The Source of the Blue Nile
9781465682246
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
In October, 1902, I was acting as Medical Inspector of the native quarter of Alexandria. Cholera had kept the staff busy, and we had brought the number of cases down to about fifteen in the last days of the month. I had passed the disinfecting gangs in review one morning before sending them to their allotted quarters of the town, and had just resumed my work in the hospital, when I heard a voice sing out to me—without preliminary—“Hayes, would you like to go to Abyssinia?” It was the Chief Inspector of the Sanitary Department who asked the question. By the evening I had made up my mind, and told him that I should be glad to take the chance. However, I heard nothing more of the matter till the middle of November. Then I received a telegram directing me to make my preparations in Cairo. And I had no time to waste; for I learned that the expedition to which I was attached would start in seven days. The “jumping-off place” would be close to Khartoum. Twenty years earlier the journey thither would have had a lingering fascination of romance. Ten years earlier it would probably have brought the traveller by painful paths to the Land of No Return. To-day it lies within the range of the prudent tourist who prefers safe adventures between regular meals. He is much indebted to Lord Kitchener. In Cairo I joined my companions Mr. Dupuis and Mr. Crawley. They had had arrangements for the expedition in hand for many months; indeed, it had been planned for the previous year, but the illness of Sir William Garstin at Khartoum delayed it. On November 27 we reached Assouan. Like hundreds of my fellow-countrymen, I photographed the great dam, and the temple of Philæ. Our next stage was by post-boat to Wady Halfa, where we arrived on December 1. In the evening of that day we took train on the Soudan Government Railway. The following morning I had a new experience; for I had never before seen the mirage from the window of a railway carriage. The granite rocks seemed to rise out of a great lake. The illusion was so perfect that I used it as a test of my black “boy’s” shrewdness. I called him, and said, “Look at the water!” His answer was, “It is not the water. It is the water-thief, your excellency.” In this desolate land, with a burning sky over it, there are no trees. It is all of a piece, and the different parts of it give no sense of varied locality. The stations are not named but numbered, and here the water is stored in zinc tanks. Command of the tanks means command of the country—an important fact in connection with possible émeutes of native troops. At Abou Hamed we reached the Nile again, and saw vegetation. Warm baths are provided in the station. We jumped out of the train in our pyjamas and rushed into luxury. The railway follows the river to Helfiah, on the opposite side of the river to Khartoum. Here I first beheld our camels, the steadily stubborn source of infinite vexation. All that is hard and heart-breaking in the character of the desert is incarnate in the camel. At Helfiah we engaged Soudanese “boys,” settled matters with officials, and finished our preparations for shooting big game.
