CHAPTER VIII.

ARNAUD’S IGNORANCE AND SELIM CAPITAN’S CUNNING. — HATRED OF THE THREE FRENCHMEN TO EACH OTHER. — THE ENDERÀB TREE. — THE POISON TREE HARMLESS. — REMARKS ON THE LAKES IN CONNEXION WITH THE WHITE NILE. — THE WOOD OF THE AMBAK TREE. — FONDNESS OF THE ARABS FOR NICK-NAMES. — THE AUTHOR DEFENDED FROM GNATS BY A CAT. — INTERVIEW WITH A KÈK. — HUSSEÏN AGA’S DRINKING BOUTS WITH FEÏZULLA CAPITAN. — DESCRIPTION OF A SUN-RISE. — VISIT OF THE KÈKS. — SOLIMAN KASHEF AND THE LOOKING-GLASS.

25th December.—We are still waiting for the Kawàss and Sandal. A man had been given to each of these ships to assist them; but we have gained nothing by it; and therefore Selim Capitan intends to tow both of them. Thibaut and I visited the invalid, Sabatier, who scarcely knew how to keep himself from laughing when Selim-Capitan took upon himself to give lessons anew to the learned Arnaud, who very boldly asserted in our presence, that the “altitudine” and “amplitudine” of the sun were one and the same thing. As we then well understood, Selim Capitan wants Arnaud and he to agree in their calculations, and grudges no instruction to the latter for that purpose. He tells us, that such a coincidence with the French engineer is the more necessary, because the Viceroy would sooner credit the reckonings of a scientific Frenchman than of a Turk, who had never seen Frankestàn. According to Sabatier, Arnaud has not made yet a single calculation, because he is not capable of doing so, but loads his back with these burdens, notwithstanding Sabatier’s feverish state of health. Unfortunately, this appears to be exactly the case, for Arnaud always agrees with Selim-Capitan, who is exceedingly reserved in speech; and therefore it is really fortunate that the Turk, being a naval officer, understands something at least of these matters.

The three French gentlemen mutually conceal their journals, in which one abuses the other; but they each fetch them out from their hiding-places, in order to read them to me, and I am obliged to listen to them. Arnaud lies, as usual, and relates in his journal, that he bought a beautiful slave from a captain—although the black girl belonged to a sailor, and Thibaut, in my presence, played the interpreter when she was sold. He pretends to have been a pupil of the Polytechnic School at Paris, and yet is not capable of writing three lines of French correctly. “_In Egypt one must be everything_,” Dr. Gand used to say, who studied in Germany, and who, in 1822, was in Greece with me, and the physician in ordinary of Abbas Basha. Europeans appear generally to know this, and therefore exhibit no shame in getting themselves appointed, in Egypt, to situations for which they were never brought up. “_Exempla sunt odiosa_.”

Still mist this morning, and the hygrometer stood, at eight o’clock, at 78°. We advance about ten o’clock, with a gentle east wind, towards the west. About eleven o’clock, direction S.S.E., one mile’s rapidity of course, and half a mile rapidity of current. Half an hour later we sail westward, in which direction Suliman Kashef has already gone ahead of us. At midday the east wind strengthened and passed over into S.E. We sail for scarcely half an hour S.S.W.; then a very short track to S., where we approach the trees of the Haba, and immediately, W. by N., making three miles and a half in the hour. We remained scarcely five minutes in this direction, as the river winds S.E. A small lake with reed banks, sharply separated from it, lies to the right shore, in this encroaching corner. Probably the river ran formerly through this lake in a straight line, and the angle from S.W. to N.E. was cut off. The S.E. wind is contrary for us, wishing to go S.S.E.; but fortunately this neck of land is dry, and so we take to libàton. Our Dinkas and Mariàn assert that the land here still belongs to the Dinkas, who continue on the right shore still higher up, whilst the Kèks possess the left shore. We go southwards, and anchor at the right shore to fell wood.

In spite of the hot exhalations of the ground, which I felt indeed in my feet and legs, and notwithstanding the heat of 28°, I go a little into the interior of the country. The usual clay soil was under the humus, for the whole surface of the earth was open to it, and full of deep holes or foot-prints of the colossal animals running here. The trees have a sickly appearance, and are old dwarf trees standing upon and round about the ant-hills. These trees are called _Enderàbs_. The bark is smooth on the old trunk and has nearly fallen off; on the young straight shoots it is rough, and a brownish grey, like in the hazel-tree; the leaf is lanceolated similar to that of the Oleander’s, but light green and slender, with sharply indented borders. The wood is, on the whole, soft, and may be compared to the linden wood. The greatest part of the Haba consists of these trees, which, however, had also previously appeared. The reed-grass was eaten away and trodden down by the beasts. It might, in former times, have caught fire, and contributed to the destruction of this forest.

