My arrival at Wadi Halfa terminated the journey of thirty-four days from Khartoum. In that time my little caravan had travelled between eight and nine hundred miles, and at least half of it as rough travelling as can be found in Africa. Now we were beyond danger and done with fatigue, and could look forward to seeing Cairo in another month. Not until we were all seated in the ferry-boat, crossing from the opposite bank, did I fairly realize that our severe journey was over. The camels were left behind, the baggage piled up on board, and as we were rowed slowly across the river, it suddenly flashed through my mind that the same gentle motion of oars and waves was thenceforth to rock me all the way to Cairo. I drew a long breath, and fervently ejaculated: “el hamdu lillàh!” to which the others, as in duty bound, responded. Achmet, who usually postponed his prayers until he reached home, recited a chapter from the Koran, and Ali, who never prayed, broke into sailor-songs by starts, and laughed continually, from inward delight.
After my tent was pitched on the beach, I called my camel-men, Ali and Mohammed, who had crossed with me, and gave them each the forty piastres still due, with a Maria Theresa dollar—abou-zeràr, or the Father of Buttons, as this coin is called in Central Africa, from the button which clasps the drapery on the Empress’s shoulder—as backsheesh. The men were delighted, and kissed my hand, in token of gratitude. I gave them also the money for the shekh, and took leave of them with the exclamation: “May God grant you a prosperous return to your country!” They replied, warmly: “May God prolong your days, O Effendi!” and as they moved away, I overheard old Mohammed again declare to Achmet; “Wallah, but this is a good Frank! He certainly has Islam in his heart!”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE ROCK TEMPLES OF ABOU-SIMBEL.
Wadi Halfa—A Boat for Assouan—We Embark on the Nile Again—An Egyptian Dream—The Temples of Abou-Simbel—The Smaller Temple—The Colossi of Remeses II.—Vulgarity of Travellers—Entering the Great Temple—My Impressions—Character of Abou-Simbel—The Smaller Chambers—The Races of Men—Remeses and the Captive Kings—Departure.
Wadi Halfa is an ordinary Arab village, and noted only for being the head of navigation on the Nubian Nile. There were six or seven boats in port, some of them loaded with gum and ready to start for Assouan. They were all nekkers, or trading boats, built of heavy wood, and not to be moved down stream against a strong head-wind. I therefore engaged the ferry-boat in which I had crossed—a light, open boat, manned by two Nubian boys. The raïs made a frame of sticks near the stern, and covered it with palm-mats, to serve as a cabin. The open hold was turned into a kitchen, and taken possession of by my two men. There was barely room enough for all of us and our baggage, and a fat sheep I bought, as provision for the voyage, but as I proposed being gloriously lazy, to make up for the foregone toils, I needed no more.
The morning after my arrival at Wadi Halfa all was ready. A few children came down to greet me with the hateful word “backsheesh,” which I had not heard for three months and hoped never to hear again; but a few Arabic exclamations soon put them to flight. We shoved away from the beach, followed by the cries of a dozen lazy sailors, who also wanted backsheesh for saying “salaam” at parting. I stretched myself out on my bed, on deck, and lay looking on the receding shore, where my camel-men and camels (Abou-Sin still among them) were encamped. Abou-Sin’s head was turned towards the river, as if looking for his master, for the hapless creature certainly thought I should go over to mount him on the morrow. Alas, my brave old dromedary! we shall never again play friendly tricks upon each other. Raïs Ramadan took his station at the helm, and the boys plied their oars actively, so that we soon lost sight of Wadi Halfa. All the afternoon we glided slowly down the stream between rich palm-groves and grain-fields. The appearance of thrift and fertility, which the country presented, was most agreeable after the waste fields of Dongola, and the unproductive rocks and sands of the intermediate districts. The mountains behind were lower and rounder in their outlines, and the landscapes softer and richer than any I had seen since leaving beautiful Dar Shygheea. By sunset we had made such good progress, that there was every hope of reaching Abou-Simbel in the morning.
There was no wind during the night, and the boys worked bravely. About two hours after midnight I was awakened from a deep sleep by the shock of the boat striking the shore. I opened my eyes and saw, as I lay, without moving my head, a huge wall of rock before me, against which six enormous statues leaned as they looked from deep niches cut in its front. Their solemn faces were touched by the moon, which shone full on the cliff, and only their feet were wrapped in shadow. The lines of deep-cut hieroglyphics over the portal of this rocky temple were also filled with shadow and painted legibly on the gray, moonlit rock. Below them yawned the door—a square of complete darkness. A little to the left, over a long drift of sand that sloped from the summit of the cliff nearly to the water’s edge, peered the mitred head of a statue of still more colossal proportions. I gazed on this broad, dim, and wonderful picture for a moment, so awed by its majesty that I did not ask myself where nor what it was. This is some grand Egyptian dream, was my first thought, and I closed my eyes for a few seconds, to see whether it would vanish. But it stood fast and silent as ever, and I knew it to be Abou-Simbel. My servants all slept, and the raïs and boys noiselessly moored the boat to the shore, and then lay down and slept also. Still I lay, and the great statues looked solemnly down upon me, and the moon painted their kingly nomens and banners with yet darker distinctness on the gray rock. The river made no sound below, the long grass stirred not a blade at the foot of the crags, and the slopes of sand were white and dumb as snow. I lay in too deep a repose for thought, and was not then conscious how grateful was such a silence in Nature, while the moon held up that picture before me. It might have been two minutes or twenty, before the current slowly swung the stern of the boat around, and the picture as slowly shifted from my view, leaving instead the Southern Cross in its shrine of stars.