a green
half-moon, to W.S.W. Half-past ten o’clock. Again round a verdant
margin of the shore to the right, N.W. A quarter of an hour later
we halt about N.E.; and I accept Suliman Kashef’s invitation to
dinner. To my joy he talks a good deal of my brother. The Kèks have
brought some more teeth; but not one fell to my lot, in spite of all
my endeavours. About half-past one o’clock, we bear off again to
N. and N.E. The Elliàbs possess here also a tract, and likewise the
Kèks; the Tutuis dwell more up the country. Half-past one o’clock,
W.S.W.; then shortly S.W., and a quarter before two, to W., where
the Haba below seems to be close to the shore, and on the left side
it is scarcely half an hour distant; on the right a pastoral village.
Two o’clock, N.W. by W. On the right bank some men are employed
constructing a miserable pastoral village on old red ashes; behind I
see refreshing green grass, but that on the shore is either dried up
or burnt away. A second pastoral village is being erected immediately
on the right; the commencement of it consists here of solitary
sleeping-places: stakes, and heaps of ashes are lying about in large
quantities. The pasture seems to be a dried-up marsh-lake, as our
landing-place in the middle of the day also was, where gazelles and
elephants were sporting in the high grass on the still moist ground;
but I could not even get a shot at the former. A quarter after two
o’clock. On the left withered ambak, and the neighbouring forest
seems to approach to the shore; on the right a pastoral village,
and a long tokul-village joining it, with and without porches. Sale
jumped to my window, and shouted “Kawagi! tali barre, shuf uachet
fill fok el bah’r”! (“Master, come out, and look at an elephant
on the shore!”) “_Kawagi_,” properly speaking, being merchant,
and the title for every Frank; “_fok el bah’r_” means literally,
over the river. And the whole crew were all upon the move to see the
elephant. I went up also on the deck of our cabin, and perceived the
dark-grey monster, throwing first his trunk on the earth, and sending
up clouds of dust, and then lashing his body with it. A semicircle of
negroes were gradually approaching him, having spears in their hands;
but they fled from us, their best friends, when we landed. Suliman
Kashef soon opened a platoon fire, and I repaired immediately with
Sale in the direction of the elephant, who was looking around and
preparing to attack the crowd of people. The balls seldom whistled
by him, for the mark presented two large a volume to miss; and the
distance, short as it was, was diminished to a few steps by the
bloodthirsty circle surrounding him.
He extended his ears up and down like the opening of an umbrella, not
so much from pain, as from the balls raining on them, and sticking
in the ear-laps, as we found afterwards, having only penetrated one
skin. He was already blinded by the shots, for in elephant-hunts
they first aim at the eyes, and few missed, or else he would have
made his way to the Nile by instinct, to preserve himself for a
time. Suliman Kashef knelt down and sent another rifle-ball at his
orbits; he fell—the men rushed at him, but he rose once more, when
they all started back, tumbling one over the other to escape being
trodden under his feet. At last he sat on his hind-quarters, stretched
forth his fore-feet, and died in this half-standing posture. I could
not have shot him myself so close, for the blood running from his
eyes and numerous wounds moved my compassion too much to do so;
even Sale said to me, in a melancholy tone, “El messkin!”
(the poor creature). I ordered him to cut off the animal’s tail;
for the Kèks, to whom Suliman Kashef had presented the flesh, as a
set-off for the beautiful teeth, had already buried their knives in
his body. Sale hesitated a moment, because the awful sight of the
beast made him fear that it might possibly stand up again. Seven
spear-heads were found in the flesh under his skin, and he had swam
over with these sticking in him, from the opposite shore, where he
was first hunted. I had already embarked, when it struck me that the
foot of an elephant was considered a dainty, and I sent, therefore,
a servant to fetch me one; but he brought instead a large piece of
the ear, as a proof that he had really gone back, for the people of
this country seem to know what is good as well as the Europeans at
the Cape of Good Hope. Our black soldiers, however, had brought flesh
on board, which I afterwards tasted, but did not find very relishing.
[Illustration: MOUNT KOREK. MOUNTAIN CHAIN OF KAGELU. MOUNT KONNOBIH.
COUNTRY ON THE LEFT SHORE OF THE NILE FROM THE ISLAND OF TSHANKER
TOWARDS WEST. 27TH JANUARY, 1841.]
