CHAPTER VII.
THE BOHR “JOI.” — HIS TREATMENT ON BOARD THE VESSEL. — HIS ESCAPE. — WOMEN’S VILLAGE. — FELT CAPS. — SONGS OF THE BOHRS. — TUBERS SIMILAR TO POTATOES. — THE BUNDURIÀLS. — THE TUTUIS AND KÈKS. — AN ELEPHANT ATTACKED AND KILLED. — TASTE OF THE FLESH OF THIS ANIMAL. — CHEATING OF THE NATIVES IN BARTER. — WINTER TOKULS OR WOMENS’ HUTS. — MANNER OF MAKING A BURMA OR COOKING-VESSEL. — “BAUDA” AGAIN. — FEÏZULLA-CAPITAN’S INDUSTRY IN SEWING. — THE KÈKS LIVE BY FISHING. — DESCRIPTION OF THE WOMEN. — SERIOUS ACCIDENT TO THE VESSEL. — OSTRICHES AND APES. — FOGS ON THE WHITE STREAM. — WATCH-TOWERS. — SALE SHOOTS A GIGANTIC CRANE. — IS PUNISHED. — THE NUÈHRS.
17th February.—The thermometer, hanging in the window, which is always open, had, at about half-past eight o’clock yesterday evening, 25½°, and this morning before sunrise 23°. The sky is cloudy, and it seems as if it would rain; the east wind abates the sultriness a little. At seven o’clock, from N.E. to E. by S., and immediately northerly. A quarter after seven o’clock, W.N.W., N.E., and then in a bend to N.N.W. The Bohr Joi was extremely happy yesterday evening; he had eaten so much that he could not move: I had repaired the broken bowl of his pipe, and he smoked my tobacco and said, “affat” (good). Feïzulla Capitan has given him the usual slave name of “Bachit,” by which he is called and teazed on all sides. The Dinkaui Bachit, a young soldier, who might speak to him, will have nothing to do with him; therefore the fellow finds himself deserted, and cannot answer by words the crew, who are always laughing at him. Even yesterday he hung down his head the whole day, and looked on the ground, and I could not help feeling pity for the otherwise free negro, separated as he was from his friends. He had a handsome head, something of a Roman nose, large eyes, a mouth only protruding a little, and all his teeth, except the four lower ones; in other respects he was thin, seemed in grief, and almost starved to death. This might have induced him perhaps to come on board Selim Capitan’s vessel, who bound a piece of linen as an ornament round his neck, but retained him as a slave. Awakened from my sleep, I heard him speaking and singing, looking with passionate affection towards both shores. I think the poor creature is taking leave of his country, or he is home-sick, and owing to that cannot sleep. At midnight he woke me a second time, and screamed Bohr, Bohr, Bohr! and then, Elliàb, Elliàb, Elliàb! adding clearly thereto individual names, whilst he turned himself to those regions. He sang loud, melancholy songs, and what appeared from the melody to be the camel-song of the Bisharis, and then shouted wildly and loudly. They tried to hold him fast, but he was as strong as a lion. Subsequently he complained of pains in the body, which perhaps arose from his dreadful gluttony, and he gazed continually at the shores as if assistance would come to him from thence. I suppose that he wants to escape, and therefore I made him take off the linen decoration, as it might be an obstacle to him in so doing; but I got him first to rub his stomach with it, during which operation he roared and groaned like a wild beast, and stretched himself with both hands on the lowered mast. Scarcely, however, was he relieved from the attack of colic than he made a tremendous spring over the heads of the crew right away into the water. It was with difficulty that I prevented them from firing at him. Feïzulla Capitan did not say a word, but put on a melancholy face, because he feared possibly Selim Capitan’s reproaches.
Eight o’clock, N.N.W., and after fifteen minutes with a short course to S.S.E. and again N.W. and N.N.W. On the right, a village, with numerous light-coloured cows and open sleeping-places; between them, little huts for women and children, formed like a basket, plastered with slime, and covered at the top with entangled couch-grass, which may serve as a covering against the weather, or as a chimney. The north wind, which has set in, is contrary to us, and we are, at a quarter before nine o’clock, when we are going to the north, scarcely five minutes from the last villages. We continually run aground, and spin like a top from one shore to the other, on account of the north wind, which is blowing stronger and stronger: the ashes of the burnt grass are carried up by the wind, and the air all around is obscured by them. The river winds from N. towards N.E., and at the corner on the right is a large pastoral village, with several lowing herds; on the left, a tokul village, in which, on account of the north and east wind, we do not see any of the oval doors turned towards the Nile. A number of ugly and dirty women with leather aprons, also boys, but no girls, stand collected there. Above this women’s village a gohr disembogues from S.W. by S., and this is the same arm of the Nile that Selim Capitan navigated for three hours, above, near the Elliàbs, and found unfit for our voyage. We stop at half-past nine o’clock at the lower end of the long pastoral village extending along the shore. An old man seizes the rope by which we have lately been pulled, and makes us understand that he is going to kill some cows for us. We move on, however, for they did not come before eleven o’clock, to N.W.