Four o’clock.—Already the drum has beaten three times for departure; but everything in our vessel remains in the most beautiful state of tranquillity; because the wood-hewers, scattered in the Haba, must be waited for.

The Nile makes here also a circular stream, which is stronger than in the preceding curve, where we were driven, in spite of sailing and rowing, on to Selim Capitan’s vessel. So likewise Suliman Kashef comes upon us, as if he were going to board us, whilst we were lying quite peaceably at the shore. The current of the river is far stronger, and receives below a check by the lake, which may give it additional water, for the islands floating there dance a waltz in front of us before going further. There must be some cause for that. I advance, and see, on the left, another small lake, and succulent green grass, from its shore even to the Nile. This lake stretches from N.E. to S.W. The river makes a bend from our landing-place, which we leave soon after four o’clock, from W. to S.S.W. I am inclined to believe, judging from the yellow reed-grass, that this lake, like the former one, where the crew, when towing, were able to go over the dam, separating it from the river, is closed at its heading, whilst the river flows by it. I remark also, up the country, green tracks of vegetation, possibly covering for a short time, or for ever, the vital veins of the lake. The Haba loses itself, and only solitary trees denote still the right side of the Nile, whilst W.N.W. to S.W. a tract, rich in trees, bounds the horizon. The south extends before us, from S.W. to S.E., without a tree, and perhaps, therefore, has the river-bed in its centre.

The trees of the left side are unfortunately too far for us to distinguish them. The crew think, however, that they must be a kind of date-palms (naghel; the fruit, however, is called tammer, or bellàgh). But Mariàn says that there are many trees on that side belonging to the palm species, but bearing large, beautiful fruit, containing milk, which, he thought, were a species of cocoa-palm. These trees rise with a straight shaft similar to the date and dhellèb-palms; but the top appears to be entirely flat, like an extended fan, or a round table. I had seen also, from the ship, in that forest, some poison-trees: now, I heard dreadful things told of them, that even the scent of their flowers, or a thorn, nearly invisible on them, falling on one’s hand, is certain death, and that the natives poison their arrows with it. This Shudder el Simm is called, in the language of the Nubas, _Auer_, and I was curious to see the tree somewhat nearer.

With the before-mentioned short course from W. to S.S.W., we came again to the right shore, and to the Haba, where we halted again. I sprang on the shore, which is only two and a half to three feet above the water, as in the preceding place, under the very same appearances, and I found in the poison-tree an old acquaintance of mine at Taka; but with this difference, however, that it might be called here a tree, whilst there it was only a shrub. Both of them are Euphorbias. I had, in Taka, cut off such a cactus-like plant, with its blue-reddish flowers, similar to those of the ushàr (_Asclepias procera_), and crushed it in my hand, when I punished in the Haba the stubbornness of my donkey, who wanted to join his brothers grazing in the meadow. I had involuntarily touched my lips and the tip of my tongue with the hand wet with the poisonous sap. Notwithstanding all the washing, I for two days found the taste of it quite abominable, without alarming myself the least about it, for I did not consider it more poisonous than the ushàr, the leaves of which are eaten by goats. These leaves, well-known from their intoxicating quality, are laid upon funnel-shaped sieves, in order to strain merissa through them, by which the milk, gushing from the leaves, mixes with the liquor itself.

I made no ceremony of cutting off a branch from a poison-tree fifteen feet high, with the fruit, which are little round knobs, and had not yet come to maturity. The crew were somewhat angry when I came on board with it, and avoided me, till they saw that I laid it close to me on my bed, without the least evil consequences arising from it. Mariàn told me that they prepared the poison from this tree by boiling its milk and the sap, pressed between two stones; when this has become thick, like asside (meal-pap), the arrows are dipped into it.

The wind has left us, and we advance with the assistance of oars, about five o’clock, from S.S.W. to W.S.W. Towards S.W. the oars were obliged to assist the hoisted sails, owing to the faint wind. A small lake shews itself again, as before, on the left, where it goes round in the obtuse corner from S.W. to N.E. This announces here the old direction of the once majestically flowing river, parallel with the forest, to the brink of which these lakes are arranged in a line, one by the other. We go from S.W., around the before-named corner, to N.E., leave the lake mentioned behind us, and have, at sunset, a long row of low tokuls, near which a thick cloud of smoke extends to a distance. Our blacks perceive through the smoke a large herd of cattle. We have wood enough, but for several days have been deficient in meat, and the crew cannot apparently pass without tasting the flesh of these animals. No human form, however, is to be seen on the shore any more than on the right, where we had remarked isolated huts, as well as by the lakes. To the west, behind this village, extends an immeasurable meadow, having mists rising over it, like clouds, whilst a thick layer of mist lies round the whole horizon, which we may consider as an exhalation from the dried-up country.

