DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4393#0110
92 -A- THOUSAND MILES UP TUB NILE.
with the town in sight the whole way—we thought our-
selves fortunate to get in by the evening of the third day
after the storm. These last eight miles are, however, for
open, placid beauty, as lovely in their way as anything north
of Thebes. The valley is here very wide and fertile; the
town, with its multitudinous minarets, appears first on one
side and then on the other, according to the windings of
the river; the distant pinky mountains look almost as
transparent as the air or the sunshine; while the banks
unfold an endless succession of charming little subjects,
every one of which looks as if it asked to be sketched as
we pass. A shaduf and a clump of palms—a triad of
shaggy black buffaloes, up to their shoulders in the river,
and dozing as they stand—a wide-spreading sycamore fig,
in the shade of which lie a man and camel asleep—a fallen
palm uprooted by the last inundation, with its fibrous
roots yet clinging to the bank and its crest in the water—a
group of sheiks' tombs with glistening white cupolas
relieved against a background of dark foliage—an old dis-
used water-wheel lying up sidewise against the bank like a
huge teototom, and garlanded with wild tendrils of a gourd—
such are a few out of many bits by the way, which, if they
offer nothing very new, at all events present the old
material under fresh aspects, and in combination with a
distance of such ethereal light and shade, and such opal-
escent tenderness of tone, that it looks more like an air-
drawn mirage than a piece of the world Ave live in.
Like a mirage, too, that fairy town of Siut seemed
always to hover at the same unattainable distance and after
hours of tracking to be no nearer than at first. Some-
times, indeed, following the long reaches of the river, we
appeared to be leaving it behind; and although, as I have
said, we had eight miles of hard work to get to it, I doubt
whether it was ever more than three miles distant as the
bird flies. It was late in the afternoon, however, when we
turned the last corner; and the sun was already setting
when the boat reached the village of Ilamra, which is the
mooring-place for Siut—Siiit itself, with clustered cupolas
and arrowy minarets, lying back in the plain at the foot
of a great mountain pierced with tombs.
Now, it was in the bond that our crew were to be allowed
twenty-four hours for making and baking bread at Siut,
Esneh and Assuan. No sooner, therefore, was the daha-
with the town in sight the whole way—we thought our-
selves fortunate to get in by the evening of the third day
after the storm. These last eight miles are, however, for
open, placid beauty, as lovely in their way as anything north
of Thebes. The valley is here very wide and fertile; the
town, with its multitudinous minarets, appears first on one
side and then on the other, according to the windings of
the river; the distant pinky mountains look almost as
transparent as the air or the sunshine; while the banks
unfold an endless succession of charming little subjects,
every one of which looks as if it asked to be sketched as
we pass. A shaduf and a clump of palms—a triad of
shaggy black buffaloes, up to their shoulders in the river,
and dozing as they stand—a wide-spreading sycamore fig,
in the shade of which lie a man and camel asleep—a fallen
palm uprooted by the last inundation, with its fibrous
roots yet clinging to the bank and its crest in the water—a
group of sheiks' tombs with glistening white cupolas
relieved against a background of dark foliage—an old dis-
used water-wheel lying up sidewise against the bank like a
huge teototom, and garlanded with wild tendrils of a gourd—
such are a few out of many bits by the way, which, if they
offer nothing very new, at all events present the old
material under fresh aspects, and in combination with a
distance of such ethereal light and shade, and such opal-
escent tenderness of tone, that it looks more like an air-
drawn mirage than a piece of the world Ave live in.
Like a mirage, too, that fairy town of Siut seemed
always to hover at the same unattainable distance and after
hours of tracking to be no nearer than at first. Some-
times, indeed, following the long reaches of the river, we
appeared to be leaving it behind; and although, as I have
said, we had eight miles of hard work to get to it, I doubt
whether it was ever more than three miles distant as the
bird flies. It was late in the afternoon, however, when we
turned the last corner; and the sun was already setting
when the boat reached the village of Ilamra, which is the
mooring-place for Siut—Siiit itself, with clustered cupolas
and arrowy minarets, lying back in the plain at the foot
of a great mountain pierced with tombs.
Now, it was in the bond that our crew were to be allowed
twenty-four hours for making and baking bread at Siut,
Esneh and Assuan. No sooner, therefore, was the daha-