A quarter after five o’clock we leave the spot, and navigate to
N.W. by N. On the right a small encampment for cowherds; on the
left burning reed-straw. The leaves of the elephant-tree, which I
had placed in my window, have withered since the morning, though
from the 6th instant, therefore for thirteen days, they had been
exposed to the sun and air, and had not only remained fresh and
green, but also seemed to shoot forth vigorously, and even to grow,
whilst the fruits became every day more and more shrivelled. The
juice of the latter might, perhaps, have nourished the leaves by
returning to them; the stalk between the wood and the leaves being
injured by the wind blowing it against a nail, shewed plainly that
it had lost its sucker. A quarter before six o’clock, N. by W.;
close to the left a large lake; on the right a reed fire. We wheel
here on the left to the W.; the surface of the earth is very low
on the right and left; the lakes, therefore, are not all dry, but
considerable rain must fall to make them overflow, unless they have
auxiliary canals from the river. A tokul-village before us to the W.,
near which we shall perhaps stop, in consequence of the horizontal
smoke, and the smell of the meat connected therewith. A floating
island is at our side; the elephant may have torn it from the shore
in crossing. Six o’clock, W.S.W.; we ride at anchor in the middle
of the river, and have the village at our right. Thermometer, before
sunrise, 19°; noon, 27°; one o’clock, 28°; two o’clock 30″;
eight o’clock in the evening, 25°.
_20th February._—At 8 o’clock we navigate N.W.N. then N.N.W. A
quarter after eight o’clock. N.W. by W. We sail with a faint
north-east wind: to the right a pastoral village, to the left the
Haba, nearly a quarter of an hour distant; the shores low; then
N.W. by N., and again in the bend on the green margin of reeds to N.,
and on the left to W.N.W. Nine o’clock. We stop at the left shore,
for the strong north-east wind is contrary to us in our course from
N. to N.N.E. Five o’clock. The whole day I have been in bed, for I
became so ill this morning, shortly after our departure, that I could
not sit upright, and therefore I wished very much for wind and rest.
It is difficult to bargain with the blacks: they take the glass beads,
and the barter seems closed; but they immediately seize the goods
which they have already given us, and require more sug-sug. The
following circumstance happened to me, when I was a short distance
from the vessel with one of my servants. I had bought a large
elephant’s tooth, and a chief refused not only to return the beads,
but even tried, with his men, to take away the tooth from my lusty
cook, Sale Mohammed, by force, and to sell it again; whereupon I got
angry, and struck him on the face with the flat part of my hand:
he stood as if petrified, but afterwards went away without laying
a hand on me.
Although the wind is still contrary, we navigate, immediately after
five o’clock, with libàhn, to N.N.E. by the right shore. The
real cause of our departure arose from Thibaut having gone ahead, to
purchase ivory, which the Turks will not permit. We work to N. till
a quarter before six, and in a bend to W., where on the right is
a smoking pastoral village, with several small plastered summer
tokuls. We sail delightfully from N.W., to N.N.W., the wind being
favourable. A short tract to the left S.S.E. and then immediately
to the right, N.N.W. We see again vessels surrounded by reeds, where
we could not have supposed them to be. The river here seems to take
delight in tedious and disagreeable bends. We halt after sunset at
the right low shore, where, at some distance, I perceive an ambak
thicket; but I am too weak to fetch seeds, and my men immediately
jumped ashore with gun in hand. Thermometer, at sunset 27°; noon
29° to 30°; sunset 27°.
_21st February._—Half-past seven o’clock. From N.W. to N. and
N.W. by N.: on the right a considerable pastoral village with
larger tokuls, and plastered sleeping-places; the latter slightly
diminishing towards the top. Saw men stand near these summer tokuls,
the roof of which rises only a little, and on the average, their
heads are of an equal height with the tops of their huts, and some
even tower above them. We stop at a quarter before eight o’clock
between this pastoral and the succeeding women’s village, where
the river flows northerly, and wait for cattle to be killed. The
Kèks dwell on both shores, and the Tutuis up the country on the
right side, who live at peace with the former.
