The wind has left us, and we advance with the assistance of oars, about five o’clock, from S.S.W. to W.S.W. Towards S.W. the oars were obliged to assist the hoisted sails, owing to the faint wind. A small lake shews itself again, as before, on the left, where it goes round in the obtuse corner from S.W. to N.E. This announces here the old direction of the once majestically flowing river, parallel with the forest, to the brink of which these lakes are arranged in a line, one by the other. We go from S.W., around the before-named corner, to N.E., leave the lake mentioned behind us, and have, at sunset, a long row of low tokuls, near which a thick cloud of smoke extends to a distance. Our blacks perceive through the smoke a large herd of cattle. We have wood enough, but for several days have been deficient in meat, and the crew cannot apparently pass without tasting the flesh of these animals. No human form, however, is to be seen on the shore any more than on the right, where we had remarked isolated huts, as well as by the lakes. To the west, behind this village, extends an immeasurable meadow, having mists rising over it, like clouds, whilst a thick layer of mist lies round the whole horizon, which we may consider as an exhalation from the dried-up country.
The new moon is seen and heartily greeted by the Reïs, as a sign of our fortunate journey. Nevertheless, it was two days old, and there was but little merit, therefore, in its discovery by the Arabs, who themselves discover immediately the fine sickle of the new moon, even when the sun is still in the heavens. We moved up to eight o’clock a short distance in S.W., and anchored in the middle of the river to wait for the morning, and with it the hospitality of the herdsmen.
26th December.—We looked in vain this morning for an oblation of flesh, and an embassy on the part of the herdsmen. Therefore, even before sunrise, we moved on with a faint wind from S.W. to N.W. On the left of the right shore a village, but no human beings, and, somewhat forward, a lake in the corner, from N.W. to W.: they told me from the mast that even behind the village there was a lake. It is the very same case with this lake as with the preceding ones. The range of these lakes of the more straight tract, which the river previously followed as the direction most worthy of it, and even now at high-water may renew for a short time, is plainly manifest. Solitary trees stand right and left, more or less removed from the shore; but no high shore is to be seen here, such as the line of the horizon, covered with trees, had deceived me to believe. This dry pasture-land is, at the most, three feet above the water; and even from the trees and high ant-hills yesterday, I could not discover any other tract of shore than that which the separated trees afford, and in the direction of which the lakes follow behind one another.
The bed of the Nile has raised itself here like in all other places, without the shore being proportionably elevated: this is also the case in Nubia and Egypt; for the level ground gives an indefinite extension to the stream, by which it can wallow and carouse in the untried shores; not to mention that this whole territory navigated by us was a fresh water lake. The shore land could not therefore be raised in the manner of downs here by the river, on account of the want of sand or light earth, and moreover, because the river deposits also but little slime, the ingredients of which flow away to the hollow land, and only receive their fertilizing qualities by the process that takes place on their journey.
Eight o’clock.—The faint S.W. veered for a short time to the North, with a slight squall, and we sailed with two miles course from S.W. to S.; but on the left the evolution continues in the form of an arch to E. by S., where we halt, in order to go, libàhn, the wind coming now from the east. The left shore forms a broad edge of high reeds, over which we cannot see. Red and blue convolvulus float and creep around, as well as two species of wild cucumbers, one of which has a large and deep yellow flower; the other, small and pale yellow. Reddish and yellowish flowing beans, and other water-plants, are entwined in picturesque confusion. On the left hand is observed in the distance a single palm, which was previously on our right, so that we can scarcely imagine how we shall get in the old path again. Over an extended, magnificently green savannah prairie of high grass, the melancholy Enderàb forest of yesterday is still visible at a distance: its soft wood is as brittle as glass.
I yesterday split several stems of the ambak already described. I found, as previously, that they are more like a woody pith than real wood. No pith, properly speaking, is distinguished at the first sight, but I now discover that a pith-canal of about a quarter of an inch in diameter shoots through it. The contents were cleared out in the most careful manner by ants, as is generally the case where these insects are in the neighbourhood. The giant rush is becoming less abundant. The ray-formed expanding rushes of the corolla are often two feet long, and branch again into smaller ones, with the usual tendency of the flowers of rushes. From nine to half-past one o’clock, we have only made two miles and-a-quarter with the towing-rope, for the high reeds hung with creepers on the right margin of the river present endless difficulties. It is to be hoped that the N.E. wind which has now set in, will continue for a time, for we make three miles, as we go from E. by S., over S.E. to S. At three o’clock we make a further bend from S. over E. to N.E., yet with the line, where another margin of high reeds gave us the same trouble.
