The life, letters and work of Frederic Leighton. Volume IIBarrington, Russell, Mrs.
General
The life, letters and work of Frederic Leighton. Volume II
Barrington, Russell, Mrs.
Leighton of Stretton, Frederic Leighton, Baron, 1830-1896
We should have reached Keneh to-day, but the coals were bad, and
we had to stop at Dishulh, three hours this side of that place.
Where was thy favouring grace, O Sheykh? It appears that, like
the gods of ancient Greece, the Sheykhs of Egypt have their
little misunderstandings; I am told that on one occasion Selim,
having a few words with another holy man thirty-five miles up
the river, by name Sheykh Fadl, and waxing wroth, threw a stone
at him (what are thirty or forty miles to a saint?) and blinded
him of one eye; whereon Sheykh Fadl returned the amenity by
throwing "some fire" at Sheykh Selim, thereby sorely burning
him. "I have seen the scar," my coxswain informs me.
Killed another fatted sheep for the crew.
_Wednesday, 21st._--Arrived at Lougsor (El Uker) about three. It
was too hot for sightseeing, so I waited till evening and went
out shooting in a boat; at least I went out with the idea of
shooting--if possible a pelican or a crane--but the birds were
too shy--I could not get within fair shooting distance; wounded
a pelican, but could not get after him in the deep mud. Got
belated on the river, and the crew had to pull hard for an hour
and a half to reach the steamer; fortunately there was a moon.
Anything more good-humoured or more ineffective than the way in
which the sailors pulled and shoved, I never saw; they hopped in
and out of the boat in the shallows, up to their hips in the
water--pushed, tugged, rowed and sang _die era im piacus_; they
can do nothing without the accompaniment of some rhythmic,
droning refrain, which they can keep up for an indefinite time.
Anything will do; my fellows pulled on this occasion to the
following words--
"Min Min_yeh_
fi Beniso_ef_,"
which is as who should say--
"From Hen_lee_
to Cookham _Reach_,"
giving the stroke and the emphasis on the last syllable.
In the evening was visited by Mustafa Aga, H.B.M. Consular
Agent, one of his sons, the Turkish Governor (Hassan Effendi),
and the local doctor. Mustafa is a very courteous old gentleman,
with half a nose, and much respected by all who know him; I
observed that Saïd, his son, would not smoke in his father's
presence, in accordance with an Arab custom, which did not much
remind me of the manner in which "the gov'nor" is treated in
England.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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