ON THE NILE.
At last we are on the Nile, floating as in a dream, in the finest
climate in the world, amid the monuments and memories of thousands of
years. Anything more delightful than this climate for winter cannot be
imagined. The weather is always the same. The sky is always blue, and
we are bathed in a soft, delicious atmosphere. In short, we seem to
have come, like the Lotus-eaters, to "a land where it is always
afternoon." In such an air and such a mood, we left Cairo to make the
voyage to which we had been looking forward as an event in our lives.
To travellers who desire to visit Egypt, and to see its principal
monuments, without taking more time than they have at command, it is a
great advantage that there is now a line of steamers on the Nile. The
boats belong to the Khedive, but are managed by Cook & Son, of London,
the well-known conductors of excursions in Europe and the East. They
leave Cairo every fortnight, and make the trip to the First Cataract
and back in twenty days, thus comprising the chief objects of interest
within a limited time. Formerly there was no way to go up the Nile
except by chartering a boat, with a captain and crew for the voyage.
This mode of travel had many charms. The kind of boat--called a
_dahabeeah_--was well fitted for the purpose, with a cabin large
enough for a single family, or a very small party, and an upper deck
covered with awnings; and as it spread its three-cornered lateen sail
to the wind, it presented a pretty and picturesque object, and the
traveller floated along at his own sweet will. This had only the
drawback of taking a whole winter. But to leisurely tourists, who like
to do everything thoroughly, and so take but one country in a year; or
learned Egyptologists, who wish, in the intervals of seeing monuments,
to make a special study of the history of Egypt; or invalids, who
desire only to escape the damps and fogs of Britain, or the bitter
cold of the Northern States of America--nothing can be imagined more
delightful. There is a class of overworked men for whom no medicine
could be prescribed more effectual than a winter idled away in this
soothing, blissful rest. Nowhere in the world can one obtain more of
the _dolce far niente_, than thus floating slowly and dreamily on the
Nile. But for those of us who are wandering over all the earth,
crossing all the lands and seas in the round world, this slow voyaging
will not answer.
Nor is it necessary. One can see Egypt--not of course minutely, but
sufficiently to get a general impression of the country--in a much
less time. It must be remembered that this is not like other countries
which lie four-square, presenting an almost equal length and breadth,
but in shape is a mere line upon the map, being a hundred times as
long as it is broad. To be exact, Egypt from the apex of the
Delta--that is from Cairo--to the First Cataract, nearly six hundred
miles, is all enclosed in a valley, which, on an average, is only six
miles wide, the whole of which may be seen from the deck of a steamer,
while excursions are made from day to day to the temples and ruins. It
is a mistake to suppose that one sees more of these ruins on a boat
because he is so much longer about it, when the extra time consumed is
not spent at Denderah or Thebes, but floating lazily along with a
light wind, or if the wind be adverse, tied up to a bank to await a
change. In a steamer the whole excursion is well divided, ample time
being allowed to visit every point of interest, as at Thebes, where
the boat stops three days. As soon as one point is done, it moves on
to another. In this way no time is lost, and one can see as much in
three weeks as in a dahabeeah in three months.
Our boat carried twenty-seven passengers, of whom more than half were
Americans, forming a most agreeable company. All on deck, we watched
with interest the receding shores, as we sailed past the island of
Rhoda, where, according to tradition, the infant Moses was found in
the bulrushes; and where the Nilometer, a pillar planted in the water
ages ago, still marks the annual risings and fallings of the great
river of Egypt. The Pyramids stood out clear against the western sky.
That evening we enjoyed the first of a series of glorious sunsets on
the Nile. Our first sail was very short--only to Sakkara, a few miles
above Cairo, where we lay to for the night, the boat being tied up to
the bank, in the style of a steamer on the Mississippi.
