DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.5073#0060
HILL OF ABOUSEEE.
49
liest hues of exquisite pale rosy lilac, half hidden in a
dreamy kind of mist.
We gazed and gazed, feeling as if we could never
have enough ; like prisoners from the window of their
gaol, looking with longing eyes over the far " sweet
south " we so ardently desired to explore, and over pro-
bably the most tropical scene in all the world that our
eyes will ever behold. Turning back is often sad, but it
never seemed so triste, or such starving work before, as
when we set our faces northward to regain the boat—
almost like a hungry beggar passing a baker's shop and
turning away his head from the food he longs for and
cannot have. But before we retraced our steps there
was something to do,—to accomplish which I had armed
myself with a hammer and chisel, not knowing in the
least how to use them, but resolved to leave our names
among the pilgrims who had rested on that narrow
ledge of rock before us. A might}7 company of names
are gathered there, and a feeling of something awful
came over one in the sight of the hundreds recorded on
that unchanging stone — abiding there still like tan-
gible shadows of those who carved them when in health
and vigour, yet of whom so many are now already
passed away ! For only a few years—twenty at most
— has that ancient river been open to travellers, yet
already, like the Volume of the Great Book, that rock,
the imperishable record of those who spent but one
short hour of their brief existence there, is crowded
with the names of the dead ! Of those we personally
knew, by far the greater number were gone into that
land whence none return ; and it was with a feeling of
sad pleasure that we placed our names among them —
thus making a sort of re-union in matter as well as in
thought—a silent, half-living companionship. The
VOL. I. E
49
liest hues of exquisite pale rosy lilac, half hidden in a
dreamy kind of mist.
We gazed and gazed, feeling as if we could never
have enough ; like prisoners from the window of their
gaol, looking with longing eyes over the far " sweet
south " we so ardently desired to explore, and over pro-
bably the most tropical scene in all the world that our
eyes will ever behold. Turning back is often sad, but it
never seemed so triste, or such starving work before, as
when we set our faces northward to regain the boat—
almost like a hungry beggar passing a baker's shop and
turning away his head from the food he longs for and
cannot have. But before we retraced our steps there
was something to do,—to accomplish which I had armed
myself with a hammer and chisel, not knowing in the
least how to use them, but resolved to leave our names
among the pilgrims who had rested on that narrow
ledge of rock before us. A might}7 company of names
are gathered there, and a feeling of something awful
came over one in the sight of the hundreds recorded on
that unchanging stone — abiding there still like tan-
gible shadows of those who carved them when in health
and vigour, yet of whom so many are now already
passed away ! For only a few years—twenty at most
— has that ancient river been open to travellers, yet
already, like the Volume of the Great Book, that rock,
the imperishable record of those who spent but one
short hour of their brief existence there, is crowded
with the names of the dead ! Of those we personally
knew, by far the greater number were gone into that
land whence none return ; and it was with a feeling of
sad pleasure that we placed our names among them —
thus making a sort of re-union in matter as well as in
thought—a silent, half-living companionship. The
VOL. I. E