CHAPTER VIII.

NUÈHRS. — ORNAMENTS. — MANNERS OF THE WOMEN. — THE MEN. — CURIOUS CUSTOM OF DRESSING THE HAIR, AND STAINING THEMSELVES. — VISIT OF A CHIEF. — SPEARS USED INSTEAD OF KNIVES. — SINGULAR WAY OF MAKING ATONEMENT, ETC. — WE HEAR ACCOUNTS OF OUR BLACK DESERTERS. — BOWS AND QUIVERS SIMILAR TO THOSE REPRESENTED IN THE HIEROGLYPHICS. — THE TURKS INDULGENT IN ONE RESPECT. — MOUNT TICKEM OR MORRE. — TRACES OF ANIMAL-WORSHIP AMONG THE NUÈHRS. — ARNAUD’S CIRCUMNAVIGATION OF A LAKE, AND GASCONADES. — ADVICE TO FUTURE TRAVELLERS ON THE WHITE NILE. — SWALLOWS. — MEANS OF DEFENCE AGAINST GNATS DISCOVERED. — THE SHILLUKS AGAIN. — QUESTION OF THE CONTINUAL ALTERATIONS IN THE APPEARANCE OF THE NILE. — GUINEA-FOWLS. — GIRAFFES. — BLACK WASPS. — TURTLE-DOVES. — OUR AUTHOR CAUGHT IN A THORN-BUSH. — FABLED LUXURIANCE OF THE PLANTS IN THE TROPICAL REGIONS. — VIEW FROM A HILL. — MANNER OF CATCHING FISH AMONG THE NATIVES. — THE SOBÀT RIVER. — THE INUNDATIONS OF THE NILE CONSIDERED.

1st March.—The Nuèhrs are afraid of us, on the whole, yet they brought us, yesterday, one of their bracelets. We shall remain here to-day till the afternoon; for, although we arrived yesterday before mid-day, yet nothing has been done by the gentlemen engineers, and every minute appears to me lost that we are on shore, for there is no village there. I made a short shooting excursion this morning with Sale, and shot two _karawans_. I approached the side where the little bay is formed in the river, in order to examine it closer. I arrived through burnt reeds at an ambak-thicket, and came here upon thick half-burnt reeds, whilst the ground was very swampy; and then I pursued a bird unknown to me, close to the margin of a small lake, bordered by ambaks. I ought to be thankful that I was able to find the right road with my black feet over stalks of reeds which were trodden down, and to get out at last from the dangerous path.

Nuèhrs are scattered on all sides; but the men did not venture near the vessels. The women, on the contrary, were excessively talkative. They _would_ see the vessels, and it was with them we transacted business and bargained for durra and tobacco. They have shaven heads, and the young women, notwithstanding this disadvantage, do not appear ugly. They have a very small hole bored through the flesh, between the nose and upper lip, in which we remark a thin blade of straw, or a small stick, to prevent it closing; or they put in it a needle, ornamented with a glass bead, extending slightly beyond the end of the nose: kissing, therefore, must be very difficult, if it happen to be the custom here. The whole rim of the ear is also pierced through, and from want of glass beads or other ornament, we perceive a little piece of wood in it. There are no lines on their forehead; front and back leather aprons are slung round the hips, or simply a rahàt, made of the narrow slips of dome-palm leaves. Here and there an ivory necklace, or strips of bark are seen, and around the neck a few miserable glass beads: these are the only ornaments which the poor women possess. Although I gave them some glass beads, at their humble request, yet their modesty was so excessive, that not one of them would sell me her rahàt. They carry the small baskets, containing durra and tobacco, on their heads, with considerable dexterity, as is common on the White River. The women, in these countries, have no voice in the public assemblies, and therefore they make up for it by talking whenever they get the opportunity—a natural wish for emancipation!

The men here and there have interesting physiognomies, and which are particularly improved by the hair being worn in a natural manner: it is mostly one and a half to two spans long, but sometimes cut short. Their red colour—which is here of a fiery red—seems to be the favourite national colour. Our men thought it was natural; but I discovered, from many of these men, that they stain themselves artificially. At first, I believed that they wore a coiffure, similar to a wig; but I soon found that they had tied up the long hair behind into a thick tuft, and plastered over the whole head with a strong coating of ashes and an alloy of clay, which has the same effect as the _hennah_ of the Turkish old women, who prefer to have red rather than grey hair. We laugh at seeing these stiff and dirty perukes, and yet our periwig-mania has only of late years been defunct; whilst, even now, the highly-civilized English still wear the full-bottomed wigs, and seem to think that a quantity of powder, long, stiff body-coats, and loose gaiters, are essential for their young servants. We perceive, upon the very projecting forehead of the Nuèhrs, six horizontal lines, more or less elevated: they wear well-worked bracelets, narrow, but thick, with a sharp edge, the best of which I bought, and amongst them a thin one, adapted to the form of the upper part of the arm, above the elbow. They have, besides, very frequently, iron rings on the wrist, and a species of battle-ring, having several tongues, similar to those I saw above, and the points of which are covered with little pieces of wood in time of peace. They adorn their ears with a bead, or a red copper ring, like the natives of the country below Bari. The _aures perforatæ_ are not, therefore, here a sign of slavery, as with most other people. I saw no weapons, except their artfully-constructed bows; for they told us previously that they would not bring any arms to the vessels, so that there might not be schammata (strife). I was present when the Sheikh of the right side of the shore, who had brought some cows, was clothed by Selim Capitan. He expressed great joy when the beads were shewn him, but he would not have anything to do with the white or the black maccaroni, although there were gold ones between them. He said “arràd” (bad), and returned them.

