At Length
We Arrived At A Village, Where We Had Much Difficulty In
Procuring Provisions For Ourselves And People.
On the 11th June, having slept at the village of Abou Dome, we
started at sunrise, and at 9 A.M. we reached the bank of the
river, opposite to Khartoum.
We were delighted with the view, as
the morning sun shone upon the capital of the Soudan provinces;
the grove of date trees shaded the numerous buildings, their dark
green foliage contrasting exquisitely with the many coloured
houses on the extreme margin of the beautiful river; long lines
of vessels and masts gave life to the scene, and we felt that
once more, after twelve months of utterly wild life, we had
arrived in civilization. We had outridden our camels, therefore
we rode through a shallow arm of the river, and arrived upon an
extensive sandbank that had been converted into a garden of
melons; from this point a large ferry-boat plied regularly to the
town on the south bank. In a few minutes we found ourselves on
board, with our sole remaining horse, Tetel, also the donkeys
that we had purchased in Berber before our expedition, and our
attendants. As we gained the centre of the river, that was about
800 yards broad, we were greeted by the snort of three of our old
friends, the hippopotami, who had been attracted to the
neighbourhood by the garden of water-melons. We landed at
Khartoum, and, having climbed up the steep bank, we inquired the
way to the British Consulate.
The difference between the view of Khartoum at the distance of a
mile, with the sun shining upon the bright river Nile in the
foreground, to the appearance of the town upon close inspection,
was about equal to the scenery of a theatre as regarded from the
boxes or from the stage; even that painful exposure of an optical
illusion would be trifling compared with the imposture of
Khartoum; the sense of sight had been deceived by distance, but
the sense of smell was outraged by innumerable nuisances, when we
set foot within the filthy and miserable town. After winding
through some narrow dusty lanes, hemmed in by high walls of
sun-baked bricks, that had fallen in gaps in several places,
exposing gardens of prickly pears and date palms, we at length
arrived at a large open place, that, if possible, smelt more
strongly than the landing spot. Around this square, which was
full of holes where the mud had been excavated for brickmaking,
were the better class of houses; this was the Belgravia of
Khartoum. In the centre of a long mud wall, ventilated by certain
attempts at frameless windows, guarded by rough wooden bars, we
perceived a large archway with closed doors; above this entrance
was a shield, with a device that gladdened my English eyes: there
was the British lion and the unicorn! Not such a lion as I had
been accustomed to meet in his native jungles, a yellow cowardly
fellow, that had often slunk away from the very prey from which
I had driven him, but a real red British lion, that, although
thin and ragged in the unhealthy climate of Khartoum, looked as
though he was pluck to the backbone.
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