A quarter before twelve o’clock. Further to N.N.E. and N.N.W. We sail six miles in the hour, and shall escape, perhaps, the rain, which has announced itself by some drops; but we are obliged to reef the sails, owing to the other vessels being behind.
A quarter after twelve.—N.N.E. to N.E. by E., a short tract; then in a bend, N. to W., and at last, with a short bend, to E. Half-past twelve.—From E.N.E., in a wide bend, to W.N.W.; but immediately again in a bend, N.N.W. We hoist again the sails. N., and on to N.E.—E. by S.
Nothing but green aquatic-grass on the shore, and although the singing, bawling, and shouting on the vessels gives life to the scene, yet all at last turns to dull monotony. Illness and fatigue make me wish to rest a little, but I keep up in order to attain the aim I have in view. The wind has changed to south, perhaps for our benefit. One o’clock.—From E. by S., where a dhellèb appears on the right to N.N.E., E.N.E., and N.W. by N. Two o’clock.—E.N.E. to E. Half-past two.—N. to N.W., on the right a little village behind the reeds; further to S.W., and then with a short bend W. I see blooming ambaks at the left, and shall be able perhaps to gather again some of its flowers, and also the little duck-meat: the double lotus is there, but I have already seeds and tubers of that plant. The first group of dhellèb-palms is a welcome sight before us, for hitherto we have only seen solitary ones. A quarter before three, N.N.W. There are now thirteen dhellèb-palms at the most on our left. On we go,—I think we shall return to these dhellèbs—to E.N.E. and E.; a blooming ambak-thicket at our right. Three o’clock. From E. shortly round to W.N.W. On the right we remark negroes. The wind is certainly not so strong as previously, yet we make five miles more. Now at the right a badly-built hamlet, which contains tokuls with oval doors, and depressed and badly formed roofs plastered at the top with clay: soon afterwards, at the same side, another hamlet in the very same style. Perhaps both these villages contain summer tokuls, to judge from the miserable roofs of the huts, which do not keep off the rain. A quarter after three. From N.W. by W. to N. The wind has already slackened, but it appears again to think better of it, or we should have to expect the troublesome visit of gnats. Half-past three o’clock.—From N. by E. to N. Four o’clock.—N.W. and further in a flat arch to W. by S. Half-past four to five, W. to N. The sun sinks in a mist. At the right shore, where the reeds are burnt away, we notice a giraffe (saràff), and Suliman Kashef sends his halberdiers in pursuit of it.
3rd March.—We navigate a quarter after six o’clock from the middle of the river, wherein we cast anchor last night to N.N.W., then a little to N. and W., where a hamlet lies on the right to W.N.W. A quarter before seven o’clock.—W.N.W.; a slight S.E. wind gets up. Seven o’clock.—N.E. by E.,on the right some new summer tokuls; to E. and a quarter of an hour afterwards to N.E. by E. The oars rest, and we sail very slowly with the gentle wind, the river having a trifling fall. A long course is before us and the wind freshens immediately, so that we make four miles. On the left a village at the distance. A quarter after eight.—N.N.E., N. and N.N.W., a poor fishing village at the left. A quarter before nine, to W.N.W., the wind still better; five miles. A quarter after nine, to W.; on the left several large tokuls up the country; again to W.N.W. and then N. by W. A narrow gohr comes on the left from the reeds S.S.W.; the whole marsh-region here is in endless connection with the river, visibly and invisibly, by open canals and reeds. On the right a hamlet. Half-past nine o’clock, N.W. Smoke or mist extends before us, making the vessels a-head appear as if they were in an extensive and elevated sea.