The winter-tokuls, or women’s huts, appear from the river far
higher than they really are, for they mostly stand on the slightly
elevated margin of the shore. After repeatedly measuring them, I find
that they are from eight to eleven feet high, including the lower
walls, which are always from three to three feet and a half. The
roof is in from five to nine uniform grooves, for the straw is
not sufficient for the length of the roof. The small tokuls of the
pastoral villages are, on the average, from six to seven feet high,
including their walls, which are four feet, or something more; those
of the sleeping-places are as high as the reeds themselves, namely,
about ten feet. To the great diversion of the crew, a young woman
here also wanted to drive us to the right side, because our vessel
lay at anchor before her harìm.
I watched a friendly-looking woman making a _burma_ (or cooking
apparatus), and putting the finishing stroke to it: she rounded the
outside of the earthen pot with water, and to get the little hoops
on it, she had a thick, strongly-twisted piece of packthread, of a
span in length, which she rolled over the smoothed places. As far
as I could learn from her, these vessels are made merely by hand,
although it might be supposed, from the beautiful large vessels
of the Shilluks, that a potter’s wheel was used. The people here
display as little friendly feeling towards us as those yesterday. I
manage to get, however, a thick fluted hassaia of ebony, besides
some small elephants’ teeth.
Ten o’clock. At last a miserable cow was presented to us, and we
proceed W.N.W., a quarter of an hour later, S.W., although only for
a very short tract, and immediately N.N.W. We continue to have on
the left, green reeds in the water; and the shore on the right is
scarcely two feet high.
Eleven o’clock. From N.W. to N.; in half an hour from S.E. and N.E.,
with a short bend in W.N.W. to S.S.W.; then on the right a short tract
N.E. by N., and again N.N.W. The shores are scarcely elevated above
the river, and therefore numerous lakes must be formed. I remarked,
yesterday, crown-rushes (_papyrus antiquorum_), which were still
green, as well as ambak-thickets, seeds of which plant I took this
morning; its leaves were already brown, and the tree itself in
a dying state: there were not any young shoots from the roots to
be seen, nor from the seed that had fallen in the preceding year;
the latter lies therefore a year, and perhaps till the next rainy
season, in the ground, and then during the time of high water,
springs up with incredible vigour to that height, which, upon this
slightly elevated ground, was only twenty feet; but in our ascent I
remarked it double that height on a low island in the river. Twelve
o’clock. From N., to the left N.W. On the right a pastoral village,
and immediately right to N. in a bend. The river is narrow, for the
grass has grown into it.
“Baùda, baùda!” the crew screamed the day before yesterday,—a
dreadful word, in truth. Hitherto we have only seen a few of these
horrible mosquitoes, but in their stead a quantity of other stinging
insects. From N. immediately to the left, W.N.W. and a short tract
N.W. by N. The north wind has been long contrary to us, but has not
been particularly prejudicial to our voyage. Half-past twelve—From
N.W. to W.N.W. and W; for a moment N., and in a short bend to S.S.W.,
where it winds to W. One o’clock.—About N.; a broad arm of the
Nile flows to W. We halt for a moment here by the island. About
S.E. by S., the mouth of another gohr going from E. is seen; it
discharges itself partly into the main stream to W., and partly
flows to S.W., and forms another island. The careless sailors have
allowed the vessels to be thrown into this arm of the Nile, and are
now working to come to the W. into the main river.
Half-past one. From W.N.W. left to S. Little ambak-woods on all
sides, but not having their fresh verdure; also crown-rushes, seeds
of which I have not yet been able to procure. A quarter before
two. From S. and S.W. to the right, shortly round to N.N.W. and
on to N.E. Two. From N.E. to the left round to N.N.W., then to the
right a few paces to N. A quarter after two. From N. and N. by E.:
on the right some negroes, who remain in a very quiet posture; to the
left W.N.W. Half-past two. W. by S., where we have a tolerably long
road before us, then W.S.W.; on the right a small summer village. A
quarter of an hour later N.E. by E. and N., and so in a bend further
to N.E. Three o’clock. From N.N.E. to N.N.W.; the low shores or
young water-reeds and ambak thickets still continue. We see even
now several reed-fires, but the people appear, since our absence,
to have burned the reeds very well, for a quantity of green grass
is seen sprouting up from the scorched soil. On again in a long
bend to W.S.W.; on the right a pastoral village with little tokuls,
having roofs more pointed; on the left also a similar one; then at
four o’clock, opposite the bend in N.W. at a little distance,
a large lake, and behind it the Haba. The natives sing a little,
but remain quietly sitting. A quarter after four, from N.N.W. to
the left towards W., then with a short bend to the right N.N.E.;
at this sharp corner a small pastoral village, near which we halt
at the right shore. About south from our landing-place a large lake,
where the river winds from N. to N.N.W. on the left shore immediately
behind the green reeds. The natives have all fled except one, who
remains close to us; probably the fame of our love for slaves has
preceded us. Thermometer, before sunrise 20°; noon and afternoon
28° to 30°; sunset 28°; eight o’clock 26°.
