Expedition to discover the sources of the White Nile, in the years 1840, 1841, Vol. 2 (of 2)Werne, Ferdinand
History
Expedition to discover the sources of the White Nile, in the years 1840, 1841, Vol. 2 (of 2)
Werne, Ferdinand
Nile River
At a quarter past ten o’clock, the north wind has completely
died away, and we tack about towards the west for a short tract,
when it becomes again so fresh, whilst the wind is S.W., that we
are able to sail slowly. To all appearance, unfortunately, our
vaunted voyage of discovery will soon have an end. Selim-Capitan is
frightened to a ludicrous degree; Arnaud cannot conceal his fear;
and Suliman Kashef, not being yet restored to health, is utterly
indifferent. I cannot refrain from considering an instant return as
a disgrace and as treachery both to the world and Mohammed Ali. On
the right an island, and the last of those two which we had on our
left still continues, and so we are somewhat free from the noise of
the people on the shore. Sale and Sate Mohammed are no longer seen
on land; they have perhaps become the victims of their passions,
although they were only to shoot for me a pair of turtle-doves.
We halt, for a time, on the left shore, where there is a large
village, partly scattered in the wood that skirts the river so
beautifully. At eleven o’clock we set out again, and our men drive
back the cattle from the island close to us, through the water to
the right shore, for their unfathomable throats appear at last to be
satiated. The clapping of hands, keeping time to the singing, above
which the “kih, kih” of the women is heard, accompanies us from
both sides. We cannot hear or see anything for the crowd and clatter,
especially myself, round whom all the beautiful world floats as in
a mist, and a jarring din sings in my ears, so that my writing,
inexorably necessary as it is, becomes exceedingly difficult. I
dared not close my eyes for fear of becoming completely confused. I
wanted to go to Selim Capitan, or rather to his interpreter, but
was not able to put the requisite questions and to note down the
answers. I continue to write mechanically, and cannot square my own
journal, when I try to revise the entries of the last few days;
for everything flickers before my eyes, and my memory is gone,
so that it all appears to me like a dream.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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