The new moon is seen and heartily greeted by the Reïs, as a sign of our fortunate journey. Nevertheless, it was two days old, and there was but little merit, therefore, in its discovery by the Arabs, who themselves discover immediately the fine sickle of the new moon, even when the sun is still in the heavens. We moved up to eight o’clock a short distance in S.W., and anchored in the middle of the river to wait for the morning, and with it the hospitality of the herdsmen.

_26th December._—We looked in vain this morning for an oblation of flesh, and an embassy on the part of the herdsmen. Therefore, even before sunrise, we moved on with a faint wind from S.W. to N.W. On the left of the right shore a village, but no human beings, and, somewhat forward, a lake in the corner, from N.W. to W.: they told me from the mast that even behind the village there was a lake. It is the very same case with this lake as with the preceding ones. The range of these lakes of _the more straight tract_, which the river previously followed as the direction most worthy of it, and even now at high-water may renew for a short time, is plainly manifest. Solitary trees stand right and left, more or less removed from the shore; but no high shore is to be seen here, such as the line of the horizon, covered with trees, had deceived me to believe. This dry pasture-land is, at the most, three feet above the water; and even from the trees and high ant-hills yesterday, I could not discover any other tract of shore than that which the separated trees afford, and in the direction of which the lakes follow behind one another.

The bed of the Nile has raised itself here like in all other places, without the shore being proportionably elevated: this is also the case in Nubia and Egypt; for the level ground gives an indefinite extension to the stream, by which it can wallow and carouse in the untried shores; not to mention that this whole territory navigated by us was a fresh water lake. The shore land could not therefore be raised in the manner of downs here by the river, on account of the want of sand or light earth, and moreover, because the river deposits also but little slime, the ingredients of which flow away to the hollow land, and only receive their fertilizing qualities by the process that takes place on their journey.

_Eight o’clock._—The faint S.W. veered for a short time to the North, with a slight squall, and we sailed with two miles course from S.W. to S.; but on the left the evolution continues in the form of an arch to E. by S., where we halt, in order to go, libàhn, the wind coming now from the east. The left shore forms a broad edge of high reeds, over which we cannot see. Red and blue convolvulus float and creep around, as well as two species of wild cucumbers, one of which has a large and deep yellow flower; the other, small and pale yellow. Reddish and yellowish flowing beans, and other water-plants, are entwined in picturesque confusion. On the left hand is observed in the distance a single palm, which was previously on our right, so that we can scarcely imagine how we shall get in the old path again. Over an extended, magnificently green savannah prairie of high grass, the melancholy Enderàb forest of yesterday is still visible at a distance: its soft wood is as brittle as glass.

I yesterday split several stems of the ambak already described. I found, as previously, that they are more like a woody pith than real wood. No pith, properly speaking, is distinguished at the first sight, but I now discover that a pith-canal of about a quarter of an inch in diameter shoots through it. The contents were cleared out in the most careful manner by ants, as is generally the case where these insects are in the neighbourhood. The giant rush is becoming less abundant. The ray-formed expanding rushes of the corolla are often two feet long, and branch again into smaller ones, with the usual tendency of the flowers of rushes. From nine to half-past one o’clock, we have only made two miles and-a-quarter with the towing-rope, for the high reeds hung with creepers on the right margin of the river present endless difficulties. It is to be hoped that the N.E. wind which has now set in, will continue for a time, for we make three miles, as we go from E. by S., over S.E. to S. At three o’clock we make a further bend from S. over E. to N.E., yet with the line, where another margin of high reeds gave us the same trouble.

We passed here by some tokuls, which were plundered of everything by the men towing the vessels. They gave me also fruits and lotus-roots, being here as large as pomegranates, and quite fresh; on account of which they were placed on reed-stalks to dry. This fruit is still abundant in the rushy marshes, and very quickly ripens, because we have not seen any lotus-flowers since the land of the Shilluks. They also brought me seeds of the broad reeds called “slaves’ rice.” When we survey the small stock of rice in the corbel, we find that this is not even collected in a mass, and therefore a harvest of grain—that is, of this and similar seeds—must be always very troublesome. The reed-grass here was never trodden down by cattle, and these people may therefore only live by fishing. Two fish, large of their species, the _Bolti_ (Chromis Niloticus), a favourite with every one in Khartùm, lie on the shore, and must therefore not be quite fresh, as the Egyptian wolves let them remain. A dark brown thick felt cap, found there, was well adapted by its globular form to make a blow with a club less sensible or entirely harmless. At four o’clock we sail a short track S. by E.: see on the right and left small fishing-villages, and, indeed at this moment shaded by the reeds. The surface of the earth is here clearly somewhat higher, and therefore was dried sooner. The extreme margin of the shore was, near the plundered village, from two and a half to three feet high; whilst that towards the huts was one and a half or two feet higher, and formed a kind of low dike. A subordinate river, choked up with mud, and appearing to be used as a fish-pond, lies behind the huts on the right shore. We have soon at our side a second village with two geïlid-trees, as well as a deserted river-bed for fishing in; for we see at the lower end a ditch, serving, after the high water has receded, for the letting off of this fish-pond.