_22nd February._—We have waited since yesterday evening in vain
for Selim Capitan and Arnaud, who have struck into another arm of
the river. At nine o’clock this morning we see their mast at a
distance: they came up and we started at ten o’clock from hence,
where a large summer village is in the course of erection. We row
strenuously, for the north wind is contrary. From N. to. N.N.E.,
and at half-past ten to N. and N.N.E., and immediately to W.N.W. A
quarter before eleven E.N.E., and immediately N.N.W. Feïzulla
Capitan had epileptic attacks to-night again, perhaps arising from
the tension of the nerves of his fingers, for he has fabricated a
tow-rope for Suliman Kashef, and worked at it till late at night,
as he has done previously when engaged in sewing.
Eleven o’clock. From N.N.W. to N.N.E.; an arm of the Nile flows
in on the right—the very same one navigated by Selim Capitan and
Arnaud. To the right a pastoral village on the head-land; we put into
land near it. Two o’clock; we leave the place, for the natives will
not approach us. From N.N.W. immediately to N.N.E., and a quarter
of an hour later with a short curve to N.W. The negroes here wear
only narrow ivory rings. From N.W. to N.N.W., and at half-past two,
from N. in N.E. by E., to E. by N. The shores are either a green
margin of grass, encroaching on the water, or if they be dry, about
two feet high, and behind them are ambak-thickets, or crown-rushes,
striking leaves, or dying away, according as they are in low or
high ground. Three o’clock; further on in the bend to W.S.W.,
and again round the right to W. and N.W. by W. There is not a man,
house, hut, or cattle in these marshy regions, from which I myself
shall only be too glad to escape. A quarter after three o’clock,
N.N.W.; to the right a pastoral village: we really see human beings,
but they appear very listless, and even the women remain quietly
standing amongst them. Opposite, another village; also negroes, but
no herds. Half-past three, N.; on the right a pastoral village. We
proceed slowly N. by S., and N. by W., yet generally N.; and a quarter
before four, N.N.E. Here and there still there are floating islands;
with a short bend N.W., and N.W. by W. to W.N.W. On the right a
lake; and at four o’clock in a gentle bend to N.N.W., then round
a corner, N.N.E., and E. by S. but immediately again W.N.W. to
S. by W. Half-past four, W.S.W; on the right a pastoral village
smoking vigorously, yet we do not see any herds. A quarter before
five, from S. by W., shortly round N.N.W. to N., and to the left in
N.W. At five o’clock again to the right, N.N.W.; on the left hand
a pastoral village, from N.E., immediately N.N.E., N., and N.W.;
in a bend further on to S.S.W. Half-past five, from S.S.W. in W.,
W.S.W., where a small pastoral village appears on the right, to N.W.
For some days we have been without fowls and sheep on our vessels,
and we shall not, perhaps, procure any meat till we arrive at the
so-called, “Cannon place,” where the eighteen Nubas of Darfur
sought their way to freedom with only six guns. A quarter before
six o’clock from N.W., shortly round to W., and in a bend to
S. and S.E. by S. Six, S., and immediately in W.N.W to N., from
whence we navigate to the left round a corner. After six o’clock,
in a bend to S., and here again round a neck of land immediately to
N. Some trees, harbingers of a finer country, have shewn themselves
just now. A large lake secluded by palings, and perhaps, therefore,
subsequently furnishing the natives with fish, is noticed at about
fifty paces up the right shore. Here we make for land. Thermometer,
before sunrise 17°, noon 29 to 30°.
