From North Pole to Equator: Studies of Wild Life and Scenes in Many Lands

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

At the same time, no one can call the Nubian weak-willed, fickle, servile, untrustworthy, treacherous, or, in short, bad. In lower Nubia, where he constantly meets with hundreds of travellers, rich in his eyes, and free-handed, he of course frequently becomes a shameless, indeed an unendurable beggar; and the strangers whom he importunes, because his poor land will not support him, do not tend to ennoble him. On the whole, however, he may fairly be called an honest fellow. One misses, it is true, the strength of will characteristic of his fathers, but spirit and courage are by no means lacking. He is gentler and more good-natured than the Egyptian, and not less trustworthy and enduring when he has to face difficult or dangerous tasks. In his poor, unproductive country his whole being is rooted. Of it he thinks with pathetic constancy when in a strange land; he labours, pinches, and saves with the one desire to pass his manhood and old age at home; and this desire, which compels him to a ceaseless struggle for existence, gives strength to both body and soul. The raging stream, with which he contends not less persistently than with the rocky land, arouses and preserves his courage and self-reliance, just as it develops his calm confidence in face of danger. Thanks to the qualities thus acquired, the Nubian is a trusty servant, a reliable companion, a restless djellabi or merchant, and, above all, an adventurous, fearless boatman.

It almost seems as if the parents disciplined their sons from their earliest years in all the services which they may have to discharge when grown up. As in Egypt, so in Nubia the children of the poor are hardly educated at all; they are at most urged to work, or rather are utilized according to the measure of their strength. However small the boy, he must do his work and fulfil his allotted task; however tender the girl, she must help her mother in the many duties which are laid upon the women of the land. But whereas in Egypt they scarcely allow the children any recreation, in Nubia merry games are as far as possible encouraged. In Egypt the boy becomes a thrall and the girl his slave, without ever knowing the joys of childhood; in Nubia even those who are more than half grown-up are often still children alike in their disposition and in their ways. Thus the Egyptian youths seem to us as unnaturally serious as their fathers, while the Nubians are as joyous as their mothers.

Fig. 56.—Nubian Children at Play.

Every traveller becomes familiar with a favourite game, which he cannot watch without delight, for it displays agility and grace of movement in combination with endurance and the spirit of adventure. It is the universal game of “Hare and Hounds” or “Follow my leader”. After their work is done the boys and girls unite in play. The boys leave the water-wheel around which they have driven the oxen from early morning till dusk, or the field in which they have worked with their father, or the young camel which they have been teaching to trot. The girls leave the younger brothers and sisters whom they have dragged rather than carried about all day, or the dough whose leavening they had to superintend, or the grinding-mill over which they have exerted their young strength. All hasten to the bank of the river. The boys are naked; the girls wear only their tasselled aprons. Laughing and chattering they go; like black ants they swarm on the golden yellow sand, running over and between the dark rocks. Those who are to chase stand picturesquely grouped, until the fugitive gets the requisite start. He gives the sign for the chase to begin, and they are all at his heels. Like a gazelle he speeds over the sandy plain to the nearest rocks, and like hounds in full cry his comrades give chase; like a chamois he climbs aloft upon the rocks, and not less nimbly do his pursuers follow; like a startled beaver he plunges into the stream to hide himself by diving, to escape by swimming, but there too they follow excitedly, both boys and girls, kicking like swimming dogs, halloing and screaming, chattering, laughing, chuckling, like a flock of gabbling ducks. For long the result remains undecided, and it not unfrequently happens that the bold fugitive swims right across the broad river before he falls into the hands of his pursuers. The parents of the merry company look on from the banks, and rejoice in the agility, courage, and endurance which their children display, and even the European is compelled to admit that he never saw creatures more joyous or more vigorous than those slim, dusky, sleek-skinned Nubian children.