Beyond this village we perceive some trees, near which the smoke rises up in several places. The last little hamlet consists of fourteen tokuls, and the people are seen afar off amid the grass hastening to five other tokuls by the reeds. The inundation seems here altogether to cease, and the medium height of the water to have commenced for some time. A vigorous smoke, like a wide-spread steam of slaughtering, delights our crew. They hope to be able to regale their stomachs with the delicious roasted morsels, enveloped by these clouds of smoke, and protected against the insects. We wind an ell’s length to the right S.W., and over S.S.E. to S.E., and immediately again to W.N.W., where we have at five o’clock a large island, in the shape of a half-moon at our left, and we go then in a bend to the East. The border of the island consists of reeds continually running into the river, with their beautiful wreaths of flowers in dentated points; whilst the ambak forms, in the direction of the interior, gently ascending hills and woods, which, with their fresh green reeds, promise more than they may be able to keep. The floating islands are always meeting us or driving by us, and afford us, on the whole, the best proof that we have not yet escaped the marshy regions. I have been seeking for several days, but in vain, a small-leaved water moss, on account of its elegance, in order to put it again in my collection.

The wind at last, having veered to the north, is nearly quite spent, and we go from an easterly direction, shortly before sun-set, to the south. The before-named island seems to have a considerable breadth, according to the account from the mast. The river winds again eastward, and we halt immediately after sun-set, having left behind a well-built village, containing fifteen tokuls, to wait for the Kaiass and the sandal, which we had abandoned again to their fate. The Turks hoped, however, that there would be some people in this village, as it shewed signs of prosperity, and that they would come to us, to make our worthy acquaintance; but they were deceived, for the natives appeared to have fled from hence far and wide.

The Arabs are fond of giving nicknames, derived either from the figure, or some other distinction and manner of acting, to which they prefix the word Abù. The Kurd, Hüsseïn Aga, has distinguished himself for a short time, by drinking merissa, which he prepared on board his vessel; for he found the time hang heavy on his hands, as he told me, and was vexed that his vessel was always behind. He was therefore called _Abù Sofaia_,—the latter word being the name of the sieve for merissa. If a pair of them wanted to teaze each other, they began to ask, reciprocally: “Your father, what is his name?” “You, what is your name?” then followed jeering, abusing, and scoffing. They do not fail, in addition, to use the coarsest words, if the Turkish listeners are pleased at it. On the sun setting, the new moon turned both her horns in equal height to the heavens, and Venus shone immediately over it, exactly similar to the Turkish escutcheon. This symbol appeared to me more suitable than all our heraldic compositions.

For the last two nights the gnats have been very troublesome, notwithstanding that a small cat, which I have not yet seen by daylight, seems to find particular pleasure in licking my face all the night through, pulling my beard, and purring continually, thus scaring away the gnats. The cats, however, in Belled-Sudàn are generally of a more savage nature, apparently arising from the unkind treatment of the people: they go even into the hen-roosts, and the strongest fowls are lacerated by them; but they meddle very little with rats and mice. The Baràbras, especially those of Dòngola, like them for eating; not so, however, the Arabs, who do not persecute them, because the cat is one of the favourite animals of their Prophet, but yet hold them unclean. The sky was cloudy to-day, as it was yesterday and the day before.

_27th December._—Set out immediately after sunrise towards N.N.W. The sun rises of a dark red colour, exactly behind us, out of the river, into the red humid atmosphere, and yet there is the main direction of the river; we have, therefore, a real labyrinth of circuitous routes to work through. If yesterday, no object disclosed itself in the south, for the eye to rest upon, so now in the left, the arm flowing round the island is only to be seen; there is nothing besides but reeds, and the water which we are navigating. The high reeds may, it is true, here and there conceal from the eye a tree or a hut, because, on the whole, we go lower between the dried-up shores. The N.E. wind is slack, and we assist the sails by rowing in S.W., where, about eight o’clock, a small village of twelve tokuls starts up, on the left side of the river, the river coming from S.E. A dog barks from the neighbouring reeds, and betrays the hiding-place of the people who had fled, which the blacks, accustomed to similar signs, corroborated, and wanted even to shoot into the reeds. Our Abù Hashiss barked lustily against the animal, and it really appeared as if several large and small dogs were barking.

About an hour’s distance beyond the village some trees are to be seen; whilst, on the left, where the river now winds to S.E., we do not observe anything. This also appears to be a fishing village, for we do not remark any trace of the tread of cattle in the grass. These poor Icthyophagi have, according to their usual custom, wretched huts, and their tokuls are also partly plastered with Thin. This thin, or Nile slime, naturally affords a good material for plastering the reed walls. It would be good for airstones, if these should be generally considered a suitable building material in places where the violent periodical rains of the tropics only too often shew the contrary. I myself have experienced this in Khartum, where in _one_ night some thirty houses fell. The storm of rain was so violent, that it broke through the wall of our bed-room, three feet thick, built of airstones, and in a short time tore an opening the size of a window. It was only with the greatest difficulty that I was able to save my brother (the servants being at a distance), by carrying him away. He was dangerously ill at the time, and, bursting out into a clear loud laugh, vigorously resisted my endeavours to lay him upon a table under the door-way, in order that he might not be buried by the fall of the roof.