_23rd February._—We navigated this morning to the left shore,
whereon there is a scanty Haba, in order to fetch wood and make
observations. I walked to the neighbouring Haba, where I saw men in
nine fishing-boats, catching fish. The lake is from forty to fifty
paces in the low ground, where it stands on an equal level with the
Nile, and enclosed with ambak hedges, from W. to S.E. It is a remnant
of the primitive bed of the stream, perhaps itself a river-bed lately
deserted, and surrounded on one side by the old shores of the Haba,
which are here only five to six feet above the water, and form also
the ancient left shore. From what I could see, it is about three to
three and a half hours’ long, by two hundred to three hundred paces
broad. It seems to derive its water from the river, and to fill with
the latter, but also to supply a mass of water to it in the rainy
season. It winds to S.S.E. and appears to go still further eastward.
The Kèks live here very comfortably, merely on the fish they catch;
but with the exception of that, they are very poor. Yet they came
as proudly to us with two goats as if they had brought twenty fat
oxen. They do not seem to possess cows at all, and they may be
perhaps the Icthyophagi of the enclosed lake. However, we got seven
elephants’ teeth, the value of which they apparently did not know,
by the assistance of our interpreter. The Kèk women let the hair grow
a little: the lines on their forehead extend to behind their ears;
but they are fine, and frequently invisible on account of the dirt.
Front and back aprons, as usual; at times, however, we see the
little rahàt, or even the leathern apron over the rahàt, clearly
a luxury, which the wife of Làkono also indulged in. Besides this,
these women have a very _charming_ appearance owing to their chewing
tobacco. There is another couple of poor villages in the neighbourhood
of this place, and the men are said to have fled from it, taking
their oxen with them. A quarter before five o’clock we navigate at
last to the north: the Haba retreats immediately to a distance. On
the right a little pastoral village, from whence we receive the two
goats mentioned above. A quarter after five, to the left, N.W. by W.,
where there is a Haba; soon afterwards to the right N.N.W. The higher
shores have disappeared with the Haba. The whole surface is scarcely
two feet above the river. On the right young reeds and reed-grass.
At this moment our vessel received from below a tremendous shock:
the crew cry “Chamùss, chamàss!” and laugh; but they very
soon put on a serious countenance, for the bottom of the vessel
was already full of water. The barrels of gunpowder, grape-shot,
and cartridge-boxes were taken out, five signals of distress having
been first fired; and they were about to continue firing blank shot,
for the water rushed in as if a leak were sprung, when the bold reïs
Abdullah, a Kenùss (the reïs are generally all Kenùss, because
they are well acquainted with the cataracts), went under the vessel
with a ball of tow: this took place close to the shore, to which
we were not able to approach within ten paces, and where there was
still great depth and danger. The hole, however, was stopped by the
brave and incessant exertions of some sailors and soldiers. I myself
put out the fire on the hearth, and forbad smoking under the threat
of instantly shooting any one who did so; for I was to act, in the
absence of Feïzulla Capitan, as wokil: and at the same time I posted
sentinels. The vessels sailing a-head did not stop at the signals we
fired, although they were near enough to hear them; and we ourselves,
then, at half-past six o’clock, navigated to N.N.W. Subsequently we
go to the left, W.S.W., then to the right, where we halt, together
with the other vessels, immediately in the bend at the left shore,
at a former landing-place (matrag betal mutfa), after we had jostled
our beak-heads together in the usual unskilful manner.
_24th February._—Our vessel has a large hole, and we are obliged to
be drawn by the prow upon the sand: all the goods were removed, but
afterwards safely put on board. Sabatier makes the observations now,
and Arnaud is said to be employed with the calculations, for which,
therefore, we shall have to wait a long time. Several ostriches were
seen yesterday by my servants and Suliman Kashef’s body-guard,
without a single well-flavoured leg falling to our lot: they had
remarked, also, an ape the size of a large dog. I asked whether it
was a chirt, which species answers to our zoological ideas of the
cynocephalus and cercopithecus; but they assured me that it was an
abelènk, because it had a small head.
