Speedily we arose and washed in the cool water of the spring, thereafter making a breakfast from the remains of the evening’s meal, washed down with water. At five o’clock we set off to walk a further distance of three or four miles up the valley, to a place where my companion, on his last visit, had found another hollow full of clear water which passed into a passage between the overhanging cliffs and thence opened out into a cavernous pool. He had dived in and had swum into this further pool, where the daylight penetrated in subdued power through an opening in the rocks above; and we now were desirous of repeating the performance. A rough path, probably made by the people of the desert who watered their flocks in this valley, led us with some interruptions, up the narrowing wady, as yet untouched by the sun’s rays. Now we clambered up the hillside, now down into the river-bed; now we jumped from boulder to boulder, and now trudged through soft shingle. At length we came to a place where the valley forked, and here a dark cleft in the rocks on our left front marked the spot where the pool should have been. But, alas! the water had dried up, and even the mud at the bottom, stamped by the hoofs of gazelle, was hard and firm. Along the narrow passage where my friend had swum in deep water we walked dry-shod, and so entered the cavern hollowed out by the downward rush of long-forgotten torrents. Nevertheless the place was not without its attractions, and its romantic situation amidst pinnacles of rock and gigantic boulders made it well worth seeing.
Returning to the valley outside, we became the object of hostility of two grey hawks, who made a spirited attack upon us, swooping down to within a few feet of our heads and screeching at us in a truly brave manner. Their nest must have been close at hand, but we had no time to make a search for it. Walking back to the Bir el Ain with the sun now blazing upon us, we reached once more the shadow of the palms and the cool sight of the water, somewhat before eight o’clock.
I should mention, perhaps, that I found in the pool a curious creature, swimming near the bottom. It was shaped almost precisely like a scorpion, having the long tail and claws of that objectionable creature; but it was of a dark olive-green colour, and appeared to be both helpless and harmless. I have no idea what it is called technically, nor how it comes to be found in isolated desert-pools.
Lying down at the edge of the pool with my back against a comfortably sloping stone, and a water-bottle by my side, half an hour of profound comfort slipped by. The cool breeze of early morning rustled amongst the reeds and swayed the branches of the palms; dragon-flies hovered over the quiet water; finches uttered their strange note from the tamarisk near by; and overhead the hawks circled and cried above the majestic cliffs. It was enchanting here to lie, remote from the worries of work, and to let the mind wander in a kind of inconsequent contemplation of things in general. But soon it was time to be moving out into the sun once more, and we had to bid adieu to this holy place of Pan, where life was cool and shadowed, and where there was water for the thirsty and the soothing sound of the wind in the reeds for the weary. The blazing ride down the valley and along the embanked road to Akhmîm was accomplished at a tolerable pace, but from Akhmîm to the river bank we went at full gallop, arriving in a cloud of dust just in time to catch the steam ferry; and half an hour later the rest-house at Sohag was echoing with the impatient shouts for drinks, baths, shaving-water, luncheon, and all the rest of the urgent and unordered requirements of two very hot, very dirty, and very hungry mortals.
CHAPTER XIV
THE CHILDREN OF EGYPT
“Now remember,” said a sun-burnt British sergeant to a new arrival in Egypt, “in dealing with these ’ere natives—severity always; justice when possible.” The British officer or civilian, however, is seldom inclined to be severe with the native villagers, soldiers, and workmen with whom he comes into contact; for, after a short residence on the banks of the Nile, it becomes clear to him that he has to deal with a pack of good-natured youths who merit severe treatment not more frequently than do our English schoolboys, and who, like them, are most amenable to a line of conduct which is kindly, consistent, and strongly maintained.
The Egyptian peasant seems to have failed to grow up. It is as though he were a relic of the days when the world was young, preserved to this present age together with the Sphinx and the Pyramids. The mind of the lower-class Egyptian has not expanded since the time of the Pharaohs, and when one looks at the modern inhabitants of the country one sees in them the people of five thousand years ago, the tenants of the world’s youth. Thus it comes about that the British official in Egypt has to teach as well as take up his share of the burden of government. He has to act as tutor to a most engaging, though sometimes provoking, rabble of children.
Modern Egyptian peasants beside a water-wheel