His name was Lunjòk, and his village lies at a distance from the shore. His father is a sheikh on the left shore, but the inhabitants of both sides, although they are all Nuèhrs, are continually at war with one another, which he seemed to deplore. They must possess arms, because they make war against the Shilluks and the Kèks, and are generally successful, although they do not boast of it. Most of their villages lie on lakes or gohrs up the country. We saw here also three hamlets lying in ruins, on which I walked, and where even the reeds were torn away. I plainly saw that the place where these villages stood must have been heightened by the destroyed mud-walls.

The men wear small white beads round their necks, which are said to come from Pamm, in the country of the Dinkas: they do not themselves slaughter any cattle, as we were told, but eat animals slain by others, or those that die a natural death. They have not a supreme master, or Sultan.

Yesterday evening, we remarked a large circle of fires and solitary dhellèbs around us, denoting that the villages of the Nuèhrs were near at hand. I got to-day a curious head-dress, of leather and goats’ tails; we see here also those mussels (_Cypræa moneta_), which I have mentioned before, used as an ornament. We have never observed knives since we left Làkono’s country: spears seem to be used instead of them, and therefore we found them frequently worn away and useless, and not fastened by a nail to the shaft. Our black soldiers make use of the spears they have purchased, instead of knives; and, moreover, the Nubian two-edged knife, and that of Kordofàn, still retain the form of a spear. The bull, as the creator and support of the herds, must be honoured and esteemed here, for the rings worn by the tribes on the wrists, from hence to Berri, are everywhere decorated with little iron horns, and the natives imitate immediately the lowing of cattle, when we look at the rings.

A very _charming_ custom of these tribes came to light during our barter with them. My servant Fadl had purchased articles, as he had often done before, and given some in exchange, when subsequently they demanded that the rings should be returned, which he would not consent to. A negro tore the flesh of his arm with a spear, so that the blood spurted out; but no sooner did he see this, than he spat upon the injured place, and begged pardon by gestures. The spitting in the hand is not perhaps meant, in the upper countries, as a mode of greeting or particular distinction, but rather as a kind of apology, or to exorcise the spirit of anger.

Suliman Kashef was even fortunate enough to receive such a secretion on his head, as a sign of respect, which made him put on a grim countenance. The people seem generally to make use of this spitting custom for the purpose of exorcising evil spirits: we find something analogous to this in the so-called “evil eye” of the South of Europe, namely, of Italy and Greece. Our deserters, we learn, passed here only yesterday; the Nuèhrs would have robbed them, as the women told the little Dinkaui in my presence; but the latter shot some of the Nuèhrs (the women said _several_), and then crossed to the right side of the river. The Nuèhrs themselves had perhaps killed a few, but were frightened that we should take revenge, and pretended therefore that they had treated them peacefully. The poor men will have a great deal to suffer in their journey to their distant home.

Half-past three o’clock.—We proceed to N. The gentle south-east wind is at our back, so that it is very hot. Four o’clock.—A short tract to N.E.; on the right a wretched hamlet, to N.W. and W., W.S.W.: green shore but low; ambaks, and some trees with thick foliage at our left. A quarter after four o’clock, N.W. to N.E. by N. Solitary elephant-trees, poison-trees, of larger height than we had yet seen, àschurs, young dome-palms, and soon a Haba on the left shore, which is elevated therefore higher than usual. Negroes and women greet us in vain from the left side. Half-past five o’clock. N.E. by E., in a bend to N.W. and W.N.W.; then immediately N. by E. Just after six o’clock, we come to N.E. by E., and go over to the right shore. Thermometer, at sunrise, 28°; noon, 28°. Half-past three o’clock, 31°; sun-set, 28°.

_2nd March._—A quarter before seven, to N. by W., then N.W.; and at seven o’clock, N.E., E.N.E., and N.E. by E. I cannot describe the agony we suffered from the gnats; my head is so heavy that it has become quite a useless member of my body. A quarter before eight, further to E.; and at eight o’clock, to the left, N. On the right, in this bend, a village, the negroes standing on their ant-watch-towers. The south-east wind is favourable; the negroes sing the usual old melodies, but cease directly, when they see the vessels sailing past, without noticing their song of welcome. The wind freshens, and the sky becomes cloudy: it looks like rain, and yesterday evening we perceived a storm in the distance.

Our deck being in such bad condition, will afford us, in truth, but little protection. Five miles. From N. in the bend to N.W., then right round at a quarter after eight to N., N.E. and E., where we furl the sails, and immediately to E.S.E. Luckily this last tract is not long, and the wind may soon help us out of these abominable regions of mosquitoes. But unfortunately now, it is contrary to us, and masters the oars so that we are obliged to go libàhn, and land at half past eight at the left shore, for the Kaiàss has remained behind. A little village is seen here, and now goes on the pulling of rings off the arms, so that the bones crack again, and the natives even break them in two on the arm, merely to procure sug-sug. I get here, besides other things, a bow, such as those already described, a rahàt of palm-leaves, and a club with a knob, almost the same as we have seen up to Bari.

The red copper earrings, which perhaps come from Berri, do not seem to be of any particular value; for they take them out of their ears when we ask for them. The men also, when they have no ivory, wear strips of leather, or of bark, round their necks and arms, such as are usual in all the regions of the White Nile.

The hair combed back, and not entirely reddish here, but retaining its natural black colour, gives the head an European look, and particularly so, because it is not woolly, although curly. This remarkable circumstance speaks in favour of the immigration of another race, as I have formerly alluded to. And this supposition becomes still more confirmed when we observe the greater neatness and durability of their tokuls, which are entirely dissimilar to those in Sennaar; so also their household utensils, and even the form of their bows and quivers, which are similar to those seen on the hieroglyphics, shew that they are either in a much higher grade of cultivation, or have outstripped considerably in civilisation the neighbouring tribes.

A quarter before twelve o’clock. Further to N.N.E. and N.N.W. We sail six miles in the hour, and shall escape, perhaps, the rain, which has announced itself by some drops; but we are obliged to reef the sails, owing to the other vessels being behind.

