There was a small lake near my station that abounded in fish. One of my
sailors belonging to the diahbeeah was a professional fisherman,
descended from a race of this calling. I had therefore intrusted him
with the charge of the nets. All the sailors of the diahbeeah were good
men, but the fisherman, Howarti, was the best of the picked crew. He was
a Nubian, born in Khartoum, and of an exceedingly light colour. His
style of beauty was rather spoiled by the loss of one eye, and
altogether his personal appearance was not attractive; but he was very
strong, although a small man, and in any case of emergency he was the
most active and intelligent sailor. Howarti was always the first man to
leap overboard with the tow rope, when it became necessary to drag the
vessel against wind and stream: he was, like all Nubians, an admirable
swimmer.
Our comfort had depended much upon this man throughout the expedition,
as he was the only person who could properly throw a casting-net. Thus
he had always supplied us with excellent fish. I often admired his
perseverance, when, after twenty or thirty barren casts, he rested for a
while, cleaned his net, and waded, in spite of crocodiles, to seek a
more likely spot to catch fish for breakfast, at a time when this meal
would depend entirely upon his success. At such times I frequently
advised him as a good Mohammedan to say "Bismillah" (in the name of God)
before he threw the net. On the first occasion, before I gave him this
advice, he had had extremely bad luck, and he told me that "something
was wrong with the fish;" as he had thrown his net for an hour without
catching anything, except a few uneatable spike-fish.
I advised him to come with me in the dingy; and having rowed a short
distance, we arrived at a sand-bank in the bend of the river. Here we
landed, and I found fault with Howarti for omitting to say "Bismillah!"
"Will it do any good?" asked the profane Howarti. "Try," I replied; "you
know the opinion of Mohammedans; now then, Howarti, say 'Bismillah,' and
throw just in that hole close to the weeds. Spin your net so that it
shall fall perfectly round, and advance very quietly to the edge, so
that your shadow shall not disturb the fish."
"Bismillah!" ejaculated Howarti, and he crept cautiously forward to a
very likely-looking hole. "Bismillah!" and with a dexterous throw, the
net described an exact circle as it fell evenly upon the water.
No sooner had the fisherman commenced to tighten the crown line, when
the rapid and powerful jerks showed that he had something good within
his net. "Now, Howarti, look sharp! the bottom is clean sand: haul away,
and don't give them time to burrow beneath the leads."
Howarti hauled away, and as the net came near the shore, there was such
a splashing and jumping as he had rarely seen.