From boys who play thus boldly come the men who dare to ply the boatman’s craft among the rapids, to steer their boat down the river hurrying through the valley, with rushing, swirling, boiling, raging waves, and even to sail upwards against these. On many of their journeyings they do not even use a boat, but trust to frail floats of dhurra-stems, or swim with the help of inflated, air-tight skin-bags. These Nubian boatmen and swimmers have looked danger in the face so firmly, and so often, that the waves have never whispered either myth or saga in their ears. They know of no nixies or water-sprites, of no genii, good or bad, and the protecting powers whose help they ask before or during dangerous journeys have but the solemn might of fate, none of the spite of fickle spirits. Thus the saga is dumb in the rapids, in “the Belly of the Rocks”, in the plunging, whirling “Mother of Stones”, in the “Shatterer”, the “Camel’s Neck”, the “Coral”, or whatever the rapid may be called; the saga is dumb, though the whole region seems the fittest home of legends, and the boatman has too often reason to be tempted to believe in spirits who wish ill to human kind.

The rapids are navigated down-stream at high and middle water, up-stream at middle and low water. When the Nile is lowest any boat going down-stream would be shattered; when the flood comes not even the largest sail would impel a vessel of considerable size against the current. At low water hundreds of men are requisitioned to haul one of the all-powerful government’s medium-sized barks up-stream; at the time of flood, they would scarcely be able to find footing on the few unflooded rock-islands on either side of the navigable channel. Full flood is the best time for going down-stream, and middle-water is best for going up, since at this time the regular north winds have set in and render practicable the use of sails.

All the craft specially intended for the rapids are distinguished from other Nile boats by their small size and by peculiarities of build and of rigging. The hull has but few timbers, and the boards are held together by nails driven in obliquely. The sail is not triangular, but four-sided, and fastened to two yards in such a way that from the lower more or less canvas can be unfurled, or spread to the wind. The build and rigging are thoroughly adapted to the conditions. The smallness, especially the shortness of the boat, is adapted to the necessity for sharp turnings; the manner in which the boards are joined gives the hull an elastic flexibility and pliancy which are valuable when the vessel runs aground; the adaptability of the canvas to the strength of the wind and of the current makes it possible to maintain a fairly successful contest against a most variable resistance. Nevertheless no one would willingly go up or down stream alone; the boatmen wisely prefer to go in companies, so that they may aid one another whenever occasion demands.

A fleet of boats plying up-stream presents a beautiful, inspiring picture as it sails away from a landing-place, or from some quiet creek, in which it has rested by night. All the navigable portions of the river show white sails, of which one can see twenty or more gliding among the dark rocks; at first all the craft are about the same distance apart, but soon the variable currents and breezes break their order. One and then another lags farther and farther behind, one and then another shoots ahead of the main body of the fleet, and in the course of an hour there is a wide interval between the first boat and the last. Yet, even with a strong and constant wind, the progress of the voyage is much less than it seems. The waves, indeed, break impetuously on the bow, but the boat has to contend with so strong an opposing current that its forward movement is really slow. It is an art to steer under such conditions, so that the boat may sail as straight as possible, consistent with avoiding the rocks hidden beneath the surface. For every tack means a change in the position of the unwieldy sail, and every time the boat touches a rock a leak is caused. Captain and crew have thus constant employment. Yet their work only begins in earnest when they near one of the countless rapids which have to be overcome. The sail, hitherto but partially unfurled, is now given fully to the wind; the bark pushes its way like a strong steamship through the chaos of rocks and reaches the whirlpool which is found beneath almost all rapids. All the men stand with oars outstretched and ropes in readiness, awaiting the inevitable moment when the boat will be gripped by the whirlpool and drawn into its vortex. At the skipper’s bidding the oars on one side dip into the water, on the other side long poles are thrust out to keep the boat off the rocks, while the sail, skilfully handled by the most experienced sailors, is taken in or let out, turned and twisted, as the circumstances demand. Once, twice, six times, ten times, they try in vain to cut through the whirlpool; at last they succeed and the boat reaches the lower end of the water-rush. But here it stops as if spell-bound; the pressure of the current equals that on the sails. The wind rises, and the vessel moves on a few yards; the pressure on the sail slackens again, and the waves drive it back to its former place. The contest with the whirling waves recommences, and again the boat is worsted. At last it reaches the desired goal, and must hold to it. One of the crew grips a rope in his teeth, plunges into the midst of the wild surge, and dragging the heavy rope behind him seeks to gain a rock which rises above the raging waves some little distance ahead. The waves hurl him back, cover and overwhelm him, but he continues his efforts, until it becomes plain that he must yield to the superior force of the stream. He gives up the struggle and is pulled by the rope back to the boat. Again the whirling waves, so strong to destroy, play with the frail structure which ventures to oppose them; and at last the wind gives the victory to the boat. But suddenly a portentous crash is heard; the steersman loses his footing and is projected into the stream; the boat has struck on one of the hidden rocks. With the utmost speed one of the crew gets hold of the rudder, a second throws a rope and a bladder to the struggling steersman, and without a moment’s delay the rest jump into the hold, and with hammer, chisel, and tow seek to repair the leak which they are sure to find. The man at the rudder endeavours to save the vessel from further mischance; the drenched steersman clambers up with an “El hamdi lillahi!” or “Thank God!” more grumbling than grateful; the rest hammer and plug the gaping leak, one even surrendering his shirt to eke out the scanty tow. Once more the boat sails through whirl and wave, rocking, creaking, groaning like a storm-tossed ship; once more it reaches the rapids; once more it is arrested between wind and current. Two sailors spring overboard at once, and, fighting against the stream with all their strength, at last succeed in gaining the rock. They surround it with one end of the rope and signal to the others to pull the boat up. This done, the vessel is moored to the rock, and there it hangs in the midst of the wild rush of waters, rocking so violently and continuously that it causes nausea. A second boat draws near and asks for assistance. A rope is floated down on a bladder, and thus time and trouble are saved. Soon the second also reaches the rock, a third follows, and a fourth, and all dance up and down together in the tumult. And now the united strength of the crews is sufficient to effect a successful passage. One of the boats is manned with double the normal crew; the other boatmen swim, and wade, and climb, dragging the rope to another rock further ahead, and, with all the help that the sail can give, one boat after another is pulled through the rushing waters of the rapid. Now and then at certain places the sail alone is sufficient to carry the boat up, but in such cases a lull of the wind not unfrequently endangers both craft and crew. Often, too, boats are forced to linger in the midst of the tumult for hours or even days, waiting for a favourable wind. Then one may see a tiny bark hanging behind every jagged rock, all alike unable to help their neighbours.

Several times I have been forced to make my bed on one of the black rocks amid-stream, for the violent rocking of the boat in the rapids made sleep an impossibility. A stranger sleeping-place can scarcely be imagined. The ground on which one lies seems to tremble before the assaults of the flood; the roaring and bellowing, hissing and splashing, rumbling and thundering of the waves drowns every other sound; one sits or lies on a rug with his comrades without uttering a word. Every blast of wind drives the spray like a fleeting mist across the rock island. The glowing camp-fire throws a weird light on the rock, and on the dark water foaming around its ragged edges; the falls and whirlpools in the shade seem even more gruesome than they are. At times one cannot help fancying that they open a hundred jaws to engulf the poor child of man. But his confidence is firm as the rock on which he rests. The mighty stream may thunder as it will, the seething waves may rage and foam, he is safe on a rock which has defied the flood for ages. But what if the rope break, and the boat be hurled and shattered on the nearest rocks? Then another will come to take the shipwrecked crew ashore! In spite of these and similar thoughts, and in spite of the ceaseless roar, the traveller can sleep, and sleep tranquilly too. For danger lends courage, and courage brings confidence, and the thunder of the waves becomes at length a lullaby to the wearied ear. And on the ensuing morning what an awakening! In the east the sky is suffused with red, the ancient giant-rocks wear a purple cloak on their shoulders, and shine in gleaming light, as if they were clad in burnished steel. Sunshine and shadow flit over the dark reefs and through the gullies filled with golden-yellow sand, and over all is thrown the marvellous, indescribably beautiful, colour-garment of the desert. Thousands and thousands of water-pearls shine and sparkle, and the mighty river rolls out its mighty melody, which is ever the same and yet eternally new. Such a glory, such a harmony, fills the heart with contentment and rapture. The morning is spent in devotional contemplation of this glorious spectacle, for it is not till forenoon that the wind begins to blow from the north and fill the sails. Work and danger, toil and struggle, hazard and anxiety, begin anew; and thus one day follows another, and rapid after rapid is at length overcome.