A quarter after twelve.—N.N.E. to N.E. by E., a short tract; then in a bend, N. to W., and at last, with a short bend, to E. Half-past twelve.—From E.N.E., in a wide bend, to W.N.W.; but immediately again in a bend, N.N.W. We hoist again the sails. N., and on to N.E.—E. by S.

Nothing but green aquatic-grass on the shore, and although the singing, bawling, and shouting on the vessels gives life to the scene, yet all at last turns to dull monotony. Illness and fatigue make me wish to rest a little, but I keep up in order to attain the aim I have in view. The wind has changed to south, perhaps for our benefit. One o’clock.—From E. by S., where a dhellèb appears on the right to N.N.E., E.N.E., and N.W. by N. Two o’clock.—E.N.E. to E. Half-past two.—N. to N.W., on the right a little village behind the reeds; further to S.W., and then with a short bend W. I see blooming ambaks at the left, and shall be able perhaps to gather again some of its flowers, and also the little duck-meat: the double lotus is there, but I have already seeds and tubers of that plant. The first group of dhellèb-palms is a welcome sight before us, for hitherto we have only seen solitary ones. A quarter before three, N.N.W. There are now thirteen dhellèb-palms at the most on our left. On we go,—I think we shall return to these dhellèbs—to E.N.E. and E.; a blooming ambak-thicket at our right. Three o’clock. From E. shortly round to W.N.W. On the right we remark negroes. The wind is certainly not so strong as previously, yet we make five miles more. Now at the right a badly-built hamlet, which contains tokuls with oval doors, and depressed and badly formed roofs plastered at the top with clay: soon afterwards, at the same side, another hamlet in the very same style. Perhaps both these villages contain summer tokuls, to judge from the miserable roofs of the huts, which do not keep off the rain. A quarter after three. From N.W. by W. to N. The wind has already slackened, but it appears again to think better of it, or we should have to expect the troublesome visit of gnats. Half-past three o’clock.—From N. by E. to N. Four o’clock.—N.W. and further in a flat arch to W. by S. Half-past four to five, W. to N. The sun sinks in a mist. At the right shore, where the reeds are burnt away, we notice a giraffe (saràff), and Suliman Kashef sends his halberdiers in pursuit of it.

_3rd March._—We navigate a quarter after six o’clock from the middle of the river, wherein we cast anchor last night to N.N.W., then a little to N. and W., where a hamlet lies on the right to W.N.W. A quarter before seven o’clock.—W.N.W.; a slight S.E. wind gets up. Seven o’clock.—N.E. by E.,on the right some new summer tokuls; to E. and a quarter of an hour afterwards to N.E. by E. The oars rest, and we sail very slowly with the gentle wind, the river having a trifling fall. A long course is before us and the wind freshens immediately, so that we make four miles. On the left a village at the distance. A quarter after eight.—N.N.E., N. and N.N.W., a poor fishing village at the left. A quarter before nine, to W.N.W., the wind still better; five miles. A quarter after nine, to W.; on the left several large tokuls up the country; again to W.N.W. and then N. by W. A narrow gohr comes on the left from the reeds S.S.W.; the whole marsh-region here is in endless connection with the river, visibly and invisibly, by open canals and reeds. On the right a hamlet. Half-past nine o’clock, N.W. Smoke or mist extends before us, making the vessels a-head appear as if they were in an extensive and elevated sea.

A quarter of an hour ago we had six miles and now six miles and a half. A row of solitary and very large tokuls continues on our left. The villages, properly speaking, of the Nuèhrs, are half or three quarters of an hour from the river. The smoke just mentioned comes from the tokuls I have described, as the smell of burning tells us. From N.W. to N.N.W. and N.; and at ten o’clock on to N.E. and E.N.E. We leave a rush and grass island of about ten minutes long in the middle of the river. A quarter after ten, N.E., N. and N.W., and so quickly that it is quite delightful: we make seven miles. Half-past ten o’clock.—We double half-dried ambaks, which still display flowers. To N.N.W., N.E. by E., then shortly to N.W. and N.W. by W. On the right some negroes standing by their boats: they shout to us, but we wont hear. A quarter before eleven. From N.W. to N.N.W., N. and N.N.E. we have a long course before us, with slight declinations to N. by E. There are no elevations of the shores either right or left; merely aquatic reeds: behind, here and there, the surface of the earth is dry, and there are a few ant-hills with parched grass or a reed-hut. Eleven o’clock.—With a short bend N., we make eight miles: to N.W. and soon to N. On the left some wretched reed-tokuls, and negroes, the women standing upon a mound and singing. Further to the right N.N.E. Half-past eleven. Shortly to the left, round N.N.W. and W.N.W. then immediately to N. and N.N.E.—A quarter before twelve o’clock, still N.N.E. and then N.

The Turks have one magnanimous custom, despotic as they are in other respects. If the master call and the servant answer boldly, “I am eating,” he need not come; so if the former say, “Call me such a one,” and his messenger comes back with the report that the man he wants is asleep, the master lets him quietly take his siesta whatever hour of the day it may be. Twelve o’clock.—N.N.E. and immediately N.E., then N.N.W. and again N. A quarter after twelve to N. by W. and N.W., when we turn to N.W. by N.; then we go in a regular bend N.E. to N.E. by E. A quarter before one.—N.W. by N., and at one, to N.E. by N. We have just saved a Dellàhl (crier at the sale of slaves and public auctions), the Abu Haschis of the Kaïass, who jumped into the water to seize a large dead fish, notwithstanding we were sailing quickly. With a few exceptions we still continue to make eight miles. Nothing but aquatic reeds and crown-rushes; very few high reeds, and these beyond the reach of the water.

I will now repeat my journal word for word, in order to give the reader an exact description of the labyrinths of the river. I have hitherto partly avoided the detailed description of the windings, so as not to be wearisome by constantly repeating the same thing; and these, moreover, are shewn in the map which was composed on the groundwork of my journal, and which accompanies this work.

