But there is another side to this question of forced labor. Water must be had in Egypt, no matter at what cost. If the land is not sufficiently irrigated the crops fail and the nation starves. Now, the frequent construction of canals has from immemorial time been reckoned among the first duties of an Egyptian ruler; but it is a duty which cannot be performed without the willing or unwilling co-operation of several thousand workmen. Those who are best acquainted with the character and temper of the fellâh maintain the hopelessness of looking to him for voluntary labor of this description. Frugal, patient, easily contented as he is, no promise of wages, however high, would tempt him from his native village. What to him are the needs of a district six or seven hundred miles away? His own shâdûf is enough for his own patch, and so long as he can raise his three little crops a year neither he nor his family will starve. How, then, are these necessary public works to be carried out, unless by means of the _corvée_? M. About has put an ingenious summary of this “other-side” argument into the mouth of his ideal fellâh. “It is not the emperor,” says Ahmed to the Frenchman, “who causes the rain to descend upon your land; it is the west wind--and the benefit thus conferred upon you exacts no penalty of manual labor. But in Egypt, where the rain from heaven falls scarcely three times in the year, it is the prince who supplies its place to us by distributing the waters of the Nile. This can only be done by the work of men’s hands; and it is therefore to the interest of all that the hands of all should be at his disposal.” We regarded it, I think, as an especial piece of good fortune when we found ourselves becalmed next day within three or four miles of Denderah. Abydos comes first in order, according to the map; but then the temples lie seven or eight miles from the river, and, as we happened just thereabouts to be making some ten miles an hour, we put off the excursion till our return. Here, however, the ruins lay comparatively near at hand, and in such a position that we could approach them from below and rejoin our dahabeeyah a few miles higher up the river. So, leaving Reïs Hassan to track against the current, we landed at the first convenient point, and, finding neither donkeys nor guides at hand, took an escort of three or four sailors and set off on foot.