Edwards, Amelia B.: A thousand miles up the Nile (New York, [1888])

214 A THOUSAND MILES UP 1'HE NILE.

below was already steeped in dusk. The Nile, glimmering
like a coiled snake in the shade, reflected the evening sky
in three separate readies. On the Arabian side a far-off
mountain-chain stood out, purple and jagged, against the
eastern horizon.

To come down was easy. Driving our heels well into
the sand, we half ran, half glissaded, and soon readied the
bottom. Here we were met by an old Nubian woman,
who had trudged up in all haste from the nearest village
to question our sailors about one Yusef, her son, of whom
she had heard nothing for nearly a year. She was a very
poor old woman—a widow — and this Yusef was her only
son. Hoping to better himself he had worked his passage
to Cairo in a cargo-boat some eighteen months ago. Twice
since then he had sent her messages and money; but now
eleven months had gone by in silence, and she feared he
must be dead. Meanwhile her date-palm, taxed to the
full value of its produce, had this year yielded not a
piaster of profit. Her mud hut had fallen in, and there
was no Yusef to repair it. Old and sick, she now could
only beg ; and her neighbors, by whose charity she sub-
sisted, were but a shade less poor than herself.

Our men knew nothing of the missing Yusef. Eei's
Hassan promised when he went back to make inquiries
among the boatmen of Boulak. " But then," he added,
"there are so many Yusefs in Cairo!"

It made one's heart ache to see the tremulous eagerness
with which the poor soul put her questions, and the
crushed look in her face when she turned away.

And now, being fortunate in respect of the wind, which
for the most part blows steadily from the north between
sunrise and sunset, we make good progress, and for the
next ten days live pretty much on board our dahabeeyah.
The main features of the landscape go on repeating them-
selves with but little variation from day to day. The
mountains wear their habitual livery of black and gold.
The river, now widening, now narrowing, flows between
banks blossoming with lentils and lupins. With these,
and yellow acacia-tufts, and blue castor-oil berries, and the
weird coloquintida, with its downy leaf and milky juice
and puff bladder fruit, like a green peach tinged with
purple, we make our daily bouquet for the dinner-table.
All other flowers'have vanished, and even these are hard to