A quarter after one.—From N. in a bend to the left, N.N.E., and then again right round in an arch, where the south-east wind may be contrary to us; N.E. with a short turn to E.N.E., and on to E.S.E. The sails can work, for the wind graciously continues and blows in S. Half-past one.—From E.S.E., shortly round the left to N.N.E. and N.; we furl the sails in order to wait for the vessels behind. Two o’clock.—In the bend S.E. and E., where a tolerable course displays itself, and we again draw in the sails. A large hippopotamus snorts at the side of the vessel, and no one laughs at it, for we have learned to know already that the proximity of these ship-stormers is dangerous. A quarter after two. To the left in the bend, E.N.E.; we sweep by on the reeds like lightning, N.N.E. to N. by E., then in a flat arch to the right, N.N.E., which bends still more to E., E.N.E., and S.E. We saw several black birds both yesterday and to-day, called gatàff by the Arabs,—a species of water-hen, which flew over the ships in swarms till late in the evening, and uttered a piercing cry.

A quarter before three, from S.E., left to N. by E., and right, N.N.E.; four miles, with a slack wind. Three o’clock, from N.N.E., shortly round the right; a small island at the left, with reed-grass, crown-rushes, and blooming ambàks. To E., where a tolerable road opens before us; then to the left, E.N.E. Course three miles and a half; but the cloudy sky forbodes a squall, yet it may blow off, as it has done on other days.

Half-past three; from E.N.E. to the left, in a bend N., and N. by W.: a road before us, then to the right: make again five miles—in the bend, N.N.W. A quarter before four, on and on slowly to the right, N.E. On the right a large lake, which is connected with the river by a wide mouth; several negroes standing there, but no tokuls to be seen. Four o’clock, N.N.E., then to the left, with a small declination to N. by E., and then to the right; three miles rapidity—E.N.E.

Half-past four.—To the right E., and straightforward, with small inlets, further to E. by N., five miles. The wind blows fresher. Five o’clock, from E. to the left, shortly round N.N.E., to N. by W. Half-past five.—From N. to the right N.N.E., still there are no shores, no burnt tracts of land. A quarter before six.—From E.N.E. to the left N.E., where we anchor in the middle of the river. A little lake, Haba, and the isolated tree to the right.

_4th March._—Departure at half-past six o’clock, from N.E. to N. by E. A quarter before seven, in a flat arch on the right, to N.N.E. Hitherto, not any wind, and perhaps not much hope that there will be, for the day is clearer than usual, although it blows a little from the west. The west wind only brings rain now and then to the land here. Seven o’clock, from E.N.E., round the left N.W.; on the right the “Village of War,” so called by the crew, on account of the cruelty exercised previously on the natives, and which I have already related.

Half-past eight; from N.W., on the left two little islets follow one another, to N.N.W. A quarter before nine; the vessels come behind us, the south-west wind gets up a little, and we sail therefore on to N.; three miles; N.E. by E. Selim Capitan says we made sixty-five miles yesterday, and thirty-five more to-day, in the direction of the lake of the Bahr-el-Gasàll. Nine o’clock, from N.N.E.; a little island in the bend, to the left N. and N.N.W., then in a flat arch to N.N.E. Half-past nine, N. by W.; the wind freshens for five miles, N. and in the bend, on to N.N.W., where we are unfortunately obliged to furl the sails, owing to the strong north-west wind which has set in. A quarter before ten: we go N.W.; the wind becomes fresher; it seems inclined to be contrary to us the whole day, and we have enough to do to stand against it. A quarter after ten; W., and slowly to N.W., then right round to N., where we spread sails, after the wind had changed magnificently to the west, and perhaps will go again to S.W.—five miles. Eleven o’clock; from N. by E., in a bend to N. by W., in a long bend N.N.E., then shortly round the right. Half-past eleven, to S.E. by E.; afterwards in the arch to E.N.E., with six miles, and on to N.E. and N.N.E. Twelve o’clock; from N.N.E., a jump to the right, N.E. by N., then in the bend to N., and again N. by E., and a little to the left, N. One o’clock, N.N.E., and further to N.E. Half-past one; to N.N.E., and again in a flat arch to N.E. and E., to E. by S. Two o’clock, E.N.E.

The neighbouring ambak bushes approach us in these windings, and make the shores less monotonous; yet it does not last long, and we see again only grass, water, and sky. Half-past two, N.E.; a quarter before three, N.E. by E. We see from the deck a high mountain to N.N.E. at the distance. It must be the so-called Tickem, or the Morre, as Marian now says more correctly. The people have no end of joy at seeing this mountain, for they consider it to be the finger-post to Khartùm, and they are looking for the dome-palms now as another sign. Three o’clock.—From E.N.E. to E.; then, with the slightest bend, to N. The marsh-land is from a few inches to half a foot high, on dry ground; there are some ant-castles on it, and water-reeds and solitary ambak-bushes on the left. A little forward to the N., and the so-called Gazelle River rushes with great force close before us. Unfortunately, this is another pretext for the gentlemen engineers to stop—yet uselessly—whilst we ought to make good way with the favourable wind, in order to follow the Sobàt further. We go also immediately to the right marsh-reeds, as usual to collect gnats for the night. The Nuèhrs love their cattle, and, like children who won’t have their pigeons and rabbits killed, are excessively delighted at watching their growth and increase. We see not only from this that these people do not kill the animals for eating, but also from the manner in which they decorate the beasts, insomuch as they put on them broad necklaces, covered with little conical bells. The necklaces are of iron, and, as this metal is very rare amongst the Nuèhrs, they seem to take more pleasure in manufacturing ornaments than arms, though the latter are of the first and highest importance to a people living in a state of nature; yet they may, nevertheless, be richly provided with them, and do not wish to display their warlike side to us, for we have lost their confidence by the barbarous conduct of the first expedition. A closer investigation of this nation might give interesting results: their curly, not woolly hair, the antique form of their bows and quivers, their war-caps, similar to those of the Egyptians, and their worship of animals, would serve as a very instructive guide in the Ethiopian labyrinth of history.

