The rain is like that of a German May. On the right shore, a somewhat scanty forest, where we halt, at a quarter to five, on account of want of wood; at five, however, we bear off again, for these little mimosas afford us no wood. From S. to E.S.E.; a large lake again on the right. How much earth must the mountains of Bari and elsewhere supply before these shallow lakes can be elevated into land and fields! Half-past six; from E. by S. to the left in E. and E. by N., where it makes a leap to E.N.E. The wind has become slack: only two miles. Six o’clock; to E. There are many swallows flying over the reeds; they seem to be making a tour of pleasure with our deadly enemies the gnats. These birds may either not anticipate the rainy season, which is close at hand, (unless they are already on the road to our home,) or they remain here entirely, and most of them perish, as we have seen in Taka, where, however, the trees protect them. Half-past seven; E.N.E. On the right a large lake: we anchor in the middle of the river, and it begins to be dark. Thermometer, sunrise, 22°; noon, not above 27°; sunset 27°.
9th March.—We start, though it is raining, at six o’clock, and go E.S.E. and immediately E., and sail with a north-west wind to N.E. Seven o’clock; round the left to N.; immediately, however, to the right, E.N.E. and E. The wind has gone round to south east, and freshened, so that we make six miles. We see from the deck ten villages scattered at some distance on the left side, and a lake on the right. The lakes mentioned yesterday, which were encircled here and there by ambaks on the side turned from the river, and not, as usual, by the Habas, could only be perceived from the deck. We go at eight o’clock to S.E. with oars, after some delay, in consequence of our vessel having come into collision with Selim Capitan’s. The wind has slackened considerably: a large lake on the left.
A good idea unfortunately often strikes us too late. Last night, I was trying to defend myself with a fan against the onslaughts of the gnats, but often let it fall from pure weariness. Continual stings, however, soon waked me to pick the fan up again, till about morning it came into my head to erect a small tabernacle over my face, by means of a linen cloth. Yesterday evening I repeated that contrivance, and was scrupulously careful in forming it, when I found that the little pincers and pests would not let me eat in peace, and poured out of their lurking-holes with bloodthirsty intentions. I drew, therefore, my little conical canopy over my head: I was very hot under it, but yet not a mosquito was able to pierce through it. They buzzed and hummed outside, and the crew cried, “Bauda! bauda!” but I was comparatively jolly, and of good cheer.
A quarter after eight. E.S.E., then E. Some trees before us; two villages seen from the deck, behind the reeds on the left. Nine o’clock. Right round to E.S.E.; here, on the left, a little lake, and three villages near the above-mentioned three or four trees, ten minutes from the shore. The tokuls, which are not so large as those previously seen, and have slightly arched roofs, seem to denote that we have come already to the country of the Shilluks. It does our heart good to see human habitations once again close to us. The Nile has been really very tedious for a long time: I sit here, a “passer solitarius in tecto.” I always thought that we ought to bring every landscape before the reader’s eye, like a row of pictures on the wall; but there is a continual and tiresome repetition of natural objects here: yet I feel it my duty not to spare the reader. Ten o’clock: continually E.S.E., with very inconsiderable declinations. Several people and villages on the left shore, at five minutes’ distance: they are really Shilluks. From the deck we see immediately ten large and small villages. We wind, still rowing, in a flat arch to the right, S.E.; then to the left, E. by N., at half-past eleven; and again slowly to the right. Four villages, the last a large one, at our left: they lie intermixed on the bare high shore, or rather grass and reed-sea, through which the river winds. Some Shilluks, no doubt a very populous nation, greet us from the shore with “Habàba!” (borrowed from the Arabs: in Taka, also, they say habàba—otherwise, mirhabà). Three mountains project on the right. Eleven o’clock, S.E.; three villages on the left. Half-past eleven. Slowly from E.S.E. to the right, S.E. by E.; then to the left, E., and the river immediately makes again a bend to the right, in E.S.E. The wind freshens and detains us; yet we have gained just this moment, for the river goes further to the right, and the wind has changed to N. The high shores, behind which the whole country is bare, with the exception of a few uschàrs, and seems to lie higher, approach again the river on the left; and two villages shew themselves at some hundred paces, on the gently-ascending downs; below them the old river-bed appears on dry ground.
