Further up, at Negadeh, we paid a very interesting visit to an old priest, Père Samuel, who had been thirty-seven years in Egypt, thirty-four of which he had spent at Negadeh. At first he did not seem to understand the purport of our visit. We were probably the first Catholics who had ever called on him. In the course of thirty-four years he had made but twenty converts from Moslemism. This is owing to the severe penalties prescribed by the Koran for apostasy, which but few dare brave. There are about four thousand schismatical Copts and two hundred reunited ones, mostly his own converts. It is an edifying sight to see these small but devoted bands of Christians practising their religion in the midst of fanatical enemies who ridicule and annoy them in every possible way.
On we sail, and soon the white minarets of Girgeh fade away in the distance. On the tops of the houses in almost every town pigeon-towers have been built for the shelter and accommodation of the myriads of semi-domesticated pigeons that abound here. I am informed that this care is taken of them for the sake of obtaining their manure. One would think that the owners would resist any attempts to destroy them. On the contrary, they would call to us from a distance, and, after we had trodden down their standing grain to reach them, they would point out a flock of pigeons, tell us to shoot them, and then, seemingly in great glee, run, pick them up, and bring them to us. On the 27th of December the
wind was so strong that we furled the sails and were blown up-stream under bare poles at the rate of three miles an hour. The raised cabin, presenting such a broad surface to the wind, acted as a sail and enabled them to steer the boat. As we were seated at dinner that evening, Ahmud entered, appearing very nervous, and told us the sailors were about to stop to make their peace-offering to Sheik Selim. “And pray who is Sheik Selim?” we asked. “He is a very holy man,” said Ahmud—“the guardian spirit of the Nile. He is one hundred and twenty years of age, and for the last eighteen years he has not changed his position, but, seated on the bank, he rules the elements. If we passed without making an offering to him, he would send adverse winds; may be he would set fire to the boat or cause other dire calamities to befall us.” “Does he not tire of sitting there so long?” I venture to inquire. “Oh! no; when no one is with him he calls to the crocodiles, and they come out of the water and play with him. At the approach of any human being he orders them to retire, and is instantly obeyed.” “And do the sailors really believe this?” “Yes, and I do also,” replied Ahmud indignantly. “I tell you again that any one who passes without making an offering to this holy man is sure to meet with some misfortune. Some years ago, Said Pasha, the then Viceroy of Egypt, was passing here in his steamer. The sailors asked permission to stop, but the Viceroy would not permit it, and sneered at their credulity. Immediately the wheels revolved without moving the steamer, and it was not until peace-offerings had been given and accepted that the saint would allow the boat to proceed.”
After such conclusive proof of this holy man’s power we did not dare to interfere, but some suggested that we would call upon the saintly Moslem with the delegation appointed by the crew. Ali was very nervous and seemed almost afraid to go; but his childlike curiosity got the better of him, and he accompanied us. We walked up the bank in solemn procession, not a word being spoken. We found the saint seated on the top, in the centre of a circle made of the stalks of the sugar-cane. A low fire was burning before him. He must always be approached on his right hand. Reis Mohammed was the first of our party, and, saluting him most respectfully, laid at his feet a small basket filled with bread, oranges, tobacco, and money. Sheik Selim was a very old man, entirely nude, and seated on his haunches, long, matted hair flowing to his shoulders. Around him a group of his retainers watched us with eager curiosity. Our sailors, with awe-stricken countenances, gazed upon the holy monk with expressions betokening those feelings which would fill our breasts at looking upon some phantom from the spirit-world. Above us the moon was riding high in the clear blue of an Egyptian sky, lighting up the scene with an almost weird effect. It was a picture never to be forgotten. The fruitful soil of this land gives back to the industrious farmer three and four crops a year. Had Sheik Selim’s body, as it then was, been properly planted and cared for, no less than six crops could easily be realized. If cleanliness be next to godliness, infinite distance must have separated him from the Deity. Each one in turn shook hands with him. He thanked them for the presents and asked for
some meat. “I will bring you some from the howadji’s table,” said Ahmud. “No, I will touch nothing which has been handled by the Christian dogs. Reis Mohammed, in return for your offering you will find a pigeon on the boat when you return. I have ordered it to go there and wait until you come to take it; I present it to you.” “He must get a number of good things from the many different boats passing,” I remarked in a side tone to Ahmud. “Yes, but he never eats anything at all; he gives all he receives to his retainers. He is not like other men: he has not eaten anything for eighteen years past.” “He must be on very bad terms with his stomach,” thought I; but, being somewhat incredulous, I concealed myself for a few moments behind a palm-tree. As soon as the party had retired he seized an orange, and, from the avidity with which he devoured it, I concluded that perhaps Ahmud’s story was partly true. When we returned to the boat, Ali told us that Reis Mohammed found a live pigeon on the deck, which suffered itself to be captured, being the one presented by the saint. Not only Ali but all the crew insisted upon the truth of this fact. Something must have displeased the old gentleman, possibly our incredulity, for immediately afterwards we ran aground and remained so for some hours.