Early the next morning our whole company hastened ashore, where a
large array of donkeys was waiting to receive us. These had been sent
up from Cairo the night before. My faithful attendant was there with
"Yankee Doodle," and claimed me as his special charge. We were soon
mounted and pricking over what we should call "bottom lands" in the
valleys of our Western rivers, the wide plain being relieved only by
the palm groves, and rode through an Arab village, where we were
pursued by a rabble rout of ragged children. The dogs barked, the
donkeys brayed, and the children ran. Followed by such a retinue, we
approached the Pyramids of Sakkara, which stand on the same plateau as
those of Ghizeh, and are supposed to be even older in date. Though
none of them are equal to the Great Pyramid, they belong to the same
order of Cyclopean architecture, and are the mighty monuments of an
age when there were giants in the earth.
There is a greater wonder still in the Tombs of the Sacred Bulls,
which were long buried beneath the sands of the desert, but have been
brought to light by a modern explorer, but which I will not describe
here, as I shall speak of them again in illustration of the religious
ideas of the Egyptians.
Near the Pyramids of Sakkara is the site of Memphis, the capital of
ancient Egypt, of whose magnificence we have the most authentic
historic accounts, but of which hardly a trace remains. We galloped
our donkeys a long distance that we might pass over the spot where it
stood, but found only great mounds of earth, with here and there a few
scattered blocks of granite, turned up from the soil, to tell of the
massive structures that are buried beneath. The chief relic of its
former glory is a statue of Rameses the Great, one of the most famous
of the long line of the Pharaohs--a statue which was grand enough to
be worthy of a god--being some fifty feet high, but which now lies
stretched upon the earth, with its face downward, all its fine
proportions completely buried in a little pond--or rather puddle--of
dirty water! At certain seasons of the year, when the Nile subsides,
the features are exposed, and one may look upon a countenance "whose
bend once did awe the world;" but at present, seeing only the back,
and that broken, it has no appearance or shape of anything, and might
be a king, or queen, or crocodile. What a bitter satire is it on all
human pride, that this mighty king and conqueror, the Napoleon of his
day--who made nations tremble--now lies prone on the earth, his
imperial front buried in the slime and ooze of the Nile! That solitary
stone is all that is left of a city of temples and palaces, which are
here entombed, and where now groves of palms wave their tasselled
plumes, like weeping willows over the sepulchre of departed greatness.
Our next excursion was to the remains of a very remote antiquity on
the other side of the Nile--the Rock-Tombs of Beni-Hassan--immense
caverns cut in the side of a mountain, in which were buried the great
ones of Egypt four thousand years ago. Many of them are inscribed with
hieroglyphics, and decorated with frescoes and bas-reliefs, in which
we recognize not only the appearance of the ancient Egyptians, but
even of the animals which were familiar in that day, such as the lion,
the jackal, and the gazelle, and more frequently the beasts of
burden--bulls and donkeys; but in none do we discover the horse, nor,
what is perhaps even more remarkable in a country surrounded by
deserts--the camel.
In the King's tomb, or sepulchral chamber, a room some forty feet
square, hollowed out of the solid rock, the vaulted roof is supported
by Doric pillars, which shows that the Greeks obtained many of their
ideas of architecture in Egypt, as well as of philosophy and religion.
As we continue our course up the river, we observe more closely the
features of the valley of the Nile. It is very narrow and is abruptly
bounded by barren and ragged mountains. Between these barriers the
river winds like a serpent from side to side, now to the east, and now
to the west, but inclining more to the range of Eastern or Arabian
hills, leaving the greater breadth of fertility on the western bank.
Here is the larger number of villages; here is the railroad which the
Khedive has built along the valley, beside which runs the long line of
telegraph poles, that sign of civilization, keeping pace with the iron
track, and passing beyond it, carrying the electric cord to the upper
Nile, to Nubia and Soudan. The Khedive, with that enterprise which
marks his administration, has endeavored to turn the marvellous
fertility of this valley to the most profitable uses. He has
encouraged the culture of cotton, which became very extensive during
our civil war, and is still perhaps the chief industry of the country.
Next to this is the growth of the sugar-cane: he has expended millions
in the erection of great manufactories of sugar, whose large white
walls and tall chimneys are the most conspicuous objects at many
points along the Nile.
