We were up in an instant, and my interpreter, Mahomet, in a state of
intense confusion, explained that the river was coming down, and that
the supposed distant thunder was the roar of approaching water.
Many of the people were asleep on the clean sand on the river's bed;
these were quickly awakened by the Arabs, who rushed down the steep bank
to save the skulls of two hippopotami that were exposed to dry. Hardly
had they descended when the sound of the river in the darkness beneath
told us that the water had arrived, and the men, dripping with wet, had
just sufficient time to drag their heavy burdens up the bank.
All was darkness and confusion, everybody talking and no one listening;
but the great event had occurred; the river had arrived "like a thief in
the night". On the morning of the 24th of June, I stood on the banks of
the noble Atbara River at the break of day. The wonder of the desert!
Yesterday there was a barren sheet of glaring sand, with a fringe of
withered bushes and trees upon its borders, that cut the yellow expanse
of desert. For days we had journeyed along the exhausted bed; all
Nature, even in Nature's poverty, was most poor: no bush could boast a
leaf, no tree could throw a shade, crisp gums crackled upon the stems of
the mimosas, the sap dried upon the burst bark, sprung with the
withering heat of the simoom.
