My provision-chests were replenished with coffee, sugar, rice, dates and mishmish (dried apricots), from the bazaar, and Achmet worked so cheerily with the prospect of leaving Soudân, that every thing was in readiness at a day’s notice. Rather than wait until the following Monday, for luck’s sake, I fixed upon Thursday, the fifth of February, for our departure. Many of the subordinate Egyptian officers prepared letters to their families, which they intrusted to Achmet’s care, and poor old Rufaā Bey, more than ever disgusted with his exile, charged me with a letter to his wife and another to Mr. Murray, through whose aid he hoped to get permission to return to Egypt. I paid a farewell visit to the Pasha, who received me with great courtesy, informing me (what I already knew), that he was about to be superseded by Rustum Pasha, who, he predicted, would not find the government of Soudân an easy one.
I was sorry to part with Vicar Knoblecher and his brethren. Those self-sacrificing men have willingly devoted themselves to a life—if life it can be called, which is little better than death—in the remote heart of Africa, for the sake of introducing a purer religion among its pagan inhabitants, and I trust they will be spared to see their benevolent plans realized. They are men of the purest character and animated by the best desires. Aboona Suleyman, as Dr. Knoblecher is called, is already widely known and esteemed throughout Soudân, and although he can do but little at present in the way of religious teaching, he has instituted a school for the children of the Copts, which may in time reform the (so-called) Christian society of Khartoum. If he should succeed in establishing a mission in the country of the Baris, the result will be not less important to Science than to Christianity, and the experiment is one which should interest the world.
On the evening before my departure the shekhs Abou-Sin, Ali, the Ababdeh, and Melek Dyaab came to dine with Dr. Reitz. Abou-Sin was grave and stately as ever, and I never looked at him without thinking of his four thousand mailed warriors on their dromedaries, sweeping over the plains of Takka. Shekh Ali was of medium size, with a kind, amiable face, and a touch of native refinement in his manner. King Dyaab, however, who wore a capacious white turban and a robe of dark-blue cloth, was the “merry monarch” of Central Africa. His large eyes twinkled with good humor and his round face beamed with the radiance of a satisfied spirit. He brought a black Dongolese horse as a present for Dr. Reitz, and requested me to put him through his paces, on the plain before the house, as it would have been contrary to African etiquette for the Doctor himself to test the character of the gift. I complied, but the saddle was adapted only for the short legs of the fat king, and after running a circular course with my knees drawn up nearly to my chin, the resemblance of the scene to the monkey-riding of the circus struck me so forcibly, that I jumped off and refused to mount again, greatly to the monarch’s disappointment.
Shekhs Abou-Sin and Ali took their departure shortly after the disposal of the roast sheep and salad which constituted the dinner, but King Dyaab and Dr. Péney remained until a late hour, smoking a parting pipe with me, and partaking of a mixture of claret, lemons, pomegranate juice and spices which the Consul compounded into a sherbet of the most delicious flavor. King Dyaab drank my health with a profusion of good wishes, begging me to remain another week and accompany his caravan. His palace in Dar El-Màhass, he said, was entirely at my disposal and I must remain several weeks with him. But there is nothing so unpleasant to me as to postpone a journey after all the preparations are made, and I was reluctantly obliged to decline his invitation. I take pleasure, however, in testifying to the King’s good qualities, which fully entitle him to the throne of Dar El Màhass, and were I installed in his capital of Kuke, as court-poet, I should certainly write a national ballad for the Mahassees, commencing in this wise:
“El Melek Dyaab is a jolly old King,
And a jolly old King is he,” etc.
After the Melek had bestowed a parting embrace by throwing his arms around my waist, and dropping his round head on my shoulder like a sixty-eight pound shot, he was sent home in state on the back of Sultan, the Dar-Fūr stallion. The moonlight was so beautiful that the Consul and I accompanied Dr. Péney to his residence. The latter suggested another pipe in the open air of his court-yard, and awoke his Shillook slaves, who were lying asleep near the house, to perform a dance for our amusement. There were three—two males and a female—and their midnight dance was the most uncouth and barbaric thing I saw in Khartoum. They brandished their clubs, leaped into the air, alighting sometimes on one foot and sometimes on both, and accompanied their motions with a series of short, quick howls, not unlike the laughter of a hyena. After the dance, Dr. Reitz effected a reconciliation between one of the men and the woman, who had been married, but were about to separate. They knelt before him, side by side, and recounted their complaints of each other, which were sufficiently ludicrous, but a present of three piastres (fifteen cents!), purchased forgetfulness of the past and renewed vows for the future.
I felt a shadow of regret when I reflected that it was my last night in Khartoum. After we walked home I roused the old lioness in her corner, gave her a farewell hug and sat down on her passive back until she stretched out her paws and went to sleep again. I then visited the leopard in the garden, made him jump upon my shoulders and play his antics over once more. The hyenas danced and laughed fiendishly, as usual when they saw me, but the tall Kordofan antelope came up softly and rubbed his nose against my leg, asking for the dourra which I was accustomed to give him. I gave him, and the gazelles, and the leopard, each an affectionate kiss, but poked the surly hyenas until they howled, on my way to bed.