The Shilluks, armed with lances, and standing on the shore, shout again their “Habàba!” but we sail now, and they do not offer us anything, much as we should like to make use of their cows and wood; and besides there are two many of them. Groups of tokuls stand in a row. A quarter after twelve, continually E.S.E. Half-past twelve, S.E. by E.; to the left, E. The wind has changed, and is contrary; so we go E.S.E. The Shilluks also have sleeping-places, open at the top, wherein warm ashes form their beds, with which also they powder their hair, thereby making it look grey.
A quarter before one. From E. by N. A gohr on the right, and we go, at one o’clock, E.S.E. Half-past one. The river takes a direction before us to E., with some little inlets, so that we cannot see the lower shore. The wind blows strongly against us from E. We have but scanty fare, being without meat. I cannot deny kew to myself now, for I really want it.
Half-past two. E. by S. A Haba on the right, before it a lake connected with the river in front; the forest is upon a gentle declivity, and covered with shrubs, thorns, and dwarf-trees, even to the edge of the water. The shore also falls away gently to the river, near which it only rises a little above the narrow green margin of grass. We halt close to the right shore, owing to want of wood.
The shore ascends to about fifteen feet high, where the trees begin, and is composed of nothing but mimosas, although the Nile very certainly does not flow over it; for the river has full play far away to the left.
If we call these lakes, marshes, and reed-morasses, a longitudinal valley, enclosed as they are with the Nile between two high shores, which, however, do not ascend to the due height, the original shores perhaps lying still further by the irregular low line of mountains, or rather hills, it is plain that the same is gradually filled by alluvial deposits from the mountains of Bari, or from above, and an accumulation of vegetables, or the momentary sprouting forth of an corresponding kingdom of plants, must have soon followed the more important vegetable matter. As the sluices of the so-called valley pour into the great Nile, it must have falls on a level with the Nile itself, and has, therefore, dug a bed, and made an even slope to this side, after the stream had removed the first barriers or dikes of the high shores, which are now secure from any inundation. A river-bed, indeed, naturally becomes deeper when there is a proper fall and a regular conduit. The lower Nile has elevated its bed, because it has but few vents. Why could not the White River have a similar retrograde connection of water, which is prevented from flowing off, such as is the case, in the first place, near Khartùm? The Nile here might have been previously in majestic fullness, and flowed rapidly between the present old shores to Khartùm, until it created shallows and islands, where reeds and water-plants of every species sprang forth luxuriantly from the nearly stagnant water, and vehemently opposed the natural course of the river, seized the alluvial deposits from above in their polypi-arms, and rose to what we now see to be meadows and marshes.
The Shilluks are tolerably acquainted with the good disposition of the Turks: as soon as a vessel approaches a group of them, they get up and go away; this even befell Selim Capitan, in spite of his interpreter. When they see us coming, they drive the cows from the water, even without letting them drink. We on our side are afraid, and with justice, to land on the inhabited spots. I brought back two guinea-fowls, the produce of my shooting excursion with my servants; I had seen Suliman Kashef with one of a similar kind above. They are not at all like those in Taka, and different only from those of Europe by the darker colour of their plumage. We shall remain here to-night; thunder and rain have been satisfied with merely threatening us,—and are happily over. I disembark once more, and see fifty to sixty giraffes in the level shore towards the horizon, but it was too late to get at them. The thermometer was at nine o’clock in the morning 21°, but did not get up afterwards to more than 28°, fortunately for us,—not so much on account of shooting as because the heat might have been insupportable, for we were between these high shores à talus, with an average angle of 25° to 30°, and the wind was entirely still.