For Fortune and Glory: A Story of the Soudan WarHough, Lewis
History
For Fortune and Glory: A Story of the Soudan War
Hough, Lewis
Great Britain -- History, Military -- 19th century -- Fiction; Sudan -- History -- 1881-1899 -- Fiction
The fierce sun was declining towards the west, and it was becoming
possible to breathe and move about with a little more comfort on board
the somewhat cumbrous vessel, fitted with huge lateen sails, which went
swinging down the Nile between the lofty black rocks near Samneh. I say
_fitted_ with the sails, not borne along by them, for the stream just
there took all the carrying power upon itself, rushing along its
narrowed channel like a mill race.
High above rose a hill, on the top of which was a temple, entire, with a
balcony round it, heedless of the lapse of ages. There is some little
difference between the ancient and modern ideas of substantial building.
They had no ninety-nine year leases in the time of the Pharaohs; if
there were such things at all, nine thousand would probably be nearer
the mark.
Harry Forsyth sat on the deck admiring the different points as they went
by, and delighting in the glorious pace at which they were going; a
great contrast to their sluggish progress earlier in the day, when the
river was broad, placid, and leisurely, and there was hardly a breath of
wind stirring to urge them on.
He had been entrusted with a trading expedition as far as Dongola,
carrying merchandise and exchanging it for gum, and ostrich and marabout
feathers. He had been allowed a little venture on his own account, and
had embarked it all in the latter article of commerce--marabout
feathers--and had been rather lucky in his bargain. On returning to
Cairo he expected to go back to England, and that made him none the less
glad to be spinning along so quickly.
"I wish we could go like this all the way, Hassib," he said to the
Nubian sitting by him; "we should soon get home then, eh?"
"We shall go faster than this when we come to the cataract," said
Hassib, with a grin; for there was a joke here. Harry on the way up had
not shown any liking for the cataracts. In fact, had preferred, under
pretence of shooting doves, to walk round while the operation of towing
the vessel up took place.
He and Hassib conversed in a queer lingo, for Harry was trying his
hardest to learn Arabic, but had to eke it out at present with a good
many English and French words. Hassib had a smattering of both those
languages, and after a little practice they got on glibly enough.
But I am sure you will pardon my translating the palaver between this
supercargo and the reis or captain of the boat. The reis was the proper
companion for Harry, being a respectable fellow, and wearing some
clothes. Harry himself was dressed in a linen suit of European cut,
with a tarboosh or red cap on his head, with a turban twisted round it.
Not elegant, but sovereign against sunstroke they told him.
"I wish I could get a crocodile," he said. "Every day we get lower down
the river there is less chance."
"Plenty of them yet. There is an island near where we stop to-night
where there are always many crocodiles."
"And do you think that I shall get one?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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