_25th February._—A quarter before seven o’clock, to N.N.E.,
and slowly, N.E. by E. The thermometer, since three in the morning,
at sunrise, has been but 17°; and did not rise from noon to three
o’clock, above 29°. In the evening we see the sun disappearing in
the dense atmosphere, which lies heavily on the whole of this country;
and this morning it rose either from behind the mist, or covered with
clouds. The evaporation from the neighbouring stagnant waters has
an injurious effect upon the health of the crew, and consequently
they are nearly all afflicted with a violent cough. The difference
between this region and the clear mountain air and pure water of
Bari is very great. The fogs here are seldom so thick as in Germany
or England: but they penetrate through the skin, which has become
sensitive from the heat, as, for example, this morning.
Seven o’clock.—N.N.W. On the left hand a large lake, close to us,
in the green reeds, connected perhaps with the river, and indisputably
an ancient bed of the river, cutting off the corner to the left,
which we shall hereafter double. Half-past seven o’clock. N.W. We
go till half-past eight o’clock in a northerly direction, and halt
in N.N.W. at the scorched right shore. This is here six feet high,
whilst, a hundred paces up the Nile, behind the young water-reeds,
no elevation of the shores is observed. We remark no strata of earth
on our shore, but clay and humus are closely mixed. At nine o’clock
we navigate further, without the lust of our crew for meat being
gratified, for the people seem to have driven away their goats,
and they have nothing else. N.N.E. The north-east wind slightly
retards our course. Half-past nine o’clock in a bend round the green
couch-grass, N.N.W.; a short tract N.W. by W., and round the right to
N.E., rowing strenuously; then, at a quarter before ten, to N.N.E. The
wind becomes stronger, and all the singing in the world will not help
us, if the river do not take a contrary direction, of which there is
some appearance. Ten o’clock. N.N.W. We sail five miles. N.W. and
W.N.W. A quarter after ten o’clock from W.N.W. in N. by W., where
we were obliged, unfortunately, to furl the sails. Immediately beyond
N. to N.N.E. Half past ten, N.N.W.; a quarter of an hour afterwards
W., and round a short, verdant grass corner, from E.N.E. to E.S.E.
The ants are of the greatest service here, for they throw up the
hills, which serve the people as watch-towers, from which they look
for their strayed friends and cattle. Half-past eleven o’clock. W.,
and immediately, in a short tract, to N.N.E., and also to N.N.W.,
and directly again to the right—slowly, owing to the contrary
wind. At twelve, N.E. by E. and E., where we halt at the right shore
of the reeds, to wait for Selim Capitan. Two o’clock.—Set off to
S.S.E. My men bring me three short-haired sheep in the sandal—a
thing now seldom met with—and a motley, decorated gourd-shell. A
quarter after two. From E. to the left, a short way to N.N.W.,
and again to the right N.N.E.; also, at half-past two, a few paces
to N. by W. and N.N.E. Immediately round a sharp grass-corner
S.S.E.; then, a quarter before three, in the bend beyond E. and
N. to N.W. by W.; on the right, up the country, a large village,
and W.S.W.; again a village in the neighbourhood. The river winds
to the right, W. We have hoisted already our fore and after-sail,
as if we had to go again N.E. with a contrary wind. In the bend to
N.N.W., on the right, a village upon a little hill, which I sketched;
