It was amusing to watch the usually stolid countenance of Howarti, that was now expressive of intense curiosity.
The crown-line jerked and tugged even more than at the first lucky throw. Howarti cleverly and cautiously landed his net. It contained a regular "miraculous draught," including a Nile carp of about nine pounds.
"That will do, Howarti," I exclaimed; "we have fish enough for all the people on the diahbeeah, as well as for the officers of 'The Forty.'" The basket would not contain them; therefore the larger fish were laid upon grass in the bottom of the boat, and we returned home.
Howarti now divided the fish according to orders, and explained to the delighted crowd the extraordinary effect of the word "Bismillah," which insured a netful at every cast.
On the following morning, at sunrise, the now pious Howarti went out as usual with his casting-net accompanied by a sailor, who carried the largest basket he could procure.
We had moved our position, and there was no sand-bank in the neighbourhood.
After an absence of about two hours, Howarti returned, together with his companion and the large basket. This contained a few small fish hardly sufficient for our breakfast.
"Ah, Howarti!" I exclaimed, "you are a bad Mussulman—you have forgotten to say 'Bismillah.'"
"Indeed," replied the dejected fisherman, "I repeated 'Bismillah' at every cast; but it's of no use saying 'Bismillah' in deep water; nothing will catch them in the deep, and I can catch them without 'Bismillah' in the shallows."
Howarti was not a fanatical Mohammedan. Poor fellow he never lived to return with us to Khartoum: his melancholy death will be described hereafter.