Tuesday, 20th.—Started at about half-past five, and reached Disneh in the evening. There was a dead calm in the morning, and I congratulated myself, not for the first time, on my steamer; in a dahabieh I might have taken a week, and more, over the stretch of river I have just covered in a day; and the scenery just here, though fine, is monotonous. I am sorry for the Sterlings, who will, I fear, be unusually long getting up. This afternoon I saw Sheykh Selim, a sort of St. Simeon Stylites without the column. This holy man's peculiar form of piety consists in sitting stark naked on the bank of the river and exacting presents in money and kind from all passers-by.
Hosseyn had spoken to me at great length of his wisdom and piety, and assured me that when the crocodiles, which are numerous about here, presented themselves before the eyes of the Sheykh, he merely waved his hand and said "Biz, biz!" whereat they fled, rebuked. He informed me also that no boat refusing him tribute could expect to get on—it would infallibly be becalmed until his holiness was propitiated. To my surprise I found that my captain, a sensible old gentleman in other respects, believed this just as firmly, though he expressed his faith more vaguely. When I asked him whether the Sheykh's power extended also to steamers, which did not wait on the wind, he said: "Well, Allah was great, and though, certainly, a steamer might, no doubt—so well appointed a steamer particularly—might, no doubt, get past—yet who should say? Allah was great!" In fact he believed with the best; so, of course, I said, by all means let the Sheykh be propitiated. Accordingly when we hove in sight of the little mound where he sits, and has sat for God knows how many years, we turned the steamer (a vessel of seventy-five horse-power) and ran straight in for the bank at considerable risk, it struck me, of not getting off again. The whole crew then went ashore in great excitement, headed by the captain, and surrounded the Saint, kissing his hand and salaaming. As I did not wish to hurt the old gentleman's feelings by not kissing his hand, I stayed on board and looked on. Sheykh Selim is a very vigorous-looking old fellow of the colour of a very dusky mahogany table; his hair and beard are woolly and of a dirty white; his countenance, as far as I could judge from a little distance, good-humoured and sagacious. He squats on the ground with his knees up and his arms folded across them. He inspects his presents, and asks for more. After the levée was over, and when our crew were about to come on board, he called after them and asked for roast meat, and then again a second time for oil wherewith to anoint himself. "There," said Hosseyn triumphantly, "he know everything! he know we have roast meat—how he know that?"
I was amused at the intellectual superiority of Ottilio, the Italian waiter. "Quanto sono stupidi questi Arabi!" For my part I don't see much more difficulty in swallowing Sheykh Selim than a stigmatised nun or a winking picture—I told him so.
We should have reached Keneh to-day, but the coals were bad, and we had to stop at Dishulh, three hours this side of that place. Where was thy favouring grace, O Sheykh? It appears that, like the gods of ancient Greece, the Sheykhs of Egypt have their little misunderstandings; I am told that on one occasion Selim, having a few words with another holy man thirty-five miles up the river, by name Sheykh Fadl, and waxing wroth, threw a stone at him (what are thirty or forty miles to a saint?) and blinded him of one eye; whereon Sheykh Fadl returned the amenity by throwing "some fire" at Sheykh Selim, thereby sorely burning him. "I have seen the scar," my coxswain informs me.
Killed another fatted sheep for the crew.
Wednesday, 21st.—Arrived at Lougsor (El Uker) about three. It was too hot for sightseeing, so I waited till evening and went out shooting in a boat; at least I went out with the idea of shooting—if possible a pelican or a crane—but the birds were too shy—I could not get within fair shooting distance; wounded a pelican, but could not get after him in the deep mud. Got belated on the river, and the crew had to pull hard for an hour and a half to reach the steamer; fortunately there was a moon. Anything more good-humoured or more ineffective than the way in which the sailors pulled and shoved, I never saw; they hopped in and out of the boat in the shallows, up to their hips in the water—pushed, tugged, rowed and sang die era im piacus; they can do nothing without the accompaniment of some rhythmic, droning refrain, which they can keep up for an indefinite time. Anything will do; my fellows pulled on this occasion to the following words—
"Min Minyeh
fi Benisoef,"
which is as who should say—
"From Henlee
to Cookham Reach,"
giving the stroke and the emphasis on the last syllable.