Now, as thousands of years ago, the great business of the people is
_irrigation_. The river does everything. It fertilizes the land; it
yields the crops. The only thing is to bring the water to the land at
the seasons when the river does not overflow. This is done by a very
simple and rude apparatus, somewhat like an old-fashioned well-sweep,
by which a bucket is lowered into the river, and as it is swung up the
water is turned into a trench which conducts it over the land. This is
the _shadoof_, the same which was used in the time of Moses. There is
another method by which a wheel is turned by an ox, lifting up a
series of buckets attached to a chain, but this is too elaborate and
expensive for the greater part of the poor people who are the tillers
of the soil.
We pass a great number of villages, but, larger and smaller, all
present the same general features. At a distance they have rather a
pretty effect, as they are generally embowered in palm trees, out of
which sometimes peers the white minaret of a mosque. But a nearer
approach destroys all the picturesqueness. The houses are built of
unburnt brick, dried in the sun. They are mere huts of mud--as
wretched habitations as an Irish hovel or an Indian wigwam. The floor
is the earth, where all sexes and ages sit on the ground, while in an
enclosure scarcely separate from the family, sheep and goats, and dogs
and asses and camels, lie down together.
The only pretty feature of an Arab village is the _doves_. Where these
Africans got their fondness for birds, I know not, but their mud
houses are surmounted--and one might almost say _castellated_--with
dove-cotes, which of course are literally "pigeon-holed," and stuck
round with branches, to seem like trees, and these rude aviaries are
alive with wings all day long. It was a pretty and indeed a touching
sight to see these beautiful creatures, cooing and fluttering above,
presenting such a contrast, in their airy flights and bright plumage,
to the dark and sad human creatures below.
But if the houses of the people are so mean and poor, their clothing
is still worse, consisting generally of but one garment, a kind of
sack of coarse stuff. The men working at the _shadoof_ on the river
brink have only a strip of cloth around their loins. The women have a
little more _dress_ than the men, though generally barefoot and
bareheaded--while carrying heavy jars of water on their heads. The
children have the merest shred of a garment, a clout of rags, in such
tatters that you wonder how it can hold together, while many are
absolutely naked.
This utter destitution would entail immense suffering, and perhaps
cause the whole race to die out, but for the climate, which is so mild
that it takes away in a great degree the need of shelter and raiment,
which in other countries are necessary to human existence.
This extreme poverty is aggravated by one disease, which is almost
universal. The bright sun, glaring on the white sands, produces an
inflammation of the eyes, which being neglected, often ends in
blindness. I have seen more men in Egypt with one eye, or with none,
than in all Europe.
It might be supposed that a people, thus reduced by poverty and
smitten by disease, would be crushed out of all semblance of humanity.
And yet this Arab race is one which has a strong tenacity of life.
Most travellers judge them harshly, because they are disgusted by the
unceasing cry for _backsheesh_, which is the first word that a
stranger hears as he lands in Egypt, and the last as he leaves it. But
even this (although it is certainly a nuisance and a pest) might be
regarded with more merciful judgment, if it were considered that it is
only the outward sign of an internal disease; that general beggary
means general poverty and general misery.
Leaving this noisy crowd, which gathers about us in every village that
we enter, it is easy to find different specimens of Arab character,
which engage our interest and compel our respect. One cannot look at
these men without admiring their physique. They remind me much of our
American Indians. Like them, they are indolent, unless goaded to work
by necessity, and find nothing so pleasant as to sit idly in the sun.
But when they stand up they have an attitude as erect as any Indian
chief, and a natural dignity, which is the badge of their race. Many a
man who has but a single garment to cover him, will wrap it about him
as proudly as any Spanish cavalier would toss his cloak over his
shoulders, and stalk away with a bold, free stride, as if, in spite of
centuries of humiliation, he were still the untamed lord of the
desert. Their old men are most venerable in appearance. With their
long beards, white turbans, and flowing garments, they might stand for
the picture of Old Testament patriarchs. The women too (who do not
cover their faces as much as those in lower Egypt), though coarsely
and meanly dressed, yet as they walk with their water-jars on their
heads, stand more erect than the fashionable ladies of our cities. I
see them every day coming to fill their "pitchers" precisely as
Rebecca and Rachel came three thousand years ago, and if I should
approach one, saying, Give me to drink, (which I might well do, for
the water of the Nile--though containing so much sediment, that it
needs to be filtered--is as soft and sweet as that of our own Croton),
she would let down her jar from her head just as Rebecca let down her
jar for the servant of Abraham, when he came to ask her in marriage
for his master's son Isaac.