_5th March._—Nothing done, unfortunately, by the engineers: I myself could not land, owing to the marsh-reeds.

_6th March._—Dined with Selim Capitan, where Arnaud had a fit of indigestion, from having eaten too many futir (tarts).

_7th March._—At last Arnaud went in the sandal to circumnavigate the lake, without saying a word to any one of his intention, because he means to pretend that he has seen everything, and to impose on the Basha by a large bakshis. This lake is said to make a great figure on his map, which he must have got others to compose for him at Paris, because he himself is not capable of doing it, as Sabatier expressly declared. Yet he was so close to us all the time he was navigating it, that we never lost him out of our sight. He wished also to investigate the Gazelle River by himself, but he was afraid of remaining with the sandal in the reeds at night, where he might have become a victim to gnats or other monsters. The Bach’r el Gasàll does _not_ display at this time of the year _any_ fall, nor does the Nile here in the lake, although the breadth of its stream is clearly distinguished from the bluish water of the latter by its muddy colour. The lake has fallen about a foot since our ascent, of which we have plain proof by our shore. There is want of wood on board the vessels, because the crew have kept up a clear fire every night to drive away the gnats, without even giving a thought that the smoke alone has that effect. With respect to this abominable brood of insects, I earnestly advise all future travellers to provide themselves with a musquito-net (Arabic, nammusië, from nammùs, gnat) if they wish to escape the torments of hell, and to preserve their health and perhaps their life. I myself shall be grateful to God if I only remain strong enough to continue and end my journal as accurately and faithfully as hitherto; so that by its means I may correct the maps which may be published subsequently, and particularly with regard to the numerous windings and bends of the river itself, which can only be followed by the strictest attention.

_8th March._—Arnaud again to-day kept his intention very secretly, and navigated the Delta before the Gazelle River—a famous opportunity for relating anecdotes of continual adventures and hippopotami-hunts. He really does gasconade too much: for example, he states, quite at random, in the presence of Sabatier, the number of miles he has navigated the last two days, although he has never cast out the log; whereupon Selim Capitan laughs in his face. Arnaud never scruples either to ask for anything that pleases him. “Son Altesse,” serves always as his excuse, as if he were collecting _only_ for Mohammed Ali. At half-past ten o’clock a few drops of rain fell. M. Arnaud having returned from his great voyage of discovery, we sail out of the lake E.S.E. The weather seems about to clear up immediately, although the sun casts a certain watery gleam of light on the marsh-grass that we cannot trust.

It thunders, and we go with a west-wind right into the dark clouds. Half-past eleven o’clock, the rain has fortunately come on; the wind has changed from W. to N.E., and we go with oars again to E.N.E. A quarter before twelve, the wind blows freshly on the right shore of the reeds, where we make a whirl again, because the crew are tired out by their sleepless nights. Drops of rain only are falling, but the pell-mell confusion in which the vessels navigate is enough to drive one to despair: no taking to the oars—no wish to do anything—no command—the tailor-captain is sitting at his handy-work.

The shores are, or form, short reeds and grass standing in the water. Twelve o’clock; to E. Half-past twelve; S.S.E. One o’clock; E. by S., a large lake to the right, scarcely separated from us. Two o’clock; with a trifling declination left to S., and in a flat arch, E.S.E. The wind has changed to the south, and we sail a little—two miles. However we see showers of rain pouring down nearly all round us, and it will be fortunate if we escape them, for where could we fly to to preserve ourselves from the rain which soaks through in these regions? Half past three o’clock; from S.E., with a few deviations to E. by N.: we make four miles, for the wind has settled in south west, whereby a few drops of rain sprinkle us from the right side, and we go then directly a short tract N.N.E., leaving behind us a _large_ floating-island, very rare here in comparison with the small ones. A quarter before four; with a short bend to E.S.E. and E., then from E.S.E.; on the right here a large lake; immediately at a quarter after four to S.E. by S., and on the left to E.S.E. and E. by N.

The rain is like that of a German May. On the right shore, a somewhat scanty forest, where we halt, at a quarter to five, on account of want of wood; at five, however, we bear off again, for these little mimosas afford us no wood. From S. to E.S.E.; a large lake again on the right. How much earth must the mountains of Bari and elsewhere supply before these shallow lakes can be elevated into land and fields! Half-past six; from E. by S. to the left in E. and E. by N., where it makes a leap to E.N.E. The wind has become slack: only two miles. Six o’clock; to E. There are many swallows flying over the reeds; they seem to be making a tour of pleasure with our deadly enemies the gnats. These birds may either not anticipate the rainy season, which is close at hand, (unless they are already on the road to our home,) or they remain here entirely, and most of them perish, as we have seen in Taka, where, however, the trees protect them. Half-past seven; E.N.E. On the right a large lake: we anchor in the middle of the river, and it begins to be dark. Thermometer, sunrise, 22°; noon, not above 27°; sunset 27°.

_9th March._—We start, though it is raining, at six o’clock, and go E.S.E. and immediately E., and sail with a north-west wind to N.E. Seven o’clock; round the left to N.; immediately, however, to the right, E.N.E. and E. The wind has gone round to south east, and freshened, so that we make six miles. We see from the deck ten villages scattered at some distance on the left side, and a lake on the right. The lakes mentioned yesterday, which were encircled here and there by ambaks on the side turned from the river, and not, as usual, by the Habas, could only be perceived from the deck. We go at eight o’clock to S.E. with oars, after some delay, in consequence of our vessel having come into collision with Selim Capitan’s. The wind has slackened considerably: a large lake on the left.

