13th March.—Departure at seven o’clock, with libàhn to E.S.E. by E.; then to the left, E.N.E., and we sail with a good north-east wind. A quarter before eight: from E., in the bend to S.E,; on the left some straw tokuls. The wind becomes strong, and we make six miles for the present; the mountain stream seems to be here at its lowest pitch, and has only a quarter of a mile rapidity. Eight o’clock; from S.E. by S.; to the left, E. by S., where we are obliged to go libàhn. A quarter after eight, to the left, but we halt before the corner of the bend till noon, owing to the violent east wind. I made a little excursion into the immeasurable plain, which was tree-less and comfortless; and found two villages, better built than usual, to which I was not able to approach, and likewise a long and dried-up marsh. I could not, unfortunately, discover any guinea-fowls in the durra-stubble.
At twelve o’clock, we proceed with libàhn to N.E., where our Bach’r el Makàda winds again to the right. Half-past twelve. The shores, with few exceptions, attain a height of fifteen to eighteen feet: the upper surface of the soil consists of humus to two or three feet deep (which may be deeper in the low ground, old gohrs, and several tracts), and under it nothing is seen but clay or mud, having a yellowish colour on the shore, from the iron oxyde, with which it is strongly impregnated, and generally more so than on the White Nile, where this is only the case in layers. A fertile country, but requiring human hands, canals, and sakiën. We see from its shores, and in the dried-up pools, which receive very little nourishment here from vegetable matter, particularly on the upper land, that the Sobàt brings down fruitful earth or slime.
From half-past twelve to two, in a bend to the left, S.E., where we go again left in N.E. by N. On the same side there is a tolerably well built little village on the shore. A quarter before three, still further to the left, N. by E. Four o’clock, we wheel to the right in E.N.E., where we get the view of a genuine low forest, and notice on the left a village in the winding to S. by E. Half-past four, also further; a hamlet on the right with straw tokuls, the first on this side. We see here also reed-boats, as among the Nuèhrs and Shilluks on the Nile. At five o’clock to S., where we at first halt at the right shore, before the bend to the left. Two large villages lie from half to three-quarters of an hour distant, and I see an immeasurable bare plain cracked from drought,—a summer shallow lake without any verdure. We go then to the left shore, the soil of which is less mixed with sand than that of the right, and gives us some hope of shooting and fishing. The huntsman Sale returned, however, disconsolate, for he had seen nothing at all.
The left shore is still more precipitous and higher here than the right one, because the stream forces itself into this bend. When we disembark, we find that the land again rises to a gentle acclivity, and we have the prospect of a large lake about three quarters of an hour distant, which overflows perhaps deeper into the Sobàt. Many lakes of this kind must be found in the country of the Dinkas, because springs, as in the Taka country, are not sufficient for the watering of the cattle of this merissa-loving, dancing and singing tribe; and besides, the drawing of the water would cause too much trouble.
The Sobàt is stagnant here in the proper sense of the word, and no log can determine anything else.
14th March. We navigate again on the right side, and go at half-past seven o’clock with libàhn from S. by E., immediately S.E., where the north-east wind remains contrary to us, notwithstanding the narrow water-tract. Some small and still green reed-huts hang on the shore, sheltered from the north wind: these are stations for hunters of hippopotami and crocodiles, or for fishermen, who, however, have gone away, and taken with them their working implements, for they are frightened of us. The durra seems to thrive famously on the half-sandy shore, and rises cheerfully above the reeds; probably it is sown,—that is, a handful thrown here and there on the vacant spots.
Eight o’clock—E. by N., and N.E. by E. The upper margin of the right shore is planted throughout with durra, and some small fishing-huts shew that men dwell there. Ten o’clock.—Hitherto always N.E. within considerable deviations, and then N. by E.; where we halt at the corner of the right shore on account of the wind, for the river goes still further to the left: level land above, some underwood, and a village at a little distance. A quarter before one.—N. by W., and about one, in a bend to the right. When the crew relieve one another at the rope, they imitate to perfection the Uh-uh-i-ih of the tribes on the upper part of the White Stream, and during the towing itself they sing the song à-à-à-jòk-jòk, which would be difficult for a white man to do. The force of the water is directed here against the right shore, which is without any crust of vegetation, and seems to ascend to the uppermost margin, as is proved by the gradations being washed away, and the thin layer of humus, one foot to one and a half high, decreases perpendicularly, whilst the lower part of the soil displays unmixed clay. It certainly required a powerful pressure of water to wash this primary deposit to such a depth; the left shore, on the contrary, has a coating of slime and vegetation down to the water.
Two o’clock.—E. by N.; twenty-one dhellèb-palms on the left, with a pastoral hamlet of thirty new straw-tokuls. The crew are beginning to shoot down the dhellèb-fruits, and I also disembark on the shore, beyond which the ground, with the beautiful group of trees, is still imperceptibly elevated. We are quite comfortable there, but I gaze far and wide for a point to break the unbounded flat waste that shews not a thorn or a bush; the river winds melancholy between the naked shores. These palms stand in luxuriant growth,—a proof that the soil is capable of other things, and may look for a better future. The very pretty straw-huts present nothing worth having to our rapacious eyes, and near them we remark the sleeping-places, and a large, glimmering heap of dung, serving at night for fire and a bed. The cow-dung is collected in little heaps in the enclosure, surrounded with palings, where the beast is tied, and is still quite fresh: notwithstanding this, it is very certain that we expect in vain the return this evening of these beautifully spotted cattle. Standing on an old trunk of a tree, I remarked a large village on the right shore at a quarter of an hour up the river.
The dhellèb-tree has the same fibrous texture of bark, and of the interior of the trunks, as the dates and dome-palms; but it is far finer, thicker, and stronger. The outside of the bark shews rings from below upwards, and the tree itself shoots forth slenderly from the earth, and swells gradually towards the centre to a spheroid form, when it decreases again to the top, and rises stately, separating the head from the stem. The fruit is as large as a child’s head, and in clusters, as in the palms before named, but on far stronger stalks, from which it hangs down immediately close to the stem. It is smooth outside, and of a golden colour, like its pulp; the latter is fibrous, of a bitter-sweet taste, like chewing soft wood and leaves behind in the mouth an astringent taste, which may arise here from the fruit not being fully ripe. There are from four to six kernels in this gold apple of the size of a child’s hand, or of those of the dome-palms: the stalk has a scaly covering, surrounding about a third part of the fruit. The kernels, or the nuts, have themselves a solid pulp, shining like dark glass, being exactly similar to that of the dome-fruit: at first it is like milk, but on coming to maturity becomes of the consistency of horn. The trunk of palms is surrounded with the same kind of rings as the date-tree, the rind feeling smooth, like planed wood; consequently it was impossible to climb these trees to gather any fruit, owing principally to the swelling in the centre, and therefore it was shot down. After several attempts, we drove large nails in the stem, to hold the rope by, and then we ascended gradually.
The bark falls off on the ground, as is the case with the other palms, for the tree throws out foliage like grass from the interior: the thick rootlets spread themselves in all directions through the ground, like polypi, with a thousand veins of life.