We passed here by some tokuls, which were plundered of everything by the men towing the vessels. They gave me also fruits and lotus-roots, being here as large as pomegranates, and quite fresh; on account of which they were placed on reed-stalks to dry. This fruit is still abundant in the rushy marshes, and very quickly ripens, because we have not seen any lotus-flowers since the land of the Shilluks. They also brought me seeds of the broad reeds called “slaves’ rice.” When we survey the small stock of rice in the corbel, we find that this is not even collected in a mass, and therefore a harvest of grain—that is, of this and similar seeds—must be always very troublesome. The reed-grass here was never trodden down by cattle, and these people may therefore only live by fishing. Two fish, large of their species, the Bolti (Chromis Niloticus), a favourite with every one in Khartùm, lie on the shore, and must therefore not be quite fresh, as the Egyptian wolves let them remain. A dark brown thick felt cap, found there, was well adapted by its globular form to make a blow with a club less sensible or entirely harmless. At four o’clock we sail a short track S. by E.: see on the right and left small fishing-villages, and, indeed at this moment shaded by the reeds. The surface of the earth is here clearly somewhat higher, and therefore was dried sooner. The extreme margin of the shore was, near the plundered village, from two and a half to three feet high; whilst that towards the huts was one and a half or two feet higher, and formed a kind of low dike. A subordinate river, choked up with mud, and appearing to be used as a fish-pond, lies behind the huts on the right shore. We have soon at our side a second village with two geïlid-trees, as well as a deserted river-bed for fishing in; for we see at the lower end a ditch, serving, after the high water has receded, for the letting off of this fish-pond.
Beyond this village we perceive some trees, near which the smoke rises up in several places. The last little hamlet consists of fourteen tokuls, and the people are seen afar off amid the grass hastening to five other tokuls by the reeds. The inundation seems here altogether to cease, and the medium height of the water to have commenced for some time. A vigorous smoke, like a wide-spread steam of slaughtering, delights our crew. They hope to be able to regale their stomachs with the delicious roasted morsels, enveloped by these clouds of smoke, and protected against the insects. We wind an ell’s length to the right S.W., and over S.S.E. to S.E., and immediately again to W.N.W., where we have at five o’clock a large island, in the shape of a half-moon at our left, and we go then in a bend to the East. The border of the island consists of reeds continually running into the river, with their beautiful wreaths of flowers in dentated points; whilst the ambak forms, in the direction of the interior, gently ascending hills and woods, which, with their fresh green reeds, promise more than they may be able to keep. The floating islands are always meeting us or driving by us, and afford us, on the whole, the best proof that we have not yet escaped the marshy regions. I have been seeking for several days, but in vain, a small-leaved water moss, on account of its elegance, in order to put it again in my collection.
The wind at last, having veered to the north, is nearly quite spent, and we go from an easterly direction, shortly before sun-set, to the south. The before-named island seems to have a considerable breadth, according to the account from the mast. The river winds again eastward, and we halt immediately after sun-set, having left behind a well-built village, containing fifteen tokuls, to wait for the Kaiass and the sandal, which we had abandoned again to their fate. The Turks hoped, however, that there would be some people in this village, as it shewed signs of prosperity, and that they would come to us, to make our worthy acquaintance; but they were deceived, for the natives appeared to have fled from hence far and wide.
The Arabs are fond of giving nicknames, derived either from the figure, or some other distinction and manner of acting, to which they prefix the word Abù. The Kurd, Hüsseïn Aga, has distinguished himself for a short time, by drinking merissa, which he prepared on board his vessel; for he found the time hang heavy on his hands, as he told me, and was vexed that his vessel was always behind. He was therefore called Abù Sofaia,—the latter word being the name of the sieve for merissa. If a pair of them wanted to teaze each other, they began to ask, reciprocally: “Your father, what is his name?” “You, what is your name?” then followed jeering, abusing, and scoffing. They do not fail, in addition, to use the coarsest words, if the Turkish listeners are pleased at it. On the sun setting, the new moon turned both her horns in equal height to the heavens, and Venus shone immediately over it, exactly similar to the Turkish escutcheon. This symbol appeared to me more suitable than all our heraldic compositions.