A good idea unfortunately often strikes us too late. Last night, I was trying to defend myself with a fan against the onslaughts of the gnats, but often let it fall from pure weariness. Continual stings, however, soon waked me to pick the fan up again, till about morning it came into my head to erect a small tabernacle over my face, by means of a linen cloth. Yesterday evening I repeated that contrivance, and was scrupulously careful in forming it, when I found that the little pincers and pests would not let me eat in peace, and poured out of their lurking-holes with bloodthirsty intentions. I drew, therefore, my little conical canopy over my head: I was very hot under it, but yet not a mosquito was able to pierce through it. They buzzed and hummed outside, and the crew cried, “Bauda! bauda!” but I was comparatively jolly, and of good cheer.

A quarter after eight. E.S.E., then E. Some trees before us; two villages seen from the deck, behind the reeds on the left. Nine o’clock. Right round to E.S.E.; here, on the left, a little lake, and three villages near the above-mentioned three or four trees, ten minutes from the shore. The tokuls, which are not so large as those previously seen, and have slightly arched roofs, seem to denote that we have come already to the country of the Shilluks. It does our heart good to see human habitations once again close to us. The Nile has been really very tedious for a long time: I sit here, a “passer solitarius in tecto.” I always thought that we ought to bring every landscape before the reader’s eye, like a row of pictures on the wall; but there is a continual and tiresome repetition of natural objects here: yet I feel it my duty not to spare the reader. Ten o’clock: continually E.S.E., with very inconsiderable declinations. Several people and villages on the left shore, at five minutes’ distance: they are really Shilluks. From the deck we see immediately ten large and small villages. We wind, still rowing, in a flat arch to the right, S.E.; then to the left, E. by N., at half-past eleven; and again slowly to the right. Four villages, the last a large one, at our left: they lie intermixed on the bare high shore, or rather grass and reed-sea, through which the river winds. Some Shilluks, no doubt a very populous nation, greet us from the shore with “Habàba!” (borrowed from the Arabs: in Taka, also, they say habàba—otherwise, mirhabà). Three mountains project on the right. Eleven o’clock, S.E.; three villages on the left. Half-past eleven. Slowly from E.S.E. to the right, S.E. by E.; then to the left, E., and the river immediately makes again a bend to the right, in E.S.E. The wind freshens and detains us; yet we have gained just this moment, for the river goes further to the right, and the wind has changed to N. The high shores, behind which the whole country is bare, with the exception of a few uschàrs, and seems to lie higher, approach again the river on the left; and two villages shew themselves at some hundred paces, on the gently-ascending downs; below them the old river-bed appears on dry ground.

The Shilluks, armed with lances, and standing on the shore, shout again their “Habàba!” but we sail now, and they do not offer us anything, much as we should like to make use of their cows and wood; and besides there are two many of them. Groups of tokuls stand in a row. A quarter after twelve, continually E.S.E. Half-past twelve, S.E. by E.; to the left, E. The wind has changed, and is contrary; so we go E.S.E. The Shilluks also have sleeping-places, open at the top, wherein warm ashes form their beds, with which also they powder their hair, thereby making it look grey.

A quarter before one. From E. by N. A gohr on the right, and we go, at one o’clock, E.S.E. Half-past one. The river takes a direction before us to E., with some little inlets, so that we cannot see the lower shore. The wind blows strongly against us from E. We have but scanty fare, being without meat. I cannot deny _kew_ to myself now, for I really want it.

Half-past two. E. by S. A Haba on the right, before it a lake connected with the river in front; the forest is upon a gentle declivity, and covered with shrubs, thorns, and dwarf-trees, even to the edge of the water. The shore also falls away gently to the river, near which it only rises a little above the narrow green margin of grass. We halt close to the right shore, owing to want of wood.

The shore ascends to about fifteen feet high, where the trees begin, and is composed of nothing but mimosas, although the Nile very certainly does not flow over it; for the river has full play far away to the left.

If we call these lakes, marshes, and reed-morasses, a longitudinal valley, enclosed as they are with the Nile between two high shores, which, however, do not ascend to the due height, the original shores perhaps lying still further by the irregular low line of mountains, or rather hills, it is plain that the same is gradually filled by alluvial deposits from the mountains of Bari, or from above, and an accumulation of vegetables, or the momentary sprouting forth of an corresponding kingdom of plants, must have soon followed the more important vegetable matter. As the sluices of the so-called valley pour into the great Nile, it must have falls on a level with the Nile itself, and has, therefore, dug a bed, and made an even slope to this side, after the stream had removed the first barriers or dikes of the high shores, which are now secure from any inundation. A river-bed, indeed, naturally becomes deeper when there is a proper fall and a regular conduit. The lower Nile has elevated its bed, because it has but few vents. Why could not the White River have a similar retrograde connection of water, which is prevented from flowing off, such as is the case, in the first place, near Khartùm? The Nile here might have been previously in majestic fullness, and flowed rapidly between the present old shores to Khartùm, until it created shallows and islands, where reeds and water-plants of every species sprang forth luxuriantly from the nearly stagnant water, and vehemently opposed the natural course of the river, seized the alluvial deposits from above in their polypi-arms, and rose to what we now see to be meadows and marshes.

The Shilluks are tolerably acquainted with the good disposition of the Turks: as soon as a vessel approaches a group of them, they get up and go away; this even befell Selim Capitan, in spite of his interpreter. When they see us coming, they drive the cows from the water, even without letting them drink. We on our side are afraid, and with justice, to land on the inhabited spots. I brought back two guinea-fowls, the produce of my shooting excursion with my servants; I had seen Suliman Kashef with one of a similar kind above. They are not at all like those in Taka, and different only from those of Europe by the darker colour of their plumage. We shall remain here to-night; thunder and rain have been satisfied with merely threatening us,—and are happily over. I disembark once more, and see fifty to sixty giraffes in the level shore towards the horizon, but it was too late to get at them. The thermometer was at nine o’clock in the morning 21°, but did not get up afterwards to more than 28°, fortunately for us,—not so much on account of shooting as because the heat might have been insupportable, for we were between these high shores à talus, with an average angle of 25° to 30°, and the wind was entirely still.