The whole horizon is without a high tree; only the ambak covers, in small thickets, a great part of the island, which is still drawing nearer to us. The ambak appears here considerably higher and stronger, to which the warmer climate, together with the earlier inundation and the growth thereby produced, has mostly contributed. On the return voyage I will try to procure, at all events, seeds of it; for I am really curious to see, at some future day, this new species of tree, the ambak, in my own native country, even should it be in a hot-house. Although it may not thrive and grow as quickly with us as here, yet I am quite sure that its incredible productive powers will excite the more astonishment, because its many large flowers and great succulent acacia-like leaf, make it an ornamental tree.

The current of the river was tolerably strong this morning, and amounted to nearly one mile. This difference depends simply on the _many_ windings of the river, a greater or less fall could be scarcely followed up in a _single_ one. The medium for these parts may remain always half a mile. As we see here all the corners of the shore, without exception, still in the water with their reeds, it may be supposed that there is also a more shallow river-bed. Vegetation grows from beneath and the side into the river-bed, and the reeds advancing in out-and-in bending angles, make the first step to press and encroach on the river. Slime always sticks to the corners of these angles, and depositing and rising up from beneath, spreads again its own vegetation.

I see here water-thistles, with lanceolate leaves, and reddish flowers of the thickness of a finger, exactly as are seen in our fish-ponds. Green water-lentils cover the sides of the stream, and are a plain proof of the stagnating water flowing off in it. At half-past eight o’clock I hear from Fadl, at the mast, that we are sailing to the south; that there is a large lake with a village towards the E. and in the S.E.; also a large lake on the before-named island, of which the former is a quarter of an hour, and the other half an hour distant from the river. He is not able to see the other arm of the river along the right shore, and therefore it has either lessened in breadth, for previously at its conflux it was broader than our water-course, or it is very far distant; for Fadl remarks trees on the right shore, from two hours and a half to three hours distant, which may be standing indeed on the margin of the river, whilst its water may be concealed by the ambak thickets.

Yet it is said that this land approaches in a bend towards the south. Also on the left is seen, in the neighbourhood of the river, W. by N., a small lake and a large wood, stretching up the country. We go with our N.E. wind, at nine o’clock, from S. to E. The river forms here a broad bay, and we lay-to at the left shore, four hundred paces from which a village is found, containing about thirty tokuls, but indifferently built, because each individual erects his house to suit his own convenience, and takes no trouble to beautify it, but creeps through an oval hole—the general doors of the huts on the White Nile.

The reeds were burnt down all round, yet the thick green stalks had withstood the fire, although they were all covered with black ashes. One of the natives remained quietly standing on the shore, in order to accurately survey us strangers. Soon after a great number of our men collected around him, seeking to make use of him as their bearer, with a flag of truce, in their favourite meat transactions.

I sat down with Suliman Kashef and Selim Capitan on the ashes, with the negro, who was of a livid colour, owing to the ashes on which he had slept. He told us, with the assistance of our Dinkas, to whom he could make himself intelligible, that he had swam through the river, to visit his brother in the neighbouring village, from which every one had fled; that his hut was on the right shore, and that he was a Kèk, like these here. The crowd became too strong for him. The black looked about him, perplexed; but was, however, persuaded to come with us on board Selim Capitan’s vessel. When he approached the cabin, bending his body forward in a comically awkward and ape-like position, perhaps to denote subjection, he slid round on the ground, dropped on his knees, and crept into it, shouting repeatedly with all his might, “Waget tohn agèhn, agiht agiht-waget tohn agèhn, agiht agiht,” by which words he greeted us, and expressed his astonishment. He had several holes in the rims of his ears, containing, however, no other ornament than a single little stick. Strings of beads were brought out and hung about his neck; there was no end to his transports; he struck the ground so hard with his posteriors, that it resounded again, and raised his hand on high, as if praying. When I bound a string of beads round his wrist, he could not leave off jumping, at such an invaluable ornament, and never once kept still; he sprang up, and threw himself down again, to kiss the ground; again he rose, extended and contracted himself, held his hands over all our heads, as if to bless us, and sang a very pretty song, full of the simple melody of nature. He had a somewhat projecting mouth; his nose and forehead quite regular, as well as the cut of the face itself; his hair was sheared away short, to about the length of half an inch. He might have been about thirty years of age; an angular high-shouldered figure, such as we have frequently perceived among the Dinkas. There were two incisors wanting above, and four below, which is also the case with the Dinkas; they pull them out, that they may not resemble wild beasts. His attitude and gestures were very constrained, arising, perhaps, partly from the situation in which he found himself; his shoulders were raised, his head bent forward in unison with his bent back; his long legs, the calves of which were scarcely to be perceived, seemed as if broken at the joints of his knees; in short, his whole person hung together like an orang-outang’s. Added to this, he was perfectly naked, and no hair, except on his head, to be seen. His sole ornament consisted of leathern rings above the right hand. What a grade of humanity is here! This poor man of nature touched me with his childish joy, in which he certainly felt happier than any of us. He was instructed to go forward and tell his countrymen not to fly before us, _honest_ people. Kneeling, sliding along, jumping, and kissing the ground, he let himself be led away by the hand like a child, and would certainly have taken it all for a dream, had not the glass-beads convinced him to the contrary.

