DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4393#0312
294 A THOUSAND MILES UP TIIE NILE.
woman, who drew her shawl over her face and cowered
behind him at sight of the Ingleezeh.
AVe asked the man what the mounds were, and who
made them; hut lie shook his head, and said they had
been there "from old time." AVe then inquired by what
name they were known in these parts; to which, urging
his camel forward, he replied hesitatingly that they had a
name, but that he had forgotten it.
Having gone a little way, however, he presently turned
back, saying that he now remembered all about it, and that
they were called "The Horns of Yaekma."
More than this we could not get from him. AArho
Yaekma was, or how he came to have horns, or why his
horns should take the form of tumuli, was more than he
could tell or we could guess.
We gave him a small backshish, however, in return for
this mysterious piece of information, and went our way
with all possible speed; intending to row across and see
the mounds on the opposite bank before sunset. But we
had not calculated upon the difficulty of either threading
our way among a chain of sand-banks, or going at least two
miles farther north, so as to get round into the navigable
channel at the other side. AVe of course tried the shorter
way, and after running aground some three or four times,
had to give it up, hoist our little sail, and scud homeward
as fast as the wind would cany us.
The coming back thus, after an excursion in the felucca,
is one of the many pleasant things that one has to remem-
ber of the Nile. The sun lias set; the after-glow has
faded; the stars are coming out. Leaning back with a
satisfied sense of something seen or done, one listens to the
old dreamy chant of the rowers and to the ripple under
the keel. The palms, meanwhile, glide past, and are seen
in bronzed relief against the sky. Presently the big boat,
all glittering with lights, looms up out of the dusk. A
cheery voice hails from the poop. We glide under the
bows. Half a dozen smiling brown faces bid us welcome,
and as many pairs of brown hands are outstretched to help
us up the side. A savory smell is wafted from the
kitchen; a pleasant vision of the dining-saloon, with table
ready spread and lamps ready lit, flashes upon us through
the open doorway. AAre are at home once more. Lot us
eat, drink, rest, and be merry; for to-morrow the hard
work of sight-seeing and sketching begins again,
woman, who drew her shawl over her face and cowered
behind him at sight of the Ingleezeh.
AVe asked the man what the mounds were, and who
made them; hut lie shook his head, and said they had
been there "from old time." AVe then inquired by what
name they were known in these parts; to which, urging
his camel forward, he replied hesitatingly that they had a
name, but that he had forgotten it.
Having gone a little way, however, he presently turned
back, saying that he now remembered all about it, and that
they were called "The Horns of Yaekma."
More than this we could not get from him. AArho
Yaekma was, or how he came to have horns, or why his
horns should take the form of tumuli, was more than he
could tell or we could guess.
We gave him a small backshish, however, in return for
this mysterious piece of information, and went our way
with all possible speed; intending to row across and see
the mounds on the opposite bank before sunset. But we
had not calculated upon the difficulty of either threading
our way among a chain of sand-banks, or going at least two
miles farther north, so as to get round into the navigable
channel at the other side. AVe of course tried the shorter
way, and after running aground some three or four times,
had to give it up, hoist our little sail, and scud homeward
as fast as the wind would cany us.
The coming back thus, after an excursion in the felucca,
is one of the many pleasant things that one has to remem-
ber of the Nile. The sun lias set; the after-glow has
faded; the stars are coming out. Leaning back with a
satisfied sense of something seen or done, one listens to the
old dreamy chant of the rowers and to the ripple under
the keel. The palms, meanwhile, glide past, and are seen
in bronzed relief against the sky. Presently the big boat,
all glittering with lights, looms up out of the dusk. A
cheery voice hails from the poop. We glide under the
bows. Half a dozen smiling brown faces bid us welcome,
and as many pairs of brown hands are outstretched to help
us up the side. A savory smell is wafted from the
kitchen; a pleasant vision of the dining-saloon, with table
ready spread and lamps ready lit, flashes upon us through
the open doorway. AAre are at home once more. Lot us
eat, drink, rest, and be merry; for to-morrow the hard
work of sight-seeing and sketching begins again,