One double rifle, No. 10, by Beattie (one of my old Ceylon
tools).
One double gun, No. 10, by Beattie.
One double gun, No. 10, by Purdey, belonging to Mr. Oswell, of
South African celebrity.
One single rifle, No. 8, by Manton.
One single rifle, No. 14, by Beattie.
One single rifle that carried a half-pouud explosive shell, by
Holland of Bond Street; this was nicknamed by the Arabs "Jenna el
Mootfah" (child of a cannon), and for the sake of brevity I
called it the "Baby."
My revolver and a brace of double-barrelled pistols hung upon the
wall, which, although the exterior of the house was straw, we had
lined with the bright coloured canvas of the tent. Suspended by
loops were little ornamental baskets worked by the Arabs, that
contained a host of useful articles, such as needles, thread, &c.
&c., and the remaining surface was hung with hunting knives,
fishing lines, and a variety of instruments belonging to the
chase. A travelling table, with maps and a few books, stood
against the wall, and one more article completed our
furniture,--an exceedingly neat toilet table, the base of which
was a flat-topped portmanteau, concealed by a cunning device of
chintz and muslin; this, covered with the usual arrangement of
brushes, mirror, scent-bottles, &c. threw an air of civilization
over the establishment, which was increased by the presence of an
immense sponging-bath, that, being flat and circular, could be
fitted underneath a bed. In the draught of air next the door
stood our filter in a wooden frame, beneath which was a porous
jar that received and cooled the clear water as it fell.
Our camp was a perfect model; we had a view of about five miles
in extent along the valley of the Atbara, and it was my daily
amusement to scan with my telescope the uninhabited country upon
the opposite side of the river, and watch the wild animals as
they grazed in perfect security. I regret that at that time I did
not smoke; in the cool of the evening we used to sit by the
bamboo table outside the door of our house, and drink our coffee
in perfect contentment amidst the beautiful scene of a tropical
sunset and the deep shadows in the valley; but a pipe! --the long
"chibbook" of the Turk would have made our home a Paradise!
Nevertheless we were thoroughly happy at Sofi;--there was a
delightful calm, and a sense of rest; a total estrangement from
the cares of the world, and an enchanting contrast in the soft
green verdure of the landscape before us to the many hundred
weary miles of burning desert through which we had toiled from
Lower Egypt. In those barren tracts, the eye had become so
accustomed to sterility and yellow sand, that it had appeared
impossible to change the scene, and Africa afforded no prospect
beyond the blank hitherto shown upon the chart of the interior;
we were now in a land of rich pastures, and apparently in another
world, after the toil of a hard life;--it was the haven of a
pilgrim, rest!
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