DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4393#0140
122 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.
none of these things; finding it difficult, indeed, to believe
that any one else sees them. The river widens away
before us; the fiats are green on either side; the mountains
are pierced with terraces of rock-cut tombs; while far
away inland, apparently on the verge of the desert, we see
hero a clump of sycamores—yonder a dark hillock—mid-
way between both a confused heap of something that may
be either fallen rock or fallen masonry; but nothing that
looks like a temple, nothing to indicate that we are already
within recognizable distance of the grandest ruins in the
world.
Presently, however, as the boat goes on, a massive, win-
dowlcss structure which looks (heaven preserve us!)
just like a brand-now fort or prison, towers up above
the palm-groves to the left. This, wo are told, is one
of the propylons of Karnak; while a few whitewashed
huts and a little crowd of masts now coming into
sight a mile or so higher up mark the position of
Luxor. Then up capers Bgcndi with his never-failing
"Luxor — kharuf— all right!" to fetch down the tar
and darabukkeh. The captain claps his hands. A circle
is formed on the lower deck. The men, all smiles, strike
up their liveliest chorus, and so, with barbaric music and
well-filled sails, and flags flying, and green boughs waving
overhead, we make our triumphal entry into Luxor.
The top of another pylon; the slender peak of an obelisk;
a colonnade of giant pillars half-buried in the soil; the
white houses of the English, American and Prussian con-
suls, each with its flagstaff and ensign; a steep slope of-
sandy shore; a background of mud walls and pigeon-towers;
a foreground of native boats and gayly painted dahabeeyahs
lying at anchor—such, as we sweep by, is our first pan-
oramic view of this famous village. A group of turbaned
officials sitting in the shade of an arched doorway rise and
salute us as we pass. The assembled dahabeeyahs dozing
with folded sails, like sea-birds asleep, are roused to
spasmodic activity. Flags are lowered; guns are fired; all
Luxor is startled from its midday siesta. Then, before the
smoke has had time to clear off, up conies the Bagstoncs
in gallant form; whereupon the dahabeeyahs blaze away
again as before.
And now there is a rush of donkeys and donkey boys,
beggars, guides and antiquity-dealers, to the shore—the
none of these things; finding it difficult, indeed, to believe
that any one else sees them. The river widens away
before us; the fiats are green on either side; the mountains
are pierced with terraces of rock-cut tombs; while far
away inland, apparently on the verge of the desert, we see
hero a clump of sycamores—yonder a dark hillock—mid-
way between both a confused heap of something that may
be either fallen rock or fallen masonry; but nothing that
looks like a temple, nothing to indicate that we are already
within recognizable distance of the grandest ruins in the
world.
Presently, however, as the boat goes on, a massive, win-
dowlcss structure which looks (heaven preserve us!)
just like a brand-now fort or prison, towers up above
the palm-groves to the left. This, wo are told, is one
of the propylons of Karnak; while a few whitewashed
huts and a little crowd of masts now coming into
sight a mile or so higher up mark the position of
Luxor. Then up capers Bgcndi with his never-failing
"Luxor — kharuf— all right!" to fetch down the tar
and darabukkeh. The captain claps his hands. A circle
is formed on the lower deck. The men, all smiles, strike
up their liveliest chorus, and so, with barbaric music and
well-filled sails, and flags flying, and green boughs waving
overhead, we make our triumphal entry into Luxor.
The top of another pylon; the slender peak of an obelisk;
a colonnade of giant pillars half-buried in the soil; the
white houses of the English, American and Prussian con-
suls, each with its flagstaff and ensign; a steep slope of-
sandy shore; a background of mud walls and pigeon-towers;
a foreground of native boats and gayly painted dahabeeyahs
lying at anchor—such, as we sweep by, is our first pan-
oramic view of this famous village. A group of turbaned
officials sitting in the shade of an arched doorway rise and
salute us as we pass. The assembled dahabeeyahs dozing
with folded sails, like sea-birds asleep, are roused to
spasmodic activity. Flags are lowered; guns are fired; all
Luxor is startled from its midday siesta. Then, before the
smoke has had time to clear off, up conies the Bagstoncs
in gallant form; whereupon the dahabeeyahs blaze away
again as before.
And now there is a rush of donkeys and donkey boys,
beggars, guides and antiquity-dealers, to the shore—the