then N. Half-past three. At the right a gohr, going to E., and then
S. N.W. We halt immediately at the right shore.
_26th February._—Departure at half-past eight o’clock, N.N.W. My
three sheep, which were in the meadow on the shore, ran away whilst my
men were cutting reeds, from which Venetian blinds are said to be made
in Khartùm. We sail with a south-west wind, and make five miles. A
quarter before nine o’clock, from N.W. to N.N.W. and W.N.W.;
again to N.W. Nine o’clock N., a small tract to N.E., and in the
bend shortly to N., when the sails are reefed. Half-past nine.—From
W.S.W., for a short time in W.N.W. and N.; some large hippopotami shew
themselves, and we begin now to fear for the vessel. We sail with
five miles’ rapidity. A quarter before ten o’clock, N.N.E. Some
negroes have just come to the left shore,—ashes their ornaments,
ashes their clothing. Ten o’clock.—For a moment to S.W. by W.,
and shortly round the green corner of the right shore to N.N.W. This
winding costs some trouble, for the wind blows the vessel right
round. Half-past ten, W.N.W.—Ambak being still green as it nearly
always is in this Holland kind of country, covers all the right side
at a slight distance from the shore: in a little bend to N.N.W.,
then round an obtuse corner, W. by S. A quarter before eleven W.,
and in a wide bend to E. Eleven. Likewise from E. to N.W., then
W.N.W. The shores are generally elevated only two feet above the
water, wherein a grass margin intrudes; behind, every thing is burnt
away, and therefore the ambaks are withered, unless they stand in a
protecting marsh. A quarter before twelve.—N.W. on the left hand,
a large and long-scattered village on a high tract, and a little
upwards a considerable lake, with a similar village, connected with
the Nile by a ditch. Natives squat on the shore and hold up their
hands. Twelve o’clock. To N. A quarter after twelve from N. by E.,
in a bend N.W. The lakes, which I generally take to be old beds of
the river, retaining water even in the dry season, are a proof that
the primitive stream has gone far deeper, and that even the present
bed of the river, with which they are partly connected, must have
risen as well as the whole country; because, had it been otherwise,
they would have ebbed away. Half past twelve.—From N.W. to N.,
N.N.E. and E. One o’clock.—S.E. in an arch to N., and round a
little corner to N.W.; on the right a tokul-village. Half-past one
o’clock N., and a quarter before two N.N.E., then on the left to
W.S.W., and on the right to N.N.W. and N. by E.; at two o’clock
further to N.N.E. and N.E. by E. A quarter after two, N.W. by N.;
on the right a broad river arm coming from S.S.E. From the mast they
tell me that it is a gohr cul-de-sac, and therefore an ancient bed
of the stream filled up from below. We halt at the right shore, for
Arnaud wants to survey it; but he lies down to sleep, and we bear off
again without having effected our object. At a quarter after three,
N.N.W., and directly round the right, E.N.E.; to the left a little
W., and then N.N.W. and N.N.E. Four o’clock.—Again N.N.W. and
W.S.W. The wind ceased even at noon; it had been of little service to
us. The floating islands of creepers are still the order of the day;
but not so large and numerous as in our ascent.
A quarter after four, W.N.W., in a flat arch to N. by W. The north
wind having now set in delays us exceedingly. Five o’clock, N.N.E.,
a long road before us. We go at six o’clock to the right shore,
where the river winds N.N.W. I go upon deck, but feel so enervated by
continually sitting, that I do not venture into the half-burnt high
grass on the shore, where our sentinels, as usual, have their posts
on the ant-hills, as a measure of precaution against the desertion of
the soldiers, as well as any sudden attack of the natives. Thermometer
at sunrise, 17°; noon, 29°; without getting up any higher.
_27th February._—At half-past seven we set ourselves in motion
to N.N.W., and soon N.W. Not a negro is to be seen here: the
country appears, even at a distance, to have no population or
settlement. Perhaps Nature thinks fit to give a long preparation to
these regions, in order to elevate the alluvial deposits for the
habitation of man, and to form the stream territory, and thus to
realise the principles of humidity; or all this land is subject to a
deluge, and tracts, which are now deserts, have become dry. Truly it
might be the work of thousands of years to dry up an inland sea, such
as that between the mountain terrace of Fàzogl, and the mountains of
Kordofàn, towards the sources of the White Stream,—to extend it,
with unknown ramifications, through the mountains of Bari to Habesch
and Darfur, or Fertit, &c., and at last to break down at the Nile
valley, near Khartùm, those barriers which display themselves there
in solitary rocky hills and mountains. Eight o’clock, from N.W. by
N. with a fair south-westerly wind to W. A quarter after eight,
W.N.W.; the wind freshens, and we make six miles. Half-past eight,
in a bend to N., and further to S.E. A quarter before nine o’clock
to N.W., and on to N.N.W.: on the right an isolated dhellèb in the
reeds. Nine o’clock, in a flat arch again to N. by E.: on the right
a village, with extremely low tokuls. On the left we remark another
elephant-tree, and at a quarter of an hour distant, on the right,
a forest. A quarter after nine o’clock.—N. by W. and E.: on the
right a lake, with a village, at a short distance from the shore. The
lake cuts off, near the Haba, that large angle formed by the river,
and belonging therefore to the primitive bed. The poison-trees make me
recognise that scanty forest where we landed previously. With a sharp
turn from E. over N. to W. by S., and immediately at half-past nine
o’clock, W.N.W., and further round an arch of reeds in narrow water
to E.N.E., where we stumble again upon the Haba. A quarter before ten,
we double a corner N.W. by N., and in a flat arch to W.; seven miles.