The children too, though often naked, and if clothed at all, always in
rags, yet have fine olive complexions, and dazzling teeth, and those
bright eyes which are the sign of a degree of native intelligence.
Nor can I refuse to say a word for the poor donkey-boy. Many years ago
a Scotchman in the Cape Colony, South Africa, who was accustomed to
make long journeys in the bush, wrote a little poem, depicting the
joys of that solitary life, which began,
"Afar in the desert I love to ride,
With the silent bush-boy by my side."
The donkey-boy is never silent, he is always singing or calling to his
donkey, urging him forward with stick and voice; yet who could wish a
more patient or faithful attendant, who, though on foot, trots by your
side from morning to night, the slave of your caprice, taking meekly
all your rebukes, perhaps undeserved, and content at last with a
pittance for his service?
So have I had a little girl as a water-carrier, running close to my
saddle all day long, keeping up with the donkey's pace, and carrying a
small jar of water on her head, to wash my hands and face, or assuage
my thirst, thankful at last for a few piastres as her reward.
We reached Assiout, the capital of Upper Egypt, early Sunday morning,
and laid up for the day. While our boat's company were preparing to go
on shore to see the town, I mounted a donkey and started off to find
the American Mission, which is at work among the Copts, who claim to
be the descendants of the ancient Egyptians. I arrived at the chapel
in time to hear a sermon and an address to the Sunday-school. As the
services were in Arabic, I could not understand what was said, but I
could perceive at once the earnestness of the speakers, and the close
attention of the hearers. After the sermon there was a baptism. The
congregation was a very respectable one both in numbers and
appearance. There were perhaps two hundred present, all decently,
although some were very poorly clad, and presented a striking contrast
to the ragged and dirty people around them. In the quiet and orderly
worship, and the songs that were sung, which were Arabic words to
American tunes, there was much to make one think of home. There was
nothing to distinguish the congregation except the Oriental turbans
and dress, and the fact that the women sat apart from the men,
separated by a screen, which shows that the seclusion of women is not
confined to the Mohammedans. It is an Oriental custom, and is observed
by the Copts as well as the Moslems. I am told that even among
Christian families here, it is not considered quite "the thing" for
women to go abroad and show impertinent curiosity, and that ladies of
good position, who are as intelligent as most Orientals, have never
seen the Nile, but two miles distant! Such is the power of fashion
even in Africa. In the church are several men of wealth, who give
freely of their means, as well as use their influence, for its
support. The Copts are nominal Christians, although, like most of the
Christian sects of the East, they are very ignorant and very
superstitious. But they have not the fanatical hatred to Christianity
of the Mussulmans. They acknowledge the authority of the Bible, and
are thus more open to argument and persuasion. Besides this
congregation, the mission has some dozen schools in the surrounding
country. In the town itself, besides the schools for the poorest
children, it has a boarding-school for those of a better class, an
academy which is the beginning of a college, and half a dozen young
men are preparing for the ministry. The field is a very hopeful one,
and I was assured that the success of the mission was limited only by
the means at its disposal.
After visiting the schools, Rev. Mr. Strang accompanied me through the
town. It has over twenty-five thousand inhabitants, and is the point
of departure for the caravans which cross the Great Desert to Darfour
and the far interior of Africa, returning laden with ivory and ostrich
feathers, as in the days of King Solomon. We saw in an open square, or
market-place, some hundred camels, that, as they lay wearily on the
earth, looked as if they might have made the long journey over the
trackless sands. Laborers were at work, with no respect for the day,
for Friday is the Mohammedan Sabbath; and my friend pointed out, where
a number of workmen were building a house, the "taskmaster" sitting on
the top of the wall to overlook them, as in the days of the Bible. As
we returned by an old portal in the city walls, we found a number of
long-bearded and venerable men, who were "sitting in the gate" as
"elders" to administer justice. The city gate is the place of honor
and of justice now, as it was thousands of years ago.