Ten o’clock.—The east wind has splendidly freshened, and we sail S.E. by S. delightfully. We flew by a small village, of ten to twelve tokuls, on the island, and make six, or rather only three miles; this pleasure lasting only half an hour. The river winds towards E., and the crew again take to towing, one leading the choir, and the chorus repeating its usual “Ja Mohammet.” After eleven o’clock we sail, however, again, and with the assistance of oars, E.S.E.; soon S.S.E., and then W. by S., where we make five miles and a half. There is an everlasting tacking about, and with it bawling, abusing, and shouting. We turn, because we see the vessel a-head turning, without system and without advantage, for this terrible careening, with the tedious shifting of the sails every short distance, only wastes time. Feizulla is squatting again with Selim Capitan, who is not very delighted at his company. It is the devil to be shut up with such simpletons in a cabin, to undertake journeys with Turks, and, for my future recreation, to be obliged to converse with insipid men, whose spite at not being able to say just what they like in their journals, as they would do, were I not with the expedition, I plainly see.

Twelve o’clock.—To south, six miles, and only too with the mainsail. A fire extends before us, probably lighted reed-grass. This stands close to us, being a height of twenty to thirty feet, and in brown silky ears, whilst the grass and broad reeds are not so far advanced. Unfortunately the river winds again E.S.E., and at one o’clock libàhn to E. Sloughs and deep recesses of water are close to the river, and run parallel with it.

Half-past one o’clock.—Fadl tells me from the mast, that the large island before mentioned, turns out to be a peninsula. The other arm of the stream approaches again our river, with the right shore, but its water is lost against the ascending surface of its river bed; however, it may at high water, have flowed over this, although it is not shewn by any remarkable hollow. This arm is also choked up above, though it has preserved the lower part of its bed. If we only think of this large horizontal water-line, from the foot of the island up to the damming up in our neighbourhood, we see plainly how melancholy it must look at the fall of the White Stream. The right side of the river is close to us, and the wood on the left, perhaps containing here the old tract of the shore, is, as Fadl tells me, nearly three hours’ journey off. He calculates distances correctly, though always at something less than myself, for he has longer legs, and is of the active race, who run in their journeys to water and bread with as much _goût_, as we to the outstretched arms of an inn.

Where the river winds to S.E. a group of small ambak and grass islands enter into the landscape; thousands of birds enliven a lake, the two tributaries of which draw in to the east, and from the east to south. I hear, however, from the mast, that they are neither tributaries nor arms of the Nile, and soon come to an end. A trace of a more extensive gohr or rain-river discharging itself here, and now, perhaps, dried up, to which supposition we are led, at the first glance, cannot be followed by the eye. These are, perhaps, indeed, old arms of the Nile, now choked up and grown over; the sluggish stream may not be able to cover them again, but overflows them at high-water. Creepers and flowers fantastically entwined hang around on the margin of the reeds, behind which the high ambak-trees stand, also in flower.

Two o’clock.—S.E. wind, good and strong; but it forced us to use the towing rope till half-past two o’clock, when we sail from S. to S.S.W. Constant north winds, such as are blowing at this moment in Khartùm, do not occur here at this time; however, this everlasting change of wind is, at times, advantageous to us, from the extremely varying course of the river. The wind falls—the drum beats for libàhn, when the wind from N.E. allows us again to stretch sail, in order to go to the south. This is, however, but a short pleasure, and the rope is obliged to be had recourse to, when we go, about half-past three, east by south; where, right and left, is a village in the reeds.

Four o’clock.—From E. to W., S.E., S.S.E., and from S. to S.E., all in an hour, in nearly equal sections of time. At five o’clock, a city on the left shore, but the smoke extending near it, does not proceed from herds, but from the kindled reeds. At six o’clock, near sunset, on the left shore lagoons and birds; five men are standing close to them, but do not approach nearer. Towards the south of the village we remark a lake, which receives its water from the river, and is a broad, old river-bed, stretching from W. to E. The lower end is choked up with slime and rises only a little above the present level of the water. We halt, and the eastern horizon is illumined with the visible flames of the reeds.