The village is called Dirèk, also Aderèk. Three natives were on board our vessel: their felt morions were covered over and over with sea-shells (Cypræa moneta), and the inside so entwined with their hair, that they could not take them off without cutting off the hair itself; therefore we could not persuade any of them to sell us their caps. At last one man asked a large shellful of glass beads for it. Another fellow was brought to Selim Capitan, but he would not resign his morion for any price, and said that he purchased it for eight cows, and that it came from the very distant country of Kekèss. Hence it follows that there is a connection here with the sea. Eleven o’clock; a little to N.E. by N. A quarter after eleven o’clock, with a short bend to N.W. by W., and N. by E. In the angle of this second sharp bend, on the left a small pastoral village; then N.E. The reddish-colour of the ashes seems to arise from the natural admixture of the clayey soil, as I convinced myself to-day, when the men were piling together the dung of the herds. Half-past eleven o’clock. From N.E. to N.W.: then a Nile arm shews itself in the bend to E., and flows southerly. The smell of fire from the black and scorched shores is very unpleasant, on which, however, there are still green spots and tracts. The disrupt and higher old shore stretches to the right, in a straight line to N.N.E., whilst the present shore goes westerly. A quarter before twelve. In the bend from W.N.W. to N.E. by N.: on the left shore a pastoral village, with sleeping-places, or inclined reed-walls, turned towards W., and open at the top; small basket-huts and regular tokuls join, having roofs indented, or rather in the form of steps.
I cannot yet get the negro Joï out of my mind, with his melancholy melodies and Swiss home-sickness, which lasted for hours. The sudden, wild outbreak of the passionate feelings of man in a state of nature—the shouting of names, and the continual repetition of them dying away with the voice—never, never have I heard a more affecting decrescendo! Then again his rude speech and cries; and then the songs, which I took for pastoral songs, and which in part have the very same melody, with their softly humming and tremulous key-note as the camel-songs of the Bisharis, heard throughout the night in the desert, only that the former expressed the higher notes more passionately, where his voice often broke, but always returned again to the key-note. The calling individual names, by which his heart turned even to his enemies the Elliàbs, bringing to mind his misfortune in the dark cloudy night—every thing is still present before me. I offered him glass beads; staccato and hoarse notes alone were his answer. The Swiss style of singing is known in the interior of Africa, as I previously ascertained from hearing the young soldiers.
Twelve o’clock. From N.N.W. and N.W. by W. to N.W. The shores are no longer mixed with sand, although there are lower imbenchings and aggregations: on the left, a pastoral village, where we see, as usual, a crowd of negroes. At half-past twelve o’clock, N.N.W.: we halt at the right shore. They bring me small tubers, similar to potatoes, and eaten like them; opposite to us a pastoral village. We bear off again at a quarter before one o’clock. At one, from N. to N.W.: on the left, a village with old tokuls. A very long watercourse lies before us, and at the end of it, at two o’clock, a pastoral village, in the form of an arch, and extending to some distance. We double a short corner on the right, N.E. by N., near which we are regularly fixed, owing to the strong north wind, which blows the spray like drizzling rain. Thermometer, before sunrise 23°; noon 28°; now, at two o’clock, 25°. At four o’clock we leave this promontory, the wind having died away, and go N.N.E. and N. At a quarter before five the wind gets up afresh; we go N.W. to the right shore, where we shall remain perhaps the night. Thermometer, at four o’clock 25°, sunset 24°, at eight o’clock 22°.
18th February. Yesterday evening lightning, which seemed to proceed from distant regions. We might perhaps have heard the thunder, had not the everlasting noise, which, day and night, stuns us in the vessels, prevented us. The sky is quite clouded over, yet the sun penetrates through. I had scarcely stood ten minutes at the door of our cabin, before my clothes were quite damp, although no mist had visibly fallen. We find here many of the before-mentioned potato-like tubers, the foliage and tendrils being like those of strawberries, but the leaf is not so rough. The tubers, which are yet small, are level with the ground, like those I had seen before, and I planted some specimens in sand. A quarter after six o’clock we bore off to N.E. to the great vexation of the crew, who were obliged to leave unslaughtered on the shore three beautiful oxen; then with a short bend to S.E. by W. and immediately W.N.W. On the left a pastoral village with lowing cattle, and before us a forest, veiled by a blue vapour, moves from the right side into the monotonous landscape. In the bend again to N.E. and N.N.E., where on the left is a pastoral village, but without herds.
I cannot imagine when the natives drive their cattle in and out; for I have at all times of the day seen the beasts tied up in the open air, near the villages, and I have never noticed any fodder. Our presence and their curiosity makes them, perhaps, careless in attending to them.