The heart of Africa, Vol. 1 (of 2)Schweinfurth, Georg August
Science
The heart of Africa, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Schweinfurth, Georg August
Africa, Central -- Description and travel; Schweinfurth, Georg August, 1836-1925 -- Travel -- Africa, Central
I was now visiting Suakin for the fourth time, and the Governor
received me very graciously as an old acquaintance. He sent
immediately for some camels, which I required for the continuation of
my journey. He himself had to leave the town on the following day to
visit his summer abode in the neighbouring mountains. There still
remained to me four months before commencing my real journey from
Khartoom, as the voyage up the White Nile could not begin until
December or January; I resolved to fill up the interval by a tour
through the mountains of South Nubia, for the purpose of accustoming
myself to the heat and fatigue of a harmless climate, before exposing
myself to the fever atmosphere of Khartoom and the Upper Nile
districts. Just at this time of year, too, the valleys between the Red
Sea and the Nile promised me a rich booty, and I hoped to obtain a
remuneration for any toil on my part by the botanical varieties which
were to be looked for on the elevated ridges. I could not do otherwise
than rejoice in the prospect of escape from the glowing oven of Suakin
towards the western horizon, where the mountain-chains, veiled in grey
vapour, betrayed the refreshing rains which favoured the district and
rendered it so preferable for my sojourn. At night was heard the roll
of distant thunder, and the darkness was broken at intervals by
flashes of lightning.
On the 10th of September at daybreak all was ready. After the lapse of
two years passed in the domestic comforts of Europe, it is not
altogether easy to remount the “ship of the desert.” Our first day’s
march was through a trying country. The plain indeed was uniformly
level, but for twelve miles it was covered with such huge black
boulders glowing with the heat, that progress was very difficult.
After we had proceeded about nine miles from the town, we made a short
midday halt under the miserable shade of some dry acacias, which were
like the uncovered skeletons of parasols. As if in despair they
stretched their leafless branches towards the sky, and seemed to
implore for water. Exposed here in a leathern pipe to the wind, our
drinking water soon cooled down to a temperature about 18° below the
surrounding atmosphere.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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