We land at the right shore near the solitary stunted trunks of trees,
which belong to a former forest. In the neighbourhood a large lake. A
little after ten, again from thence, N. by W., N. by E. to N.E. A
quarter after ten, to N., and then E. by N. Some fishermen’s tokuls
to the left on the low shore: neither men nor periàguas to be seen,
the former having probably fled. A quarter before eleven o’clock,
from E. to N.N.W. Eleven o’clock, to N. and N.N.E. Unfortunately
the wind has slightly slackened, yet we still make four miles. A
quarter after eleven, E., then to N. Half-past eleven, N.W.; further
W., when our sailing ends for some time, to W.S.W. A quarter before
twelve, from W.S.W. to N.W., when we sail again, and N. to N.E. by
E. On the left, some negroes in the reeds, who speak to us, but we do
not understand them. N.N.E., and immediately N. by E., and E. by S.;
on the left a miserable fishing-hamlet.
Twelve o’clock.—Round the left, in the bend, N., and further to
W.N.W., where a long water-tract lies before us. Half-past twelve:
N.W. from S., a broad gohr comes on the left of us, by which the river
is considerably widened. To N. and N.E., then N. by E.; and a quarter
before one o’clock, to the right, E.N.E., and directly to the left,
in the bend, N. and N.W. Half-past one, N.N.E. to E. then N. by
E. to N.W. by W. A quarter after two, N.N.W., and N. to W. by N.,
and again to N.N.W., and N.W. by N. Half-past two, N.N.E., and with
a short turn, a quarter before three, to W., and on to W.S.W. On the
left a large lake; then N.W. and N., and in the bend, to S.E. by E.;
gradually again to E.N.E. Half-past three, N.N.W., where we stop at
the scorched right shore. Subsequently we go to the left, where the
reeds are protected a little from the wind. Wonderful to relate,
I got in such a perspiration by bathing in the Nile, although at
first I could not move after it, that I was obliged to fly away from
the cold wind to the cabin, and even there to wrap myself up in the
barakàn (Herahn) folded four times thick.
_28th February._—At a quarter before eight, we navigate from
N.N.W. to N. On the right, several solitary large tokuls are to be
seen from the deck, and then N.N.W. Sale brought a crane of gigantic
size; but he had kept our vessel waiting for him half an hour,
although only this morning I had enjoined him to be attentive to the
roll of the drum, and the sails. To awaken his sense of discipline,
and as a warning for the negligent soldiers, I got Feïzulla Capitan
to give him some stripes over the hand, sparing him by this means
the disgrace of receiving this slight punishment from a subordinate
officer.
Eight o’clock.—N.W. A quarter of an hour later, from N.N.W. to
W.N.W. It blows a gentle south-west wind; but we are obliged still
to make use of the oars. Half-past eight o’clock.—From W.N.W.,
to N.N.W. and E. The air is thick, like yesterday; a heavy dew
falls, and neither sunrise nor sunset is perceived. A quarter after
nine o’clock.—From E., round the left, to W.N.W., where a large
scattered tokul-village lies on the right, and behind it a lake. The
Nuèhrs dwell here, and some of them come to Selim Capitan, when he
halts at the right shore, which they did not do on our ascent. We
proceed in a flat arch to N.E. The wind has freshened a little, and
the oars rest; we make five miles. A quarter before ten o’clock,
from N.N.E. to W. Ten o’clock, with a short turn, to N.N.E. A
quarter after ten, in a small bend, to W.S.W., where we are obliged,
unfortunately, to furl the sails, to S. by E. A quarter before
eleven.—Shortly round to S.W. and S.S.W. Eleven.—To the right;
very shortly round to W.N.W., and the sails spread, to the joy of
all who wish to push forward and see their friends; but directly
again to the left, S.; on the right, hamlets, with men. A quarter
after eleven. At the left a small lake in the river, formed by other
tributaries. We go W.N.W., and land at the left shore.