DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4393#0388
370 A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.
CHAPTER XXI.
THEBES.
"We had so long been the sport of destiny that we hardly
knew what to make of our good fortune when two days of
sweet south wind carried us from Edfu to Luxor. We
came back to find the old mooring-place alive with daha-
beeyahs and gay with English anil American colors. These
two flags well-nigh divide the river. In every twenty-five
boats one may fairly calculate upon an average of twelve
English, nine American, two German, one Belgian and
one French. Of all those, our American cousins, ever
helpful, ever cordial, are pleasantest to meet. Their ilag
stands to me for a host of hravo and generous and kindly
associations. It brings back memories of many lands and
many faces. It calls up echoes of friendly voices, some far
distant; some, alas! silent. Wherefore—be it on the Nile,
or the Thames, or the high seas, or among Syrian camp-
ing-grounds, or drooping listlessly from the balconies of
gloomy diplomatic haunts in continental cities—my heart
warms to the stars and stripes whenever I see them.
Our arrival brought all the dealers in Luxor to the sur-
face. They waylaid and followed us wherever wo went;
while some of the better sort—grave men in long black
robes and ample turbans—installed themselves on our
lower deck and lived there for a fortnight. Go up-stairs
when one would, whether before breakfast in the morning,
or after dinner in the evening, there we always found
them, patient, imperturbable, ready to rise up and salaam,
and produce from some hidden pocket a purseful of scar-
alts or a bundle of funerary statuettes. Some of these gen-
tlemen were Arabs, some Copts—all polite, plausible and
mendacious.
Where Copt and Arab drive the same doubtful trade it is
not easy to define the shades of difference in their dealings.
As workmen the Copts are perhaps the most artistic, As
CHAPTER XXI.
THEBES.
"We had so long been the sport of destiny that we hardly
knew what to make of our good fortune when two days of
sweet south wind carried us from Edfu to Luxor. We
came back to find the old mooring-place alive with daha-
beeyahs and gay with English anil American colors. These
two flags well-nigh divide the river. In every twenty-five
boats one may fairly calculate upon an average of twelve
English, nine American, two German, one Belgian and
one French. Of all those, our American cousins, ever
helpful, ever cordial, are pleasantest to meet. Their ilag
stands to me for a host of hravo and generous and kindly
associations. It brings back memories of many lands and
many faces. It calls up echoes of friendly voices, some far
distant; some, alas! silent. Wherefore—be it on the Nile,
or the Thames, or the high seas, or among Syrian camp-
ing-grounds, or drooping listlessly from the balconies of
gloomy diplomatic haunts in continental cities—my heart
warms to the stars and stripes whenever I see them.
Our arrival brought all the dealers in Luxor to the sur-
face. They waylaid and followed us wherever wo went;
while some of the better sort—grave men in long black
robes and ample turbans—installed themselves on our
lower deck and lived there for a fortnight. Go up-stairs
when one would, whether before breakfast in the morning,
or after dinner in the evening, there we always found
them, patient, imperturbable, ready to rise up and salaam,
and produce from some hidden pocket a purseful of scar-
alts or a bundle of funerary statuettes. Some of these gen-
tlemen were Arabs, some Copts—all polite, plausible and
mendacious.
Where Copt and Arab drive the same doubtful trade it is
not easy to define the shades of difference in their dealings.
As workmen the Copts are perhaps the most artistic, As