_10th March._ We remain to-day here for the sake of shooting, conformably to Suliman Kashef’s determination. His halberdiers set off to-night to follow the course of the giraffes, and to find out their abode in the gallas,—unfortunately without success, for they did not like perhaps to trust themselves so far in the territory of their deadly enemies.

I remarked a number of burnt bones of hippopotami in the low forest lying close to the river. I should be inclined to believe that the natives burn the carrion intentionally, in order not to be exposed to the disgusting effluvium. A species of black wasps build hanging-nests here, which however seem from their transparency to contain very little honey. I could not ascertain this more exactly, because I was obliged to be cautious in breaking off a branch with such nests on it. We remark low mountains beyond the softly ascending desert, and perhaps the dry water-courses which issue here from the steppe flow to them, and _there_ may be the real abode of the deer. In my shooting excursion I looked carefully among the thorn-bushes, and found that the plants are mostly the same; I had fancied quite otherwise. A blue convolvulus—not, however, belonging to the water—displayed a lighter colour than usual, and had also round and glutinous leaves: I took seeds of some pretty creepers and gathered the fruits of the shrubs, for I was already acquainted with the leaves. Every thing now was withered, and I am curious to know what will become of the various seeds I have collected when they are sown in Europe.

Most of the birds had retreated before the shooting of the other sportsmen commenced, but I stumbled upon several turtle-doves, and instinctively grasped my gun, letting my botanical bundle fall on the ground. I shot some, and got under a tree, where I saw them fluttering around. The thorns stuck to me and pricked me all over, and there I sat bent, like an ostrich caught in a thorn bush, compared with which the bull-rush of Moses was a child. I could not force through it with my coat on and gun in my hand; so I got loose from the sharp barbs of the thorns with torn clothes, leaving behind the tarbusch, takie, and half my cowl, without even scratching my ears, though they were bleeding enough already. I fetched back my tarbusch by means of my gun, and then examined my malicious enemy a little closer, notwithstanding he was an old acquaintance. I found withered apples on it, and gathered some, for the sake of the seed; when green they are exceedingly similar to oranges or Egyptian lemons. I have not found it confirmed that they are deadly poison to camels.

_11th March._—“Bauda mafish, am’d el Allàh!” (the latter properly Hamdl el Allàh,) was the cry on all sides to Allàh, because the gnats had taken their departure, and I hope that those which are still in my cabin will soon follow their companions. Departure at a quarter before ten to S.E. by E., then a little E. by S. Summer or pastoral villages on the left: we perceive also herds, but not a morsel of them is destined for us. On the right an old river-bed or narrow lake, mostly marshy, and connected below with the river. A quarter after ten, E.S.E., on a pretty good course, with the exception of some shallow inlets. We sail, with a south-west wind, four miles. On the left again open reed-huts or sleeping-places, and herds to which the people are collecting,—on account of the Turks. All the Haba here is deposited soil, which lies almost always higher than the other ground. This evidently fading forest once enjoyed better times, when the blessing of rain was afforded it, but the benefit of which it lost directly by its higher situation.

What fables are told of the incredible luxuriance of the tropical kingdom of plants! At all events it could only be said of aquatic plants which are forced by water, evaporation, and sunshine, as if by steam or chemical preparations; but then only in the rainy season and a few weeks beyond. I saw, indeed, trees shooting forth at this time in Taka, which boiling and cauldron-shaped valley may perhaps contain a tropical growth, or something like it; and plants springing up from the morass with incredible celerity and luxuriance, as if by magic. But trees that have true manly vigour, and strive to shoot out with sound strong muscles, whose pith is still clearly to be seen in the bark, with not a bough injured,—not a branch hanging down withered,—these are sought for in vain in the Tropics, so far as I have seen. We can form a tolerable idea of the momentary life and vigour there by comparing in Europe, acacias, planes, and poplars, on suitable soil; it is the most cheerful awakening after a long repose: but part of the limbs always continues in a sleep-like death, whether it be under the bark of the stem, or a bough that the sun scorches, or a runner become dry, which disfigures the whole tree. A forest requires care, either by the fortuitous kindness of Nature herself; or, when that is not sufficient, by the directing hand of man. The omnipotence of the terrestrial womb of fruits is past,—that which gave previously the magic of lovely green to the coming species, without any visible seeds of themselves. Half-past eleven o’clock, S.E.—It has just rained a little;—what anxiety and fear of rain these half-naked coloured people shew; what care they display in preparing immediately a tent to sit under! I have very often remarked this; rain must therefore make a sensible impression on their hot skin. Twelve o’clock, E.S.E. We see at the distance on the left towards the horizon, solitary dhellèbs as usual on elevated ground; and also isolated little groups of Shilluks. Narrow tracks of water right and left, which not long ago were flowing cheerfully. The river has also gradually laid aside its terraces in preceding times, until it has limited itself to its present bed; and those parts of the shore, lying higher are only just moistened, even when it is at its highest water-mark. It would be interesting to follow these old river-beds in the ascending line at the side, and to arrive at the dams of the primitive stream, or at the higher circumvallation which surrounded the lake here at one time. A quarter after one o’clock.—On the right a gohr cul-de-sac, low bushes to S.E., called by the very same name as the Haba; on the left solitary trees and straw huts of the herdsmen. At two—on the right, another gohr cul-de-sac,—to E. We sail E.N.E, and wind, for the first time since the morning, to the left: a track of water in the shape of a terrace, just there, from half a foot to a foot higher than our level. A beautiful line of dome-palms before us, but still thicker a little to the left. Half-past three, N.E.—Heaps of simsim-sheaves on the water at the left, and a row of ten villages near the dome-palms. A broad gohr or river comes from W. This may be the river of the Jengähs; but it seems to approach in the background too much to the Nile; perhaps therefore it is that gohr which is said to have its old river-bed on the high shores, below the villages of the Shilluks. A quarter before three, E. We see on the left seven more large and small villages, by or near that row of dome-palms, which on this side is very thin; then a dome-forest to the left at a quarter of an hour’s distance.