On the 29th of December we reached Keneh, on the east bank, and the next morning crossed the river, mounted our little donkeys, and rode to the great temple of Dendera. This temple was dedicated to the goddess Athor, or Aphrodite, the name Dendera or Tentyra being taken from Tei-n-Athor, the abode of Athor. To my mind none of the temples of Egypt can be called beautiful,
or even graceful. Compared with the architectural gems of Greece, or the more recent fairy-like structures of the Moguls, they are heavy, coarse, and ungainly. But their interest is derived from their solidity, their antiquity, and the records of events sculptured on them, making each temple wall a page of that immortal book which tells of the manners and customs of the mighty people who ruled the known world six thousand years ago. On the ceiling of this temple was the Zodiac, so long the subject of such earnest controversy, by some assigned to an antediluvian age, but more probably belonging to the Ptolemaic or Roman epochs. The most interesting sculpture on the walls of Dendera is the contemporary representation of the great Cleopatra. It is generally believed to resemble her somewhat, allowance being made for the conventional mode of drawing then in vogue. It is not what would now be thought a very handsome face—full, thick lips, a nose somewhat Roman in shape, large eyes, and rather a sharp profile. But many think that Cleopatra was not so very beautiful, her charm lying more in her abilities and her power to please. She spoke to ambassadors from six or seven different nations, each in his own tongue. She sang charmingly, and was said to be the only sovereign of Egypt who understood the language of all her subjects—Greek, Ethiopic, Egyptian, Troglodytic, Hebrew, Arabic, and Syriac.
We shot a trochilus, or spur-winged plover. We had been very anxious to obtain a specimen of this bird, called by the Arabs tic-tac, but so far had been unsuccessful. True that almost every bird we brought on board was determined
to be a tic-tac by some of the sailors, but, on comparing each with the description given in Smith’s admirable work on the Nile voyage, we found it was not the veritable trochilus. Why were we so anxious to obtain this bird? Because Herodotus tells about its strange doings, its acting as a self-propelling tooth-pick for the crocodile. Says that ancient traveller: When the crocodile gets out of the water on land, and then opens its jaws, which it most commonly does towards the west, the trochilus enters its mouth and swallows the leeches. The crocodile is so well pleased with this service that it never hurts the trochilus. It is called spur-winged plover on account of the large spur which it has on the carpal joint of each wing, rendering it a formidable adversary to the crow, three times its size. These Tentyrites were professed enemies of the crocodile. They hunted them with great energy and feasted off them when captured. This persecution of a being considered god-like by the Kom-Ombites people, living further up the river, was resented by them with all the fanatical rage and hatred of the most bitter sectarian feud. “Those who considered the crocodiles as sacred trained them up and taught them to be quite tame. They put crystal and gold earrings into their ears, and bracelets on their forepaws, and they gave them appointed and sacred food, and treated them as well as possible while alive, and when dead they embalmed them and buried them in sacred vaults” (Herodotus, Euterpe). The latter part of this strange narrative I can vouch for, as I have now in my possession three young mummied crocodiles taken from the crocodile mummy-pits of Moabdeh, near the southern
extremity of the rocks of Gebel Aboo Faydah. One afternoon, while reclining on our luxurious divan, not a cloud obscuring the sky, as the light winds bore us slowly onward, I dreamed in pleasant reveries of the lands we were about to visit. Suddenly loud cries of “Folk! folk!” are heard, and Ali rushes up on deck. “Warrene! warrene! Shoot him! kill him!” My gun hung above me, loaded with light bird-shot. In a moment I was on the forecastle, gun in hand, but without the faintest idea as to what or where a warrene was. Still, all the sailors cried “Folk! folk!” and, running along the bank, I saw what appeared to be a crocodile, about four feet long. The frightened reptile ran rapidly along, at times about to plunge into the water, but immediately the cry of “Folk!” was raised, and it ran up on the bank again. The whole charge of bird-shot entering its head cut short its career, and it was soon a captive on the deck. “Why did you cry folk?” we asked the sailors. “Why, it means ‘Go up,’ and it prevents the warrene from entering the water.” “So, then, it understands what you say, and obeys?” “Yes; and besides, if you call out ‘Folk!’ to a crocodile, it will raise its forepaw, and thus expose the only part through which a bullet can penetrate its body.” No more said, but considerable doubt raised in the minds of the howadjii, and resolutions formed to experiment upon the first crocodile met with. The warrene is a species of crocodile, brought forth, according to the sailors’ story, in this way: The crocodile lays a number of eggs on land. When these are hatched, from some come forth crocodiles, from others warrenes; but what law of nature operates to produce