_28th December._—The bustle of departure awoke me before day-break. No mist is to be seen, and even the ram’s skin of the Turkish Gideon, Hüsseïn Aga, stretched out before the cabin, is but slightly wet. He had remained with us the night, in order to help Feïzulla Capitan (who even seeks to stimulate his thirst by eating anchovies in rancid oil) to drink his wretched dram made from dates. Gnats do not appear from without; the old guests from the reeds were soon killed. With a gentle N.E. wind we steer towards S.S.W. Even before sun-rise we see on the left a village of thirty-six tokuls, on the slope of a hill. This has been formed, perhaps, by the hand of man from the first dam thrown up. Judging from the houses still falling to ruin, the clay walls of which remain, it may have ascended to a height of twelve to fifteen feet. The river has full play here in the free level field, yet its power of rooting up, through the falls, is so little, that it is not able, with the want of sand, to pile up Downs. The roofs of the tokuls run, indeed, to a point, but their superficies is cut away into ring-formed layers, so as to form steps. The roofs are elevated to an unusual height. The oval doors look, as usual, towards different directions, for they serve also as windows. One looks straight to the river, another up the river, and the third wants to see what is taking place down below. I have not seen any doors looking towards the country. The high water seems here to have done mischief to the lower huts, as we see by the make-shift ones which have been erected in all haste. Inland, on the left shore, a village shews itself for a moment, through an aperture in the high reeds.

I looked upon the rising sun with the blissful heart and kindly humour that Nature, in her majesty, calls forth with irresistible power. Dark brown clouds covered the place where he was to disclose himself in all his glory. The all-powerful light of the world inflames this layer of clouds; ruffled, like the billows of the ocean, they become lighted up with an indescribable hue of blue Tyrian purple, from which an internal living fire beams forth on every side. To S.E. by E. a vessel dips its mast and sails into this flood of gold. Filmy rays and flames of gold display themselves in the centre of that deep blue curtain, the borders of which only are kindled with luminous edging, whilst the core of the sun itself, within the most confined limits, sparkles through the darkest part like a star never to be looked upon. At last he rises, conquering all the atmospheric obstacles of the vaporous earth; the latter stand like clear flakes of gold, attending him on the right, whilst two strata of clouds, embedded in each other, draw a long beautiful train to the north, ever spreading and dissolving more and more. I write—I try once more to embrace the mightiest picture of ethereal life, but the ship has, in the mean time, turned, and the sails cover the sun, so as not to weaken the first impression. There are moments, truly, when one is, as it were, a god; but this god-like feeling lasts, in its entire strength, only as long as the external impression, which the inmost persuasion rather weakens than strengthens. Cheerfully, and with a fresh heart, I settled myself there in a _vernùs_, on _my little_ bamber, before the cabin, to a soothing sleep, where dreamy pictures of my home delighted me. I drank my coffee even before sun-rise, (18° Reaumur,) and filled my pipe a second time, for tobacco also has a great deal to do with beginning the day in good humour.

With a faint north wind we advance for some minutes N.E. by S. A light mist, thrown over the horizon, rises high to the heavens, and melts away. Neither land or tree is to be seen, for the village is an island in the verdant sea, extending boldly in all shades of green, and to an immeasurable distance. About seven o’clock N.E. by E., and in a bend to W. Wild geese fly here and there, but they scream, and are therefore not roasted. Even I feel inclined for meat.

At 8 o’clock, three villages appear in the south. From N.N.W. we turn a sharp angle to the south. The creepers form, from the shores already deserted by the water, a beautiful rim of flowers down and into the stream. We row and sail slowly round the before-named corner, not to S., but to S.S.E., as the wind somewhat freshens; immediately, however, S.W. by W. and a short tract S.E.; but, about nine o’clock, to N. with Libàhn. The north-east wind has set in with such strength, that we can drift along without sails for half an hour in a south-westerly direction. At ten o’clock, to N.E. Libàhn; and at half-past, to S. in a bend—God knows where—to W., and again without sails. We make five miles, when the fore-sail is let out in a slackened bow. To the right—still in the bend mentioned just now to N.W., and in this direction we have a pretty long tract before us.

Happy are those who have time, or take time, to sleep, when they feel inclined: I really must praise myself for holding out, from early in the morning to late in the evening, sometimes aloft, sometimes below, with such a continual scribbling of “on the right,” “on the left,” and describing all kinds of winds and weather—which is perfectly necessary, but may be as tedious to my future readers as it is to myself. From N.W., with some trouble, Libàhn to E. At twelve o’clock we sail gradually to S.E. and S., and make five miles, although the river has one mile rapidity; but at half-past twelve E. by S. and S.E., and at one o’clock again E. by S.; at half-past one S.S.W.; a quarter of an hour later S.E. by S.

“_Bagher, Bagher-ketir!_” I hear murmured and shouted, and every one runs upon deck. On the distant margin of reeds, several cows were noticed. Suliman Kashef stood with his great telescope on the top of his cabin, to discover the enemy, who were slightly concealed. The crew were really like madmen; I was also very glad because my wild-goose, which I had winged some days before, and which Fadl drew out of the water, in spite of its diving, was now out of all danger of being slaughtered, for it was to have been _Communistically_ divided like a solid _ponderabile_. Fires burnt in the distance, and reed-straw was already consumed, even behind the broad reedy margin of the river, but, as everywhere else, too early, for it was yet quite green; but the poor people want to rid themselves of the gnats and other vermin, and therefore burn it away directly it is combustible. We landed, therefore, soon afterwards, at two o’clock. Allah had certainly sent us the cows, as the good Muslims thought. We assembled on board Selim Capitan’s vessel, and I was really eager to come into contact with the natives. A tolerably intelligent Dinkaui was sent ashore as Tershomàn (interpreter), where he shouted in the distance. Soon some people appeared; but the Arab wolves rushed down from the vessel, and the natives fled for the second time. Under threats of the bastinado, our men were recalled to the ships. It was not long before ten bullocks, of beautiful form and clear colour, and goats of a very fine breed, with compressed faces, were driven near to us. Nearly all the latter were distinguished by incisions, or recisions of one ear—not exactly announcing a _communio bonorum_.

The inoffensive livid-coloured negroes accompanied the Tershomàn on board the vessel where we were,—they were five in number, two old men, and three young ones: they made gestures, in their perplexedness, bending forward in the attitude of apes. I remarked on the two old men short grey hairs in the ashes on their heads, but there was not a single hair to be discovered on the bodies of the young men. They were naked, and had leathern and iron rings on their wrists, as well as adorned round their necks with rings made of skins. With uplifted hands they greeted us humbly, and screeched with a fearful voice, “Tebing conjegò,” which one sang, and then “Tebing conjegorarèmemm” was repeated in chorus, and so often that I was nearly stunned with the noise. The leader of the choir was the son of Abù: and this word seems here to denote “elder of a family,” or Sheikh. He was called Tshòli, and his village Dim; he was therefore Tshòli-Dim, of the nation of the Keks. His son, Gilowaï, was exceedingly delighted when he heard us pronounce his name, and screamed it, as if he were mad, in our ears. The others were called Rialkoï, Panjàil, and Ialkoï. Red calico shirts were put on the father and son; but, owing to their uncommon height, they did not entirely cover their nakedness. This naturally vexed them but little, and perhaps, if it had been otherwise, it would have incommoded them: they viewed the beautiful flowers on these shirts, pointed with their fingers at them, and were very much pleased. White shirts were put over the heads of the others; and this was no little labour, although they were simply made according to the Turkish cut; for these men moved their arms here and there, and could not reconcile themselves to such splendour, which perhaps was afterwards consumed in fire and smoke on the nearest ashes. But when the glass beads were produced, then came the joy, the singing, and shrieking without end; they uttered the resounding words with which they praised us with as much force as if there had been the most horrible strife. Looking-glasses at last were given to them; and they could not at first distinguish their faces, owing to the shadow; but when they found how to hold them at the proper distance, they were always looking behind them to see where their black brother might be. Yet the _possession_ of these shining toys was dearer to them than the _use_ of them, or the pleasure of looking at themselves for an hour long in the glass, as the Turks do. They must take a similar delight, only in a greater degree, in looking in the water; and therefore their astonishment was not so great: they even asked what they were used for. Whereupon Suliman Kashef took a glass in his hand and smoothed his beautiful beard by it: they understood, and laughed. Their train of ideas was not guided, indeed, by philosophical reflections at this sight, or they certainly would not have laughed at our vanity, for they themselves, beyond all people, are fond of empty toys, tatooing, and ornaments.

At sunset we set sail to S., and soon S.W. Level meadow-land: the trees in the background, being thrown by mist into the distance, have the appearance of a connected forest. I know from places seen before, where it even appeared more thickly covered, that this deceptive forest is without shade. The eye fancies that it discovers clouds threatening rain in the sky—a vain longing for one drop of rain.

At the rainy season, according to the assertion of our blacks, the rain falls here in indescribable streams, and a single drop (to use an Arabic comparison) is as thick as a musket-ball. Subsequently to these violent showers, innumerable shallow lakes may be found in many places, swelling up, and at last pouring their water into the Nile. The character of an emptied lake-basin is expressed in the whole stream territory. We have already seen remains of such shallow lakes, which may be in connection with others in the interior. The hypothesis set up,—that of making the White Stream spring from great lakes,—may therefore be partially confirmed by this circumstance; although this cannot be extended to the _united_ Nile, for both rivers increase and fall at the same time. On the left, the shore is raised a little above the water. To all appearance, it was only overflowed for a short time at the season of the inundation, for the vegetation is extremely scanty, and now dried up.