I interpret it as a good omen that I am in such a cheerful humour to-day, arising a good deal from my present state of health. Poor Sabatier, on the contrary, seems to be going fast to certain death, through his own melancholy and Arnaud’s heartlessness, for he is continually affected with fever and will never hear of any diet. At half-past four o’clock, S.S.W. Our vessel draws water, whereupon we fire two shots as signals of distress; but no care was taken about us, because the wind had become a little stronger, and we make about a mile; before, we had scarcely made half a mile in the hour. We sail, therefore, “Alla kerim,” behind the others, although the water visibly rises in the hold, and we have not even pumps. We halt, about five o’clock, at the corner, where the river goes from S.S.W. to E.N.E. Here we have an extensive view of the scenery, an immeasurably flat country, with yellow grass, which seems to have been merely overflowed a little by the water, although the shores are only two feet high. Numberless ant-hills stand around. In the background we remark a forest without shade. A German prince said to Ahmed Basha in Kahira, “I have found forests here, but no _shade_ in them.” Two negroes greet and make signs to us, but in vain, for they do not bring oxen, and we have already to-day distrained ten. At half-past five o’clock we left this place, and sailed E.N.E. into a canal, scarcely fifty paces broad, having on the right an ambak-thicket, with a fore-ground of aquatic grass, and on the left a margin of reeds. This last is said to belong to an island, but we do not observe there either tree or shrub. After sunset, from E. to S.; then again eastward, and lastly S.S.W. The wind again becomes very slack; therefore rowing and singing, contention and strife, among the crew, who get one before the other. A short bend to N., but a bad sandy point of land for oars and poles. The wind blows from S.W., and we sail E. by S., and still somewhat N.E., when it again slackens, and we are obliged to torment ourselves in an E.N.E. direction. We come here unexpectedly upon _four rivers_, according to the expression of the Arabs. The Nile separates into two arms, into those in which we had come, and in those which we had left to N.W., and afterwards at our back; again it splits into two arms above, of which the smaller one ascends upwards to E. and our arm to E.N.E. The island, the lower portion of which we saw this morning at seven o’clock, is therefore confirmed by the arm flowing away to N.W. Baùda! Baùda! Everyone is fanning and striking off the gnats, especially in Suliman Kashef’s vessel, where the crew have armed themselves with the corollas of the giant rushes, to be used as fans. The east wind is faint, the sky cloudy, and always Libàhn to N.E. till nine o’clock. A floating island wheeled our ship round, anchor and all; this also frequently happens at night. Thermometer 18°, 25°, 28°, and 23° Reaumur.