An unlimited water-course before us in E. by N., but no huts to be seen on the left. Therefore, the nation of the Nuèhrs might have been dislodged by the Shilluks from that quarter; for the former extend, or are said to extend, up to the Sobàt and its shores. This side, at all events, had been inhabited, as I plainly saw this morning at our landing-place. The Haba, however, continues at a slight distance from the river; on the left also the dome-forest is now reduced to a strip of a wood. The shores are surprisingly low on both sides; and therefore not any tokul-village is to be seen near them. A gohr is on the right, which is scarcely separated from the river, and in connection with it, like the other narrow ones. Three o’clock. On the left three more villages in the dome-forest tract; and on the right and left parrallel gohrs, subordinate Niles, which are now stagnant, and the fish in which are a prey to men and beasts. Four more villages to the left, near the dome-wood retreating from the river; on the right the forest thickens.

Half-past three. Towards S. We have a tolerably high and apparently planted island at our left, and halt at the right near a hill—probably a deserted domicile. But look there! that is really the far-famed Sobàt, the water of which is flowing against us, and which is so much feared by the crew, who are tired of the voyage. I soon disembarked on the shore, sauntered up the hill, and was surprised to find that I could see so far in the distance, and fed my eye and mind with a diorama which extended from W. to N.E. The Nile is conspicuous in the W., and meanders to N.E., where it is lost to the sight. An isolated dhellèb-palm on the right shore indicates this last boundary. The horizon behind this glittering length of the Nile is adorned with a transparent forest of dome-palms, interspersed with slender dhellèb palms, with their small heads. The basin of a lake spreads from W. to N.W., at my feet, and the river Sobàt winding downwards from S.E., and flowing in the depth at my right, unites with the Nile near the lake: both its shores are bare, and only a few melancholy straw tokuls stand on the extreme point of the right shore. All the remaining part of the district extends far and wide in a dead waste, with a little withered grass; and the horizon alone from S.S.W. to S.W., displays afar some palms and other trees, through which the blue sky glistens.

The lake lying in the angle between the left shore of the Sobàt and the right of the White Stream is connected with the former by a narrow opening, evidently prevented from closing by the hand of man. The mouth, as is the case elsewhere, is merely stopped up by reeds, to keep the fish of the lake in confinement. Our blacks shewed on this occasion what they do to catch fish when the water of these lakes is shallow, and does not reach up to a man’s middle. They disturb it with their feet, put fishing or conical baskets into it, and harpoon the large fish, who come to the top to breathe.

The Sobàt, swelling at high water far higher and stronger, has raised unquestionably a dam against this lake, the former river-bed of the White Stream, and pressed the Nile more towards N.W. into its present bed. Notwithstanding such an advantage being at hand, the natives have cut through the dam for the purpose of catching fish. The Sobàt has shortly before its mouth a hundred and thirty mètres in breadth and three fathoms in depth, whilst when we were here before it was four fathoms; and according to Selim Capitan, a few days earlier last year, five fathoms. We can tell but very little generally of the depth of the Nile, because its bed is very uneven, and the stream causes eternal fluctuations.

The name of Sobàt could only have been given to this river by the Funghs, for the Arabs have never possessed it, and usually call it Bach’r el Makàda (river of Habesch.) The Dinkas name the White Stream Kedi, and _this_ Kiti, which mostly denotes water in the dialects on the White Stream up to Bari, where it is called Kirboli: Kir also means water among the tribes down the river. Its name is Tilfi and Tak with the Nuèhrs and Shilluks.

When I view the steep and high slope of the shores of the Sobàt, and the proportionate thin layer of earth on the immovable strata of clay or original soil, which here is twenty to twenty-five feet higher than on the shore or in the bed of the Nile, I return to my former conviction, that the immeasurable particles of stone and plants stream by means of the breach, and flowing away of the lakes of the Ethiopian highlands, to the lake of the basin-shaped valley of the White Stream which flows off with the Nile, as the deepest point; and that all the lower country under the mountain chains of Fàzogl and Habesch, from the Atbara to the land of Bari must be under water, if it be not a lake connected with the depressed regions of the White Stream. If the lakes, therefore, of that lofty plain were torn by a powerful catastrophe, and deserted their chasms or valleys, as the water-basins of Switzerland did formerly—(even now there are lakes or flat valleys, signs of a deluge, in which the waters might have dashed from the summit of Atlas to the top of the Alps)—there is no question that the lower lakes or valleys must have filled and overflowed. The first rushing-down of the mass of waves, incredibly violent as it must have been, the falling of mountains accompanying it, and their washing-away, overpowered everything below them, as if gods had descended from Olympus, and no longer recognized those limits that would have remained eternal obstacles by an inferior shock. The first deposit was a layer of clay on the side of the Sobat, whilst the White Stream suffered no such sediment when in its primitive strength, and washed away everything that it could seize, as is shewn by the far lower shores. The high shores of the Sobàt and its environs fall away, especially towards the level parts of the left side of the Nile, to which the accumulated slime could still less arrive owing to the stream carrying it off, although several gohrs and rivers from thence pour into it. These afford water certainly, but no slime to increase the height of the shore, as we plainly see by the Gazelle River, and also in the little Kiti of the Jengähs called Njin-Njin. We must assume from the Dinka country and its greater elevation, that the ground towards the Nile was heightened formerly by its gohrs flowing from above, or perhaps constant rivers; whilst Kordofàn, which lies over the left shore of the Nile, discharges no rivers, and its oases have run down from the mountains themselves, and formed islands in the sands which still remain, for the sunken ground forms cisterns that nourish the succulent power of the mountains by imbibing the moist element; or it may be, that springs were bored by God’s own hand.