In the mountain behind the town are a great number of tombs, like
those of Beni-Hassan, vast chambers hewn out of the rock ages ago for
burial places. We walked along by these silent memorials of the mighty
dead, to the summit, from which is one of the most beautiful views of
the valley of the Nile. Below the plain is spread out for many miles,
well watered like the garden of the Lord, the emerald green coming up
to the very foot of the barren hills. But there it ceases instantly,
giving place to the desert.
These contrasts suggest some comparisons between the scenery and the
climate of Egypt, and our own country. Whoever breathes this balmy
air, and looks up to this cloudless sky, must feel that the Lord of
all the earth has been bountiful to Egypt. As we read of the winter
storms now raging over half of Europe, we bless the more kindly skies
that are over us now. But after a few weeks of this dreamy, languid
life, one begins to feel the want of something else to stir his blood.
He finds that nature in Egypt, like the works of man, like the temples
and the pyramids, is a sublime monotony. The landscapes are all the
same. There are four or five grand features, the river, the valley,
the hills that enclose it, and beyond the boundless desert, and over
all the burning sun and sky. These are the elements that enter into
every landscape. There is no change, no variety. Look where you will,
there is no vision in the distance of lofty peaks dark with pines, or
white with snow, no torrents leaping down the mountain side (the
_silence_ of Egypt is one of the things that most oppress me), no
brooks that run among the hills, no winding paths along their banks
that invite the stranger to lose himself in their shade. I see indeed
hills on either horizon, but they are barren and desolate. On all
this double range, for six hundred miles, there is not a single green
thing--not a tree, not a shrub, not a blade of grass, not even a rock
covered with moss, only a waste of sand and stone. If you climbed
those hills yonder across the valley you would look off upon a
boundless plain of sand that stretches to the Red Sea; while behind
where we stand is the Libyan Desert, which is only an arm of the Great
Sahara, that crosses almost the whole of the continent. In all this
waste the valley of the Nile is the one narrow strip of fertility. And
even this is parched and burnt up to the very water's edge. Hence the
monotony of vegetation. There is not a forest in all Egypt, only the
palm groves, which are planted like garden flowers, but no tangled
wild wood, no lofty elms, no broad-spreading oaks that cast their
grateful shadow on the burning plains. All that variety of nature,
with which in other lands she beguiles the weary heart of man, is
wanting here. It is indeed the land of the sun, and in that is at once
its attraction and its terror, as the fiery orb beats down upon it,
withering man and beast, and turning the earth into a desert.
Seeing this monotony of nature, and feeling this monotony of life, one
begins to pine after awhile, for a return to the scenes more varied,
though more wild and rugged, of his own more northern clime. We hear
much of the beauty of a "cloudless sky." It is indeed a relief for a
few weeks to those who escape from wintry storms, from bitter winds
and blinding snow. But who would have sunshine _forever_? The light
and warmth are better when softened and subdued by clouds that
intercept the overpowering rays. But here the clouds are few, and they
do not "return after the rain," for there _is_ no rain. In Lower Egypt
there is what may be called a rainy season. In the Delta, as the
clouds roll up from the Mediterranean, there is sometimes a sound of
abundance of rain. But in Upper Egypt it may be said that it never
rains. In Assiout it has rained but three times in ten years! Of
course the heat is sometimes fearful. Now it is mid-winter, and the
air is comparatively cool and bracing, but in midsummer it reaches 110
and 112 degrees in the shade! For days and nights together the heat is
so intense that not a leaf stirs in the palm groves. Not only is there
not a drop of rain--there is not a breath of air. This it is to have a
"cloudless sky"! Gladly then would our friend exchange for half the
year the climate of Egypt for that of America. How refreshing it would
be to him to see, just for once, great masses of black clouds
gathering over the Arabian Hills, to see the lightnings flash as he
has seen them in his native Ohio, and to hear the thunder-peals
rolling across the valley from mountain to mountain, and at last dying
away on the Libyan desert.
Think of this, ye who shiver in your winter storms at home, and sigh
for Egypt. Take it all in all, would you make the exchange?