DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4393#0138
120 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.
cry! It is the wail of a night-wandering jackal. See how
dark it is yonder, in the direction of the river! Quick,
quick! We have lingered too long. We must be gone at
once; for we are already benighted.
We ought to have gone down by way of the opposite
staircase (which is lined with sculptures of the descending
procession) and out through the temple; but there is no
time to do anything but scramble down by a breach in the
wall at a point where the mounds yet lie heaped against the
south side of the building. And now the dusk steals on so
rapidly that before we reach the bottom we can hardly see
where to tread. The huge side wall of the portico seems
to tower above us to the very heavens. We catch a glimpse
of two colossal figures, one lion-headed and the other head-
less, sitting outside with their backs to the temple. Then,
making with all speed for the open plain, we clamber over
scattered blocks and among shapeless mounds. Presently
night overtakes us. The mountains disappear; the temple
is blotted out; and we have only the faint starlight to
guide us. We stumble on, however, keeping all close to-
gether; firing a gun every now and then, in the hope of
being heard by those in the boats; and as thoroughly
and undeniably lost as the babes in the wood.
At last, just as some are beginning to knock up, and all
to despair, Talhamy fires his last cartridge. An answering
shot replies from near by; a wandering light appears in
the distance; and presently a whole bevy of dancing lan-
terns and friendly brown faces come gloaming out from
among a plantation of sugar-canes to welcome and guide
us home. Dear, sturdy, faithful little Reis Hassan, honest
Khalifeh, laughing Salamc, gentle Mehemet Ali, and
Musa, "black but comely"—they were all there. What a
shaking of hands there was—what a gleaming of white
teeth—what a shower of mutually unintelligible congratu-
lations! For my own part, I may say with truth that I
never was much more rejoiced at a meeting in my life.
cry! It is the wail of a night-wandering jackal. See how
dark it is yonder, in the direction of the river! Quick,
quick! We have lingered too long. We must be gone at
once; for we are already benighted.
We ought to have gone down by way of the opposite
staircase (which is lined with sculptures of the descending
procession) and out through the temple; but there is no
time to do anything but scramble down by a breach in the
wall at a point where the mounds yet lie heaped against the
south side of the building. And now the dusk steals on so
rapidly that before we reach the bottom we can hardly see
where to tread. The huge side wall of the portico seems
to tower above us to the very heavens. We catch a glimpse
of two colossal figures, one lion-headed and the other head-
less, sitting outside with their backs to the temple. Then,
making with all speed for the open plain, we clamber over
scattered blocks and among shapeless mounds. Presently
night overtakes us. The mountains disappear; the temple
is blotted out; and we have only the faint starlight to
guide us. We stumble on, however, keeping all close to-
gether; firing a gun every now and then, in the hope of
being heard by those in the boats; and as thoroughly
and undeniably lost as the babes in the wood.
At last, just as some are beginning to knock up, and all
to despair, Talhamy fires his last cartridge. An answering
shot replies from near by; a wandering light appears in
the distance; and presently a whole bevy of dancing lan-
terns and friendly brown faces come gloaming out from
among a plantation of sugar-canes to welcome and guide
us home. Dear, sturdy, faithful little Reis Hassan, honest
Khalifeh, laughing Salamc, gentle Mehemet Ali, and
Musa, "black but comely"—they were all there. What a
shaking of hands there was—what a gleaming of white
teeth—what a shower of mutually unintelligible congratu-
lations! For my own part, I may say with truth that I
never was much more rejoiced at a meeting in my life.