A quarter of an hour ago we had six miles and now six miles and a half. A row of solitary and very large tokuls continues on our left. The villages, properly speaking, of the Nuèhrs, are half or three quarters of an hour from the river. The smoke just mentioned comes from the tokuls I have described, as the smell of burning tells us. From N.W. to N.N.W. and N.; and at ten o’clock on to N.E. and E.N.E. We leave a rush and grass island of about ten minutes long in the middle of the river. A quarter after ten, N.E., N. and N.W., and so quickly that it is quite delightful: we make seven miles. Half-past ten o’clock.—We double half-dried ambaks, which still display flowers. To N.N.W., N.E. by E., then shortly to N.W. and N.W. by W. On the right some negroes standing by their boats: they shout to us, but we wont hear. A quarter before eleven. From N.W. to N.N.W., N. and N.N.E. we have a long course before us, with slight declinations to N. by E. There are no elevations of the shores either right or left; merely aquatic reeds: behind, here and there, the surface of the earth is dry, and there are a few ant-hills with parched grass or a reed-hut. Eleven o’clock.—With a short bend N., we make eight miles: to N.W. and soon to N. On the left some wretched reed-tokuls, and negroes, the women standing upon a mound and singing. Further to the right N.N.E. Half-past eleven. Shortly to the left, round N.N.W. and W.N.W. then immediately to N. and N.N.E.—A quarter before twelve o’clock, still N.N.E. and then N.
The Turks have one magnanimous custom, despotic as they are in other respects. If the master call and the servant answer boldly, “I am eating,” he need not come; so if the former say, “Call me such a one,” and his messenger comes back with the report that the man he wants is asleep, the master lets him quietly take his siesta whatever hour of the day it may be. Twelve o’clock.—N.N.E. and immediately N.E., then N.N.W. and again N. A quarter after twelve to N. by W. and N.W., when we turn to N.W. by N.; then we go in a regular bend N.E. to N.E. by E. A quarter before one.—N.W. by N., and at one, to N.E. by N. We have just saved a Dellàhl (crier at the sale of slaves and public auctions), the Abu Haschis of the Kaïass, who jumped into the water to seize a large dead fish, notwithstanding we were sailing quickly. With a few exceptions we still continue to make eight miles. Nothing but aquatic reeds and crown-rushes; very few high reeds, and these beyond the reach of the water.
I will now repeat my journal word for word, in order to give the reader an exact description of the labyrinths of the river. I have hitherto partly avoided the detailed description of the windings, so as not to be wearisome by constantly repeating the same thing; and these, moreover, are shewn in the map which was composed on the groundwork of my journal, and which accompanies this work.
A quarter after one.—From N. in a bend to the left, N.N.E., and then again right round in an arch, where the south-east wind may be contrary to us; N.E. with a short turn to E.N.E., and on to E.S.E. The sails can work, for the wind graciously continues and blows in S. Half-past one.—From E.S.E., shortly round the left to N.N.E. and N.; we furl the sails in order to wait for the vessels behind. Two o’clock.—In the bend S.E. and E., where a tolerable course displays itself, and we again draw in the sails. A large hippopotamus snorts at the side of the vessel, and no one laughs at it, for we have learned to know already that the proximity of these ship-stormers is dangerous. A quarter after two. To the left in the bend, E.N.E.; we sweep by on the reeds like lightning, N.N.E. to N. by E., then in a flat arch to the right, N.N.E., which bends still more to E., E.N.E., and S.E. We saw several black birds both yesterday and to-day, called gatàff by the Arabs,—a species of water-hen, which flew over the ships in swarms till late in the evening, and uttered a piercing cry.
A quarter before three, from S.E., left to N. by E., and right, N.N.E.; four miles, with a slack wind. Three o’clock, from N.N.E., shortly round the right; a small island at the left, with reed-grass, crown-rushes, and blooming ambàks. To E., where a tolerable road opens before us; then to the left, E.N.E. Course three miles and a half; but the cloudy sky forbodes a squall, yet it may blow off, as it has done on other days.
Half-past three; from E.N.E. to the left, in a bend N., and N. by W.: a road before us, then to the right: make again five miles—in the bend, N.N.W. A quarter before four, on and on slowly to the right, N.E. On the right a large lake, which is connected with the river by a wide mouth; several negroes standing there, but no tokuls to be seen. Four o’clock, N.N.E., then to the left, with a small declination to N. by E., and then to the right; three miles rapidity—E.N.E.