A thousand miles up the Nile

by Amelia B. Edwards

To which Reïs Hassan replied: “Aiwah” (“certainly”).

But the pilot shook his head and added: “Bûkra” (“to-morrow”).

When we came up again the moon had risen but the breeze had dropped. Still we moved, impelled by a breath so faint that one could scarcely feel it. Presently even this failed. The sail collapsed; the pilot steered for the bank; the captain gave word to go aloft—when a sudden puff from the north changed our fortunes and sent us out again with a well-filled sail into the middle of the river.

None of us, I think, will be likely to forget the sustained excitement of the next three hours. As the moon climbed higher a light more mysterious and unreal than the light of day filled and overflowed the wide expanse of river and desert. We could see the mountains of Abou Simbel standing, as it seemed, across our path, in the far distance—a lower one first; then a larger; then a series of receding heights, all close together, yet all distinctly separate.

That large one—the mountain of the great temple—held us like a spell. For a long time it looked a mere mountain like the rest. By and by, however, we fancied we detected a something—a shadow—such a shadow as might be cast by a gigantic buttress. Next appeared a black speck, no bigger than a port-hole. We knew that this black speck must be the doorway. We knew that the great statues were there, though not yet visible, and that we must soon see them.

For our sailors, meanwhile, there was the excitement of a chase. The Bagstones and three other dahabeeyahs were coming up behind us in the path of the moonlight. Their galley fires glowed like beacons on the water; the nearest about a mile away, the last a spark in the distance. We were not in the mood to care much for racing to-night, but we were anxious to keep our lead and be first at the mooring place.

To run upon a sand-bank at such a moment was like being plunged suddenly into cold water. Our sail flapped furiously. The men rushed to the punting-poles. Four jumped overboard and shoved with all the might of their shoulders. By the time we got off, however, the other boats had crept up half a mile nearer, and we had hard work to keep them from pressing closer on our heels.

At length the last corner was rounded and the great temple stood straight before us. The façade, sunk in the mountain side like a huge picture in a mighty frame, was now quite plain to see. The black speck was no longer a port-hole, but a lofty doorway.

Last of all, though it was night, and they were still not much less than a mile away, the four colossi came out, ghostlike, vague and shadowy, in the enchanted moonlight. Even as we watched them they seemed to grow, to dilate, to be moving toward us out of the silvery distance.

It was drawing on toward midnight when the Philæ at length ran in close under the great temple. Content with what they had seen from the river the rest of the party then went soberly to bed; but the painter and the writer had no patience to wait till morning. Almost before the mooring-rope could be made fast